Old Conflicts; New Insights (Vietnam - Part 5 of 6)

Just a quick top note and I won’t dwell. But it is kind of a bizarre, surreal, and even slightly uncomfortable thing to be in Vietnam. We are 53 years beyond the US pulling out of that war, and yet it somehow has a lingering presence in my mind.  I was 12yo when we left Vietnam in 1973, yet I remember snippets and images and conversations adults were having in the late 60’s as well. That conflict was the first so ubiquitously televised, which is part of the reason I remember bits. I didn’t know much about the details at the time, just that we were at war and that there were lots of pictures of helicopters, broken-looking soldiers, and grieving families watching their sons come home in body bags. Now I am 64yo, American, and retired from the military, educated in US strategic planning and geopolitics, with a fairly detailed understanding of both the strategy and tactics on the ground as well as the domestic political backdrop in the US behind that war. I have low level anxiety and discomfort around all that, though I’m having a great time overall. Now on to better things… Dragons!

There were dragons in Thailand.  You saw them in post #4.  There are also dragons in Vietnam. Lots.  Additionally, as it happens, I have a lovely friend group up in Montpelier, VT which was texting concern one morning a few days ago when I was in Hanoi, about a wayward Central Bearded Dragon

(pogona vitticeps) that one of the kids found on a trail in town. Central VT temps are still very low right now and these dragons need to exist at around 90-96F.  If it is cooler than that they can’t digest food.  This one was probably an escapee or was released into the wild by a dunderheaded owner who got tired of it.  Quite sad because he probably met his maker;  but I wished it were here with me in Vietnam.  He would have had no problem eating and basking and looking at me with reptilian judgement, knowing that his progenitors on Zeta Reticuli rule our world, beskinned as humans.

There are also dragons carved into temple walls, hewn into mountain village rocks, painted in public spaces,  and in Danang there is the famous Dragon Bridge which breathes fire and spits water every weekend. It’s immense, and certainly not an infrastructure project one would normally associate with a communist regime. Many dragons. Then I learned about why dragons are important in Vietnamese culture.  

And I learned it from a 19 year old young Hanoi lady named Pinky. Pinky was my contact for a running tour I signed up for in Hanoi.  We had to resked due to torrential rain but finally made it happen the day before I was to fly off to Danang. The meeting point was 6am at a KFC (I know. I know. Starbucks,too) near Hoàn Kiếm Lake.  So I’m sitting there on a bench waiting and I see two bubbly smiling young ladies approach me. They were excited about just being alive in such a vibrant, eclectic, chaotic city in the company with one another’s BFF.  There was Pinky, who didn’t run, but rode a bike, and Trang, her best friend, who did run. My God, so young! And so removed from decades of lived experience which would have undoubtedly dampened their organic joy. Far different from my guide in Porto when I did one of these run tours, who was grizzled, experienced, and in his 40s. 

Part of me was, "Are you kidding me? She's freakin' 12 and is probably still playing with Tamagotchis. And she has stuffed animals strapped to her bike!" But this is a vacation; and vacations are about adventure and taking what comes and not having unreasonable expectations. So I went with it with a curious smile on my face. I am so glad I did. Pinky explained what we would be doing.  Trang and I would run the mile lap around the lake, and then we’d launch into a city route for the remaining 10K or so. 

Trang and I ran that lap, and I found her to be extremely sweet and earnest.  She’s 18yo, just started as an Econ major at an elite university, and wanted to learn about running.  She dyed her hair pink (Pinky didn't, funnily), had big dorky-wonderful spectacles, and not only was she a brainy economics nerd, she was also a very enthusiastic hiphop dancer.   So we traded questions about one another as we did that lap. Her English was really good. Orders of magnitude better than my Vietnamese. Know this. I love my boys.  Their lives transcend my own;  but I’ve also wished I’d had a daughter, too.  Trang reminded me of that.

So we finished that initial lap, linked back up with Pinky, and then took off on the remainder of the route.  It was a great program Pinky set out for us.  I was the runner and then she and Trang basically ran interference for me on the frenetic streets on their bikes. Pinky was an absolute chatterbox, brilliant in her mastery of languages, but most impressive to me was the fact she was almost pathologically curious.  She wanted to talk about anything and everything. At one point we stopped for tea on the west side of Hồ Tây, and sat on the standard plastic stools which are 4” above the ground, and which make for a delightful experience when watching a worn out graybeard runner trying to get upright from them. It is ugly-funny. The lady who was the purveyor of the tea seemed to be fascinated that a “mature” white guy was just sitting there hanging with a couple of Vietnamese girls, so she asked to take pictures.  We did.  She laughed. 

During that tea, I saw the depth in Pinky.  She was so wholly dialed in to international politics, US domestic politics, the Vietnamese political system, etc.  She was a master inquisitor. And she learned much of what she knows of English from watching toy ads when she was a little girl! It was also interesting how they reacted when I told them I had been to grad school, and even more so when they learned that I’d studied international relations.  That opened the sluice gates of one thousand questions and they just wanted to sit and talk and learn. I felt flattered that they held me in such high esteem (it is cultural;  they respect elders as a given), but I was even more moved by the quality of questions she asked.  Seems she had read every document of the Epstein files, had been following Trump’s trajectory…and had questions.  Good ones. It was so fun.  

And it gave me hope.  I am a creature of my biases, and of my arrogance.  But talking with these young ladies really reinforced the idea that my generation is leaving this world to them.  We’ve done some good things and some bad things. We’ve benefited from economic robustness and have had comparatively good lives.  But we really need to look beyond ourselves and try and ensure that the space these younger gens grow into is healthy, optimistic, and kind- not poisoned by the visceral cynicism and condescension being spewed by our two party adherents. I want to think I've done my part to make that happen. But I don't know if I have- and if I have, whether I have done enough.

Back to dragons.  We continued the run and ended up at a Buddhist pagoda, Tran Quoc.  Pinky is laying out the history and describing the uniquely syncretic Buddhist/Confucian spiritual influences present in Vietnam.  She explains that the reason that there are always koi fish at every pagoda is because the koi represent the starting point of the eternal struggle of we humans swimming upstream in Life until we encounter and overcome the massive legendary falls called the Dragon’s Gate, and that if we are to be strong enough to make it over that barrier we transform into a dragon, the Ultimate Protector. Here I was a semi-learned dude, getting schooled by a 19yo. So much new and rich information.  Michelangelo said, “Ancora imparo.”  Indeed, Mike.  Loved it.

Pinky, Trang and I finished the run  with a coffee at a funky coffee shop only they knew about, and continued our discussions which involved US gun culture, communism vs free-market, the legend of Uncle Ho, their dreams for life, SAT scores, etc.  It was a fantastic morning. It gave me an enduring smile that lasted hours - sort of like when Nereida and I spent time with those Moroccan students in Tangier a few weeks ago.

During COVID, I took up cocktail-making. It took my mind off the ridiculousness and gave me smiles.  So, I’ve been interested in this for a few years.  The culture is an interesting one, and involves not just the skills to master the mixing, making, and listening, but also a deep knowledge of the lore behind the various drinks.  I’m an Old Fashioned guy.  That’s my go to. Simple. Classic. I’ve learned on this trip that the cocktail culture in the places I’ve visited isn’t really all that sophisticated.  I look for the OF and usually come up short. When I do find one it is usually either made from a mix or involves rotgut spirits.  In SE Asia, I fully understand this.  It is so hot here that wine and cocktails are a second thought, never the default.  Beer is king here. And rightly so. It is cold, refreshing, cheap, and available.  I’m not a night owl at all. In fact, I haven’t looked for any “nightlife” this whole trip.  It doesn’t interest me. I’m usually in my room by 6pm. So I tend to have a drink, if I want one, during the afternoon.  Before a late lunch.  I don’t generally consume much after 3 or 4 pm. It’s a bit of a ritual. But when I get to a new city, I like to know where the cocktail bars are.   

In Hanoi I found a little speakeasy (seriously, it was tough to find) in the basement of a building on a busy road, called Two Schmucks.  It was owned by a couple of locals, not wiseass Jews from Brooklyn.  No. A Vietnamese guy, and a South Asian partner  opened it. The mood was woody, dark, and jazzy.  Low ceilings, tasteful wall lights, dusky scent. Madeleine Peyroux in the background. Could have been in Chicago during prohibition. It was managed by a young man who knew what he was talking about. He knew his bourbons and ryes and what a Luxardo cherry is (though they don’t use cherries in Asian OFs, apparently).  I had a couple of nice cocktails there my first night in town after a harrowing 2-mile walk to the location dodging bikes, busses, and food vendors. I paid my bill at the end in cash.  Cash, by the way, which has Ho Chi Minh’s visage on every denomination.

One morning in Hanoi, after my run, I went out for my daily explorations.  No agenda, just walking and looking and making observations. This particular morning I noted two guys in khaki military garb tag-teamed on a Vespa, slowly patrolling the streets. They seemed very serious and very scoldy.  I also noticed that people who were on the street down from them, washing produce, cutting meat, cooking, immediately folded up whatever they were doing-ground mats, micro stools, all of it, and brought it into the house post haste.  Then when the guys Vespa-ed by, they just came back out and resumed their activities. I did some research and learned that this is a morning ritual called “street clearing” and is executed by low rank local police who are looking for people to fine for encroaching too much into the streets. It gives them something to do and can even bring in a few shekels, aka dong. This is funny because on the main roads, there is 100 times more encroachment into vehicular paths by shopkeepers, parked scooters, moped-ers, walkers, runners, grocers, and the like. 

That morning I wanted to go and see the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum at some point so I ambled my way over to that area.  I walked I passed a school.  It was gated, painted red and yellow like everything related to government is.  It included the requisite hammer and sickle flags, as well.  The kids were going absolutely nutsoid in the play ground.  No different from the US.  Yelling, shouting, grab-assing, teasing, poking, pinching.  It was quite hilarious, but comforting at the same time because it reminded me that Universals do exist. What was interesting was how the staff calmed the maddening horde down. They used a massive bass drum.  They hit it and the THRUMP and WHOOMP transmitted viscerally through the air like a shock wave, and the kids just settled.  I don’t know for how long because by this time I was beyond the gates and trying to survive crossing the street.  Not long, I'd imagine.

The Ho Chi Minh mausoleum was packed with people coming to pay their respects.  “Uncle Ho” is a national hero. He is venerated aggressively. The mausoleum was a case study at the micro level as to how the bigger picture Vietnam system works.  An overly serious and self-important unified military/ideological authority structure replete with uniforms, crisp marching and saluting, grim faces, robotic physicality, and all the rest of it, as an overarching fantasy scheme pretending to control a ferociously free-market and ultra-dynamic chaotic and lusty commerce below it.

Funny, but on this trip, I’ve noticed my past dorky interests in governance systems, which I thought were in stasis, have kicked back in.  Probably because the US system is so broken, maybe beyond recovery in its current incarnation.  Not recovery from this president. I’m confident that will happen, but recovery of our institutional makeup and functionality generally, and its ability to do demonstrable good for the people. That’s another conversation, though.  Let's just say I’m looking forward to getting to Singapore.

I did a food tour with Ella ("The Enchanting," I called her).  We had 5 people in our group including me, a mother-daughter pair - both doctors, and a newlywed couple from Vancouver, BC who were very polite. It was tremendous.  We spent 2 ½ hours together, walked all over the city, and tried all the highlights: banh mi, fermented noodles with beef, glass noodles with fish, hand-wrapped spring rolls and a savory-piquant dipping sauce, pork stir fry, sweetened rice balls, coconut ice cream.  Superb.  Ella was a wonderful host filling us up with stories of foods and the people who cooked them and she also shared an interesting tidbit.  Seems that when Vietnamese people think of Westerners, Americans specifically, they always mention how much bigger we are. They believe, and I heard this elsewhere, too, that it is because we consume so much dairy.  Milk and cheese is simply not part of the Vietnamese bounty. Hey, it's a theory.

I took a day trip out to Ninh Binh. It was a great outing which included a visit to the Mua Cave and Lotus Garden, a buffet lunch (not the best, but the goat curry was great), a bike ride through  a remote village, a Buddhist temple complex walkabout, and ended with a spectacular two hour boat trip on the waterways of Trang An.  The boat trip was beyond stunning.  King Kong: Skull Island was filmed here! I was lucky enough to be paired up on my boat with a young couple from Sacramento.  He was an MD hospitalist with a Korean/Chinese background and his wife was a Filipina pharmacist.  Delightful people.  He and I talked lots of Vietnam War stuff. They were on a late honeymoon.  The trip was so peaceful and beautiful. Our Captain was a local lady who has done hundreds of these trips. We gently moved across cool calm waters and saw dramatic sentinel mountains all around us, forest temples, wildlife (no giant simians), and transited from lake to lake through no fewer than 5 somewhat claustrophobic rock tunnels, the stalactites of which our oarslady had to navigate around.  It was simply gorgeous. 

When I got to Danang, I breathed.Going from Hanoi to Danang is like going from NYC  to Phoenix.  It was a very clear and distinct change in energy, traffic, chaos, and terrain. 8 million to 1 million in population.  Dramatic.  Danang is a beach city and it has that feel. Salty, sandy, windy, hot, humid, parasailers soaring, Jet-Skis jetting and, weirdly, coracles floating around a couple hundred yards off shore.  Coracles.  That’s not a vessel one sees every day, unless you’re Gollum cruising the Anduin. 

Danang’s local dish is called Mi Quan, which is a savory noodle dish and includes pork, fresh vegetables, crumbled up rice crackers, peanuts, lotsa basic, and all covered with a tasty thick brown gravy.  So fresh. Filling, but not uncomfortably so.  None of the food I had was bloating. But to be honest one afternoon I had a craving for nachos so found a Mexican place that provided. Not bad at all. Kind of heavy. The Margaritas were not wonderful.

I learned that Vietnam has 54 ethnic groups. I had no idea. I also learned that ethnicity means next to nothing in Vietnam.  There isn’t the strife (and ceaseless drama) we experience back in the US around these race and ethnicity. There is a group here which, while going back to the 4thC, still lives on the high mountains here, called the Cham.  This group is so interesting because in a country that is primarily Buddhist, taking its lead from China, these people integrated elements of Hindu and Islamic philosophy into their spiritual lives.  Intriguing.  One of the cultural high points in Danang is the Museum of Cham Sculpture.  Here you can see hundreds of examples of their art and learn about the archaeology around it throughout the country. And more dragons and multiple Ganesha’s too!

I had some great runs in Danang.  I’ve mentioned before that I use my runs to explore new places whenever I go anywhere. This place presented me with three landmarks I really wanted to see.  The Dragon Bridge, The Marble Mountains, and The Lady Buddha. So I incorporated them into my runs.  Dragon Bridge was a nice 7-ish mi loop.  Marble Mountain was a hot 8 mi out and back, and Lady B was a 13.1mi out and back.  I loved them. Marble Mountain was very moving for the history alone.  These mountains reminded me in a way of the Black Cuillin massif on the Isle of Skye.  This huge. Imposing, dramatic structure just plonked right down on super flat land as if dropped there by aliens.  These mountains were home during the war to a Viet Cong hospital and fire base right adjacent to a US helicopter field, which is now blasted and overgrown from disuse, like it was a scene from Fallout. The Viet Cong used to launch rocket attacks from those mountains into the base.  And here I was at their base, buying water from an old woman who could have been the mother of fighters, imagining the daily dramas back then.  Lady Buddha was a great run, most of it along the coast and some on sweltering asphalt.  I got to the statue and saw that it was, in fact, a temple complex with the Giant Lady, yes, but also a temple for quiet worship, a fat happy Buddha statue, and an ice cream and soda concession. And monkeys.  Perfect.  It was a great day out.

Something very surprising and sweet happened at the airport as I was a flying on to Singapore.  Since I was an international traveler, I had to get a hardcopy boarding pass, and the airline needed to check that I still had my Vietnam visa, as well as my authorization to enter Singapore, which was simple, free, and I had done on-line the night before.  The big board told us that the flight was on time and that check-in was to begin 3 hours before flight time. And it gave us the three stations which would be checking us in.   So, I killed a little time and then me and this French guy got in line right at the 3 hour mark.  The attendants, all young professional Vietnamese women in their well-starched blue uniforms, were preparing their stations with luggage stickers, ticket stock, and the like.  Then the time came and the board changed from “Standby” to “Check-in.” 

Well, the three women who would be checking us in all got off of their stools and climbed over the luggage belt.  “What’s happening?,” I asked myself. I thought they were off to take a tea break, and huffed.  But then they stopped right in front of me, Pierre, and the people behind us, lined up three abreast, and…they bowed to us, as one.  They bowed like it was a curtain call in some West End show, I think as if to say, “We are now ready to do our best to take care of you.” It was shocking, and moving, and I’ve never in all my travels seen anything like it.  Wonderful.  So I left Vietnam with a nice surprising glow and a big bowl of beef pho in my belly.  On to Singapore and Malaysia, the final act of this sojourn.

Thanks for reading.