Hanoi Syndrome

Hello from Hanoi! As you can tell from the title of this post, my plans changed a little: instead of heading to China through Laos, I decided to head to Vietnam from Laos, and to China from Vietnam.

Although I cut my time in Laos short, it was due to my being drawn to Vietnam rather than being bored with Laos. Laos is a very special country, and my experience there was what many travelers dream of having at some point on their journey: a chance to get below the surface, to become close with locals, to experience the "real" side of things.

Without a doubt, my time in Laos was made especially unique by the fact that my visit coincided with the Lunar New Year. In Laos (as well as Thailand and Cambodia), New Year celebrations revolve around beer and water, and last for three days (four this year, since the first day landed on a Sunday). In Laos, groups gather along the road, dancing and drinking beer, and tossing buckets of water at people passing by. It’s sweltering in the region, so I was happy to be soaked. Combine huge celebrations with a very warm and welcoming country, and I was in for a good time. On my first night in the southern town of Savanakhet, I went to a big New Year party at a club called “Dinosao” with a Lao friend I made on the bus. The party was complete with loud music, dancing, and the best beer in the region: BeerLao.

The next day the streets were crowded with people celebrating, everyone soaked with water. I rented a bicycle to be able to see some of the city farther from my hotel, but I should have just walked--before long the locals had pulled me off my bike, handed me a glass of beer, and gave me a bucket. I spent the rest of the day sharing beers and throwing water at anyone driving, riding, walking, or running down the street. Anyone except the police, who seem to be feared throughout the country (Laos is strictly controlled by the authorities; the people are forbidden to voice political dissent, and have a curfew (which seems to be loosely enforced during the New Year)). The group I joined for the water-throwing invited me to a snack of chickens' feet, then we were off in the pickup, hauling huge tubs of water in the back that we launched at the crowds we passed. Afterward, as the sun went down, we went to a great restaurant and had huge bowls of noodle soup.

The next day, as the celebrations wound down and the remaining garbage lined the abandoned streets, I arrived in Vientiane, the capital of Laos. The city seemed exhausted following the festivities--some restaurants and shops were open, but for the most part the town seemed a little bit hungover. It was when I began contemplating returning to a coffee shop to sit and read that I realized I should move on, and a though that's been nagging at me since I arrived in Southeast Asia returned: I should go to Vietnam.

I decided it was my obligation to go to Vietnam for a couple reasons: First, I worked with young Vietnamese immigrants and their families four years while in college. Second, as a US citizen and a student of history, I needed to see and experience firsthand the country that so significantly affected the US. So instead of returning to that coffee shop in Vientiane, I went to the Vietnamese Embassy. I got a visa in fifteen minutes, and had booked a flight within the hour. I left that evening for Hanoi.

Hanoi is a rough, tough, resilient place, but I'm very glad I decided to visit. It's difficult to travel alone here, especially as a Westerner. Within my first 24 hours in Hanoi, I was left on the side of a highway when I refused to pay a taxi driver who tried to rip me off, my paid hotel room was given away to someone else, I got in an argument with a receptionist at another hotel who insisted that I give him my passport overnight (I soon found out this is national policy, but they also accept a copy), and, to top it off, my ATM card was confiscated by an ATM machine. The locals were rarely sympathetic--it took me two hours to figure out how to take buses from the highway to a hotel since few people cared I was lost, and even fewer spoke English. But by the end of those first 24 hours, I was still fascinated by Hanoi. I felt like I was experiencing Stockholm Syndrome--even though I was beaten and bruised, I had no urge to leave. I wanted to experience more.

There really is something fascinating about this place; going to museums and seeing photographs of sections of the city levelled by B-52s, passing by huge billboards of a smiling Ho Chi Minh holding a baby (or, much more jolting, seeing an embalmed Ho Chi Minh resting in his mausoleum). I never shy away when people ask me where I'm from. They usually respond with an ambiguous "Oh, America! Very good, very good! Nice country!" And I wonder what complex thoughts and emotions underly those kind words. Fortunately, after spending many hours wandering in and out of restaurants, cafes, shops, and various sites throughout the city, I've met a few Vietnamese people who not only have a firm grasp of English, but who are also willing to answer the many questions I have. They emphasize that while the Vietnamese have mixed feelings toward Americans and the United States, there are few hard feelings still held concerning the "American War." They emphasize that the country has moved on. And the city itself attests to that; Hanoi is a city that is changing, and fast. Nonetheless, I can't help but notice the intense stares I get from the city's older citizens, which I don't notice from anyone else.

If there's one thing I could add to my trip thus far, it would be a visit to southern Vietnam. "The south is so much different from the north," a man from Ho Chi Minh City told me, "not only are we much better about serving visitors, but we also have a much stronger economy." Then, with a smile he said, "You know, we are also much more influenced by America than the north is." I was surprised to hear him say that, especially since I noticed a hint of pride in his voice. I remembered what a man who lives in Vietnam told me during my stay in Cambodia: "If the people in southern Vietnam have hard feelings toward America, it's not because the US was fighting there; it's because the US abandoned them."

For me, being in Vietnam prompts mixed, complex emotions that are very difficult to sort out and reconcile. At points I'm extremely frustrated, feeling like no one in the city cares about my well being. Moments later I have a knot in my throat, having seen images of screaming children running from a bombed, burning building that once stood a few kilometers from where I'm standing. Then later in the day, after following a huge crowd of people to an ice cream shop, I can't wipe the smile off my face. Kids on bicycles say "hello" to me, people are smiling, I overhear a young guy next to me say "Hi" to a girl from Taiwan. "She's so pretty!" he says to me after she walks away.

Today was a bittersweet day, as it was my last full day in Vietnam. Tomorrow morning I'll begin my journey to Guilin, China, by bus.

I was planning on posting photos from Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos in this update, but the electricity went out before I could upload all my photos. As a result, I only have a few from Cambodia:

The temples at Angkor:











A woman who maintains a small worship site inside one of the Angkor temples:



The girl who I mentioned in my last post, who could speak several languages, all learned from tourists. She's holding the letter she wrote me in Spanish (sorry, I would transcribe it, but I don't have it with me right now):



Check back soon for an update from China!