Chu Chi Tunnels & Mekong Delta, Vietnam

(Oct. 2-9) With our wills being nibbled down daily by the constant requests for us to open up our pocket books by the scooter and rickshaw drivers in Saigon we figured the only way to get some piece of mind was to sign up for some day trips. We caved into the, "if you can't beat'em join'em" slogan. Travel agencies are a dime a dozen in Vietnam, Thailand and Cambodia with nearly every guest house and hotel demonstrating with posters and pictures the sights only they can show you at a "discount" price. We forked out 40 bucks each for a three day tour of the Mekong Delta that included breakfast and lunch, accomodation, transportation and even offered us passage back up to Cambodia.

I'll admit that I was starved for some interaction with other travellers. It's not as easy as I thought to meet people on the road. Sometimes it's taxing to recount what and why we're doing over and over again. Solitude often wins out over repetition. An organized tour would kill quite a few birds with one stone.

Ironically, a substantial amount of tourism revolves around the Vietnam War. Our first day trip took us to the Chu Chi Tunnels where the Chu Chi Guerillas, who were sympathetic to the North, constructed and elaborate system of tunnels for fighting, living and surviving bomb attacks. For over forty years the Chu Chi Guerillas dug the tunnels by hand. To appease Western curiosity in entering the tunnels a section was widened to double the size so our fat foreign bodies could enter without fear of getting stuck. Even at twice the size of the original it was still clastrophobic to crouch down and crawl through the dark dank tunnels. Of the three legs of the tunnel Matt and I opted out at the first exit gasping nervously for air as soon as we reached light. For lack of a better analogy we were both shell shocked when our tour guide told us for a few US dollars we could shoot a round of amunition from a semi-automatic weapon of our choice. The irony of shooting a gun at the very location of a battlefield was not lost on Matt or myself. No matter how many times I heard a gun fired the piercing pop pop pop noise shocked my senses and deafened my ears. The carnival atmosphere of the shooting range clouded my perspective over the ingenuity of the tunnels.

The tour of the Mekong Delta was our way of surrendering to the bad weather. Our hopes of fleeing to an island or a beach was thwarted by a sky that had no intention of easing up it's gushing flow of water. We started off our tour of the delta by visiting a series of islands named after mythical and real creatures sacred to the Vietnamese. There we were paddled on dug out canoes through canals with canopies of palm trees to see traditional coconut candy makers and to sample honey tea to the chorus of village musicians. Tours are organized for two reasons, to get your money and to get more of your money. Conveniently after you've witnessed an artisian widdle his or her craft that very thing along with other trinkets are for sale too. I usually put my camera away in those situations for fear my collusion would require me to pay for their craft.

After a long day of boats and bumping bus rides our group separated into two with our group heading off to a Vietnamese home stay. With the harvest moon overhead and floating candles on the water we glided through the semi-darkness to our bungalows on the Mekong. Yellow and green fire flies sparkled in the bushes adding to the ambiance. Awaiting us was a feast so we gorged liberally, some of us too liberally. Our after dinner entertainment came from our hosts who killed a couple of snakes and boiled a soup in their honor. For the first time we were surrounded by travellers like us who were taking extended time to globe trot. Our table was lively and light hearted and we all enjoyed sharing war stories of travel.

For me the best part of the Mekong Delta tour was on the last day on the slow boat to Cambodia. On board our slow boat the tour organizers secured our visas and exchanged currancies with wads of monies in almost every conceivable bank note. I cease to be surprised at the industries created by tourism. The boat ride hugged the shoreline granting the perfect perspective to get a bird's eye view of life along the banks. The brown waters of the Mekong is everything to people who line it's banks. People fish in it, bath in it and even use it as a toilet. What I loved was the joyous greetings we would receive from the children living in the shanties along the river. I felt like we were on parade.

The Horn, Southeast Asia's Not So Hidden Language

In the US, I am used to the car horn being used in response to another driver's actions... and most people take offense to being honked at: "You honking at me? Well I'm going to honk at you...:" In South East Asia it appears to have a much different usage. The scooter is the primary way of getting around, and there are thousands of scooters on the roads. Not to mention tuk-tuks (a scooter with a carraige attached to the back to carry passengers), bicycle rickshaw drivers (same principle, but just one passenger), cars, tour buses, and mini-vans. The stop-sign and the traffic signal are mere suggestions. Despite all this choas, I have not seen one traffic accident (although I have had to close my eyes several times...). I contribute this largely to the liberal use of the horn. The horn is simply used to alert other drivers that "I am going to pass you." or "Hey, I'm here, don't hit me." or "I am bigger than you and traveling really fast, and if you want to live get out of the way!" Drivers of all types are not offeneded if you use the horn, it simply alerts them to your presence. Now there are some drivers that really want people to know that they are coming through. In a private taxi on the back dirt roads of Cambodia, we would be the only car on the road, and as we would pass, pedestrians, bicycles, scooters, chickens, cows, etc, the horn would be used, sometimes it is really needed (not much room), sometimes, maybe not (plenty of room). One of our drivers seemed to honk routinely every 5 seconds... One of the down sides of the horn, is that on a long trip it can lead to headaches...

Cabin Fever in Cambodia

(Sept. 30-Oct. 2) Cabin fever caused us to flee Cambodia. We literally had no choice. It was that or the looney bin and neither of us looks good in a straight jacket. After two fume filled diesel bus rides down to the beaches in southern Cambodia from Siem Reap we were welcomed there with black clouds and blankets of rain. The rain was compliments of a typhon that battered the coast of Vietnam. Our dreams of lounging on the beach were literally washed away.

What made us go batty was the scooter drivers that posted up in front of our guest house. We were staying literally across the street from the beach and as soon as we would even attempt to leave the guest house we would be bombarded with offers for a ride somewhere. "Uh no thanks, we're off to the beach. It's right across the street in case you haven't noticed," I would mutter the latter part underneath my breath. It was mentally torturous to be so close and yet so near and to have all the other cliches like pouring salt on the wound running through my mind. Alot ran through my mind during those few days we were cooped up.

So bright and early Monday morning, on the back of two over priced scooters, we secured visas from the Vietnamese Consulate and made tracks for the border. Cambodia is like a pie and everyone and I mean everyone gets a piece one way or another. Our scooter drivers were not very pleased that we didn't want them to take us to see their magnificent "waterfall" so they got their cut from the taxi driver they arranged to take us to the border. The border run took four hours and two different taxis. We were accompanied by random passengers that the second taxi picked up along the way. "Ok, sorry?" He would say as they slipped in the co-pilot seat. Our spirits were buoyed by the fact that we had left sad southern Cambodia so to give someone a lift was not a problem. We literally entered Vietnam through the back door driving on dirt roads in a car where the driver sat on the right and tried to pass on the left in rain that came down in mythical proportions.

We felt so good by the time we got to Vietnam we decided to shot the moon and head all the way to Saigon. The taxi driver dropped us off at the border and our only way into a town, where we'd catch a bus to Saigon, was via scooter. Matt played hard ball and got the Taxi Godfather to come down a bit in price. We read that all foreigners get overpriced for transport. It's considered lucky if you only pay double. Whatever we paid the scooter guys to Chau Doc was worth it because the ride into town was death defying. I had to constantly remind myself to stay focused on where I was and what I was doing. May seem strange that you have to tell yourself these things, but concentration is key to surviving a backroad scooter ride. Also, I've learned not to look ahead at on coming traffic. Ignorance is bliss.

Instead of dropping us off at the bus terminal the scooter guys took us to a travel agent. After a good deal of hand wringing and nervous laughter Matt was able to widdle them down to a price we could at least stomach. We had a ticket with seat numbers but that's all we knew about our ride to Saigon. Knowing how long or had bad the road was beforehand may or may not have made a difference to our mental states. Being in the dark both literally and figuratively was better than anticipating the hell we had in store for us. Eight hours later after changing buses, taking a ferry and driving 5 mph over pot holes the size of craters we made it to Saigon. My life only passed in front of me once on the scooter ride as a semi pulled out in front of us at a round-about. Traffic circles are a fraction safer than four way intersections. Vehicles are at least attempting to turn in a traffic circle whereas intersections is just a gauntlet of cars racing to cross through first. Reminds me of the Match Box Race Car tracks where multiple cars loop around a figure eight and eventually they collide at the intersection, only here magically people don't crash. At least not that I've seen with my eyes open.

Saigon was well worth the trip, however I could go a lifetime without ever having to think about the road from Chau Doc again.