The Amazing Eurasian Odyssey
Part 4:Good morning! Vietnam
as told by characters Matthew Garrick and Stephen Williams

The bus toward Ho Chi Minh City was cramped like all the others in Cambodia. A few hours into the drive, we reached the Cambodia/Vietnam border, and despite having an English- speaking guide, we were given absolutely no instructions on what to do at the border. Once inside the control building, one would expect to see a line of people waiting to have their passports stamped. Clearly we were mistaken, as a horde of people merely lingered around the foyer, while others just walked right through without seeing the border agent. Evidently, one can really just do whatever one wants to do here. Maybe we didn't even need to pay for the visas!

Eventually, we figured out the process, passed through, and there we were... Americans in Vietnam.

Though the Vietnam War ended some 30 years ago, the country still retains a kind of mysticism for most Americans. Over three decades ago, a great majority of young Americans in our age bracket entered this country outfitted in combat fatigues and sporting government- issued firearms. Matthew and I also mused that for us to visit Vietnam now will be like our children rolling through backpackerfriendly Baghdad in 30 years.

Just a few hours past the border, we were in old Saigon. As we stepped off the bus, we were greeted by the usual assembly of taxi and motorbike drivers who are vultures for Caucasian travelers. Through the chorus of broken English, one sweet voice rose above them all. The cutest little Vietnamese woman greeted us in near perfect English. About 25 years old and pregnant, she led us to the hostel she managed and put us in a nice room.

Over the course of the next two and a half days, she proved to be a great source of information and humor. I would like to emphasize that these are the kind of hostel owners we liked to see, ones that want you to enjoy your stay rather than just making a quick buck on weary travelers.

The next morning, we were up early to start our respective assignments. I was to head to Sony's Vietnam headquarters to get my camera fixed, and Matthew was off to find some information about trains to the capital city, Hanoi.

I bounced out of the hostel, ready to hire a slicktalking motorbike driver. I bargained with the first guy who approached me and accepted after reaching a reasonable price. As I approached a nearby bike, he said, "No, no... here," and pointed to a bicycle rickshaw on the side of the street.

While the ride was admittedly scenic, it was about 10 times slower than taking a motorcycle. Regardless, I arrived at the Sony building and was told it would be a two- week wait for the part! I said, "There's no way!" I decided I should probably find a new camera somewhere soon.

The traffic here is crazy! Someone said that there are over three million motorbikes in Ho Chi Minh City. Interestingly, crossing the street here may seem like a matter of life and death, but it's really just about keeping one's wits.

Literally, one has to step out into the traffic and walk at a steady pace while making eye contact with oncoming traffic. The drivers are so used to avoiding pedestrians they just go around you with ease.

After I reunited with Matthew, we set off on the first touristy thing of our stay in Vietnam: the Gallery for War Remnants. To its credit, it was much more balanced than we imagined. While it did use weasel words on occasion (picture captions always used words like "hopeless" to describe Americans, while using "brave" and similar descriptions for the Northern liberation forces). Things could have been much worse.

Matthew and I had not discussed the Vietnam War (hereafter referred to as the "American War" as called by the Vietnamese) because honestly, we both felt like we really didn't know anything about it, even though family had been directly involved.

Matthew had one uncle (flew F- 4s), and I had two uncles (one in Pleiku and one in Nha Trang). However, our first real debate began as we reached the exhibit detailing the long- term effects of America's passion for air raids during that period.

First was the Agent Orange dioxin. While it was intended to be used only as a defoliant in order to remove the natural tree cover enjoyed by the North Vietnamese, its long- term implications were evidently unknown at the time. The second was the use of napalm, an incendiary gel that would cling to skin and easily ignite... designed to burn down to the bone.

Carpet bombing with conventional bombs completed this unholy trinity, and the exhibit explained that usually it was innocent civilians who suffered as opposed to military targets.

Matthew and I tried to rationalize it, but we could not. One could say that civilian casualties were unavoidable, given how the North's forces hid among the common people, or one could say that the U.S. was perhaps misguided in its use of chemicals.

Ultimately, we decided it was not for us to gauge the necessity of such means through a moral rating, just as it would be impossible for my parents to truly weigh the merits of unleashing the awesome power of the atom on Hiroshima and Nagasaki to end the WWII.

The museum also had quite an arsenal of abandoned U.S. machinery and artillery. Several types of tanks and planes stood on the grounds, each actually receiving a fresh coat of paint as we watched. Among them were Howitzers, an F- 5A fighter, an M48 Patton tank, and even a UH- 1 "Huey" helicopter.

Before continuing our tour of "must see" stops in Ho Chi Minh City, we made our way to the train station to check on ticket prices for the next leg of our journey to Hanoi.

Through broken English, we were eventually pointed upstairs where there were three unlabeled doors. Evidently one of these was the office for foreigners. The other two, we joked, contained a painful death by tiger mauling or being sucked dry by enormous, venomous spiders (big as a man!), seeking a bitter revenge on humanity for their flash- fried cousins. So, if we were right about the perils beyond the wrong doors, we would have died. Twice.