Vietnam

---

Happy New Year everybody! I made it back safe and sound from yet another visit to a Communist country. Actually the biggest difficulty in Vietnam is rather mundane. It sounds bizarre to say this, but the most difficult thing to do in Saigon is cross the street. The rules of the game, learned when we were three years old, just don’t cut it when the roads are filled with motorbikes, bicycles, trucks, cars, scooters, and water buffaloes each going at their own pace and honking their horns for everyone to flee before their imminent arrival. Adding to the confusion, traffic lights are scarce and traffic rules are disobeyed with impunity. It soon became quite clear that whoever attempts to cross the street does so at his or her own risk. In this life or death struggle in which we found ourselves, the oft-repeated manta was drilled into us time and time again. Go slowly and methodically, but do not run. As we quickly learned, the motorbikes and their ilk will never stop for you, but they will swerve left or right to avoid certain collision. More than one vehicle seemed as it were careening right for me only to turn aside at the last moment. When you can cross the street in Saigon without your heartbeat rising significantly, you are ready to call the city home.
Our volunteer program was based in Saigon and Nha Trang, a town checkered with beaches, a couple hundred miles north of our origin city. Wherever we went, hospitals, schools, orphanages, health clinics, we had the opportunity to interact with the Vietnamese people. It was not so much in words because we did not share a common language, but nonetheless there was a profound form of communication. We used gestures and pictures, rifled through our Vietnamese phrase books, pointing to what we wanted to say (pronunciation is quite difficult), and played games and sports with the children. There were many poignant moments, but for me the most was our visit to the leprosy village. Even though most victims of leprosy are treated in time, sufferers are still stigmatized and basically forced to live in villages designed for them and their families. The children at this particular village were the most affectionate I had ever met. I spent a good part of the several hours we had there playing Frisbee with two young boys. One of them, an eight-year-old named Chao held my hand as we walked the half-mile back to the bus from the village. He and another child spent the previous several hours seeking me out and playing Frisbee. Saying goodbye to him at the end was one of the hardest things I have ever done.
There were many surreal moments over the course of the first part of the trip. I celebrated Christmas for the first time with my newfound friends on the beach in a tropical paradise. We set up in our cabins where we were to spend the night and headed off to race each other down the sand dunes, which seemed to stretch off into infinity. The night before, after having wined and dined and received my first Christmas gifts, we took off for the streets of Saigon to join in the raucous celebration, culminating for many in the Midnight Mass. However, for those who had no desire or ambition to make it inside the doors of the Cathedral, they celebrated the occasion by throwing confetti. Unlike the Western custom of throwing it straight into the air, the Vietnamese prefer to throw it at other people, especially us foreign folk. For the better part of an hour, we were the constant “victim” of their jubilation. Except for one of our compatriots who had the misfortune of getting some near her eye, the rest of us relished the moment, and even bought our own in a fun-filled manner of vengeance. When the confetti supply of the locals started to dwindle, we sat down at a outdoor café, sipping sodas and watching the revelers go by, screaming out Merry Christmas.
New Year’s Eve, like Christmas, was also spent on a beach. We had a buffet dinner, many dressed in their newly attained ao dai, or Vietnamese traditional dress, and then we headed for the beach to bring in 2002, twelve hours ahead of Times Square. We lit our sparklers and danced around an enormous bonfire, as we wished each other Happy New Years with hugs and tears. It was the end of the volunteer part of the program, and the next morning would see us go our separate ways. For another couple of hours, we danced and partied, but then it was time to hit the sack. We had to rise 5:00 to begin the informal part of the project, also known as sightseeing. There would be no volunteer activity during this part, but I still an enormous amount about the fascinating country of Vietnam. Tune in next week, same time same place, and I will regale you with my further adventures of Vietnam.

---