"Crossing the 17th"

Vietnam, a country once divided along this arbitrary and infamous parallel, is still recovering from its tumultuous recent past. But it is doing a remarkably efficient and wide-smiled job at moving on, partly using that troubled past to build a varied and sometimes intense travelling experience - with no shortage of the, now ubiquitous, sweat and hard work on my part. And for me too, my time in Vietnam was divided - shared between wonderful experiences of the culture and history to the less than memorable experience of trying to get from A to B (undoubtedly via C, D, F, G and probably stopping at X as well).

And where better to begin describing Vietnam, than through the motorbike. So central to the functioning of their society, it is the heart of a long and beautiful country, pumping energetic life through its veins and to its people. My first sighting was of a man on a Honda Om, with a Fridge tailing off the back seat pointing in the direction of the traffic - I have had the displeasure of carrying a few fridges in my time and can tell you first hand that the weight of those things makes his feat eye-openingly astonishing. I would like to list all the crazy things I saw on bikes, but might run out of space on this blog - suffice to say that a couple of pigs and a few live chickens are not even a challenge for your average Vietnamese Joe. More than simply a tool, the motorbike is embedded so deeply into society that it forms part of modern Vietnamese philosophy, occurring like the Phoenix beside the new sun every morning. The theory was eloquently and nonchalantly described by our guide while travelling through the DMZ:

"85 million Vietnamese, 85 million bikes, why?" he asked rhetorically and answered quite simply and without expression, "no bike, no girlfriend". Feeling his audience latch on to the theory he continued with more politically correct insight, "two bikes, two girlfriends" and rounded up with my personal favourite, "second hand bike, second hand girlfriend". A joke we thought, but Im sure it goes closer to the truth than we may wish to know - and all that, in a country with the most beautiful women in all of South East Asia.

That's the young generation - free and confident, they live happily in a country of opportunity, where everyone seems to have a shop selling gas, food, toothpaste, bike servicing, internet (without Facebook), laundry services, rooms for rent, etc. The older generation however, harbouring Im sure some vivid and painful visions of the dark side of the 20th century, are more circumspect and formal. They look wise and it is easy to respect them for their humility and stubbornness. From all the people I encountered I was offered only respect, friendliness and joy at sharing some part of their intriguing country with me - a country truly improved by its population.

The most well-known of these intriguing offerings is the history of war in the 20th century - a story told unreservedly and uncensored through a trail of relics and museums - not to mention the visible bomb craters and unexploded ordnance. The Vinh Moc and Cu Chi tunnels for instance give a peek at the determination of the people to overcome the harshest of challenges. Entire communities lived in the tunnels for up to 7 years - life underground continued in the face of terrifying danger brought by the brash and utterly humanless aggressors - including 17 births in the Vinh Moc tunnel system. After just a 100m scraping walk and crawl through the (slightly widened for us fat western tourists) Cu Chi tunnels, you begin to understand the measure of the determination of the people to survive. The museums paint no favours either for the French and US - fittingly so in my opinion. Some of the exhibits at the War Remnants museum had me in complete shock and awe (see my photo page on Vietnam for some examples). It is an unreserved place (including showcasing mangled, unborn foetuses, relics of the debilitating Agent Orange used barbarically by the US Army) meant to show the true horror of war and teach the younger generation that better options exist - a little unlike South Africa in that they acknowledge that understanding all of your past, good or bad, is the first step in moving forward. It's a heavy place, but one littered in lessons and for that I am glad that I had the chance to visit.

Fortunately, Vietnam has more to offer than faded old camouflage uniforms and Zippo lighters. The complete history of the country is as magnificent as it is ancient. This is evident throughout the country in myriad temples, ruins and cultures. The epicentre of this past is the city of Hue and its glamorous if somewhat ruined (thanks again to France and the USA) Citadel - an entertaining place to visit despite the sun and heat! Centred within the Citadel's three moats is the Purple City - modelled on the Forbidden City in Beijing, it housed all the important components of a burgeoning empire. The ancient city of Hue showcases many of the skills of the time, including architecture, art and engineering. More cross-cultural and beautifully preserved architecture is to be found in Hoi An (otherwise known as the place to have your clothes made, apparently) - with Chinese assembly halls and the Japanese Bridge. In all these places I could easily have spent more time discovering, but I can't travel forever (can I??).

Vietnam's long north-south shape accentuates changes as you travel along it. The vibe and culture changes along with its latitude from the unwelcoming bustle of Hanoi, to the phenomenal natural landscape of Halong Bay, to the photogenic Citadel of Hue, to the quaint old town charm of Hoi An, to the unexpected beachside oasis of Nha Trang, to the mad labyrinth of Ho Chi Minh City and finally to the traditional sustenance life along the Mekong Delta, it leaves you with so many images it is difficult to summarise Vietnam. In fact, for me, this was the most rewarding country on my long trip so far.

For all its stories and beauty, Vietnam is still not a country for the faint-hearted. Sure you can fly around, take air-conditioned taxis to the Hilton and eat in fancy restaurants, but we are not all flashpackers (yes, you know who you are!!). A different challenge to say, South America because it is easy to book travel and tours, find your way around, talk in English, etc. Rather, for me, the challenge is embedded in the act of getting around itself. Accommodation is good, food is as flavoured and tasty as anywhere in South East Asia (Mi Xao Bo at a street stall anyone??), beer is sharp and cheap. My memories (or more aptly, my recurring nightmares) all happened on the busses, trains, taxis and vans. Admittedly, from talking with other travellers, it seems I had some of the lesser experiences doing it, but no matter what I tried, both it and I failed. First there was the night bus: who ever thought that a half curved, half enclosed, 4 foot long "seat" would be a good idea on a 13 hour bus ride, along a dusty pothole ridden road (that is, the National Highway #1), overnight in a country with questionable road usage is completely beyond me. Perhaps the train would be better? Of course, it wasn't. With little more than 50cm between my "bed" and the roof, the hard sleeper is almost aptly named. They may as well call it the "impossible to" sleeper and sell it as an adventure travel package. My burgeoning claustrophobia aside, the general shunting to and from places was only ever enjoyable on the back of a motorbike taxi and perhaps I should simply have taken one of those all way down…

So all in all, I had a great, if shorter than planned, time in Vietnam. Thanks to all the people I met and shared it with - both locals and fellow travellers, Susan, Naina, Richard, Sofia, Jane (and Matt, who I bumped into accidentally in no less than 4 different cities!). Thanks to Saigon, Hanoi and Bia Hoi for making the evenings worthwhile. Thanks to the street vendors for leaving their cooked meat outside all day. Thanks to the hostels for providing toilet paper. Thanks to the sellers for never allowing me to be alone for more than 15 seconds. Thanks to the same-same tailors for my new Hugo Boss shirt. Oh, and thanks to the Americans for, well, nothing.