One of the assignments students have while in Vietnam is to contribute to the "Composite Journal." As I read my students writings and reflections, I realized that they must be shared, for the students see through such fresh eyes, and in their innocence there is such wisdom. Below are some of the student entries from the beginning of the trip.
Leaving Seattle 3/1/11I left the car and got my luggage out of the trunk. Goodbyes were said, but they felt insubstantial, unreal. Meeting up with the rest of the group, there was a sense of “are we really going to do this?” The general mood was that of a group of bungee jumpers, or perhaps roller coaster patrons. There was a excitement in the air, akin to looking down from the top of the cliff, or up at the mountain. We did not know how things would turn out, but we knew it would be a heck of a ride. Getting through customs was accompanied by a strange sense of alienness. Most of the place looked familiar, but things were, or seemed to be, different. Full-body scans in the checkpoints. A different route to the plane. Little things. Once on the first plane, the hours blurred away. Getting off, finding my way to the next plane, seemed unreal. I caught myself wondering when I would be home, not processing my surroundings. Once aboard the second, I entertained fantasies about the trip being a hoax, that we just flew back to Seattle, and then doctored some photos. The second flight also passed quickly, and before long we were on the ground. The plane emptied, and I left the air- conditioned cabin for the bridge between the plane and the airport. The heat and humidity hit me like a fist. I continued, into the airport proper, and the actual heat level hit me like another fist. Reeling from this one- two, I entered Vietnam.
Arriving 3/2I walked into the Sea-Tac airport thinking the same words that I’m thinking now- I can’t believe this is happening. The thing was, it still hadn’t hit me- the fact that we were going to spend a month in Vietnam. I had been waiting for it to hit me for the last month. We went through security and such and wondered through the airport for about an hour. Finally, the time came to board the plane. We all filed on and waited for take-off. As the plane rumbled to life I grabbed my friend’s hand in excitement. My eyes glued to the window, I watched Seattle grow farther and farther away until it disappeared underneath the clouds.
When we arrived in Korea it seemed strangely familiar. Not that I had been there before or anything, but I guess I expected it to be, well, more foreign. More signs that I couldn’t read. More people that I couldn’t understand. So I waited a bit longer for it to hit me.
My first steps in Vietnam- off of the plane. My first thoughts of Vietnam- I hate humidity. As soon as I stepped off of the plane, it was like stepping into a sauna, for me. I felt dead on my feet, it was around 8 o’clock in the morning for me and I had gotten maybe two hours of sleep. My first view of Vietnam- people. Lots and lots of people, all waiting right outside of the airport. Trying to get to my group once outside was pretty hectic. I became acutely aware of, once pointed out to me by my classmates, that I was one of the very few blonde people there. I climbed aboard the bus and as it started driving I looked out the window. For some reason seeing what was outdoors made me want to smile. It was 11:30 in the night for the Vietnamese people, but there were still plenty of people out and about. Then- there it was. The moment I had been waiting for, for the past month. The cyclos, the people, the signs and restaurants and shops. None of it was American. This is no longer America. I was in Vietnam now, and it felt amazing.
March 2 So many different feelings and words come to mind when I think of Vietnam. In the time it took to travel from Seattle Washington to Seoul, Korea to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, I have started to define those feelings and experience new ones.
When we landed in Ho Chi Minh City, everyone was overwhelmed by the immense wave of heat and humidity. At once I began sweating. I went to the restroom, and discovered a first difference. It was much more efficient then the bathrooms in America. The stalls where skinny and tall versus the wide spacious bathrooms in America. Yes, the smell was not pleasant, but I was impressed by how many stalls fit into the tiny room.
When we walked outside to our bus, we came face to face with hundreds of Vietnamese citizens waiting for their arriving loved ones. Some held signs, others shouted. It sort of made me realize that now I was a racial minority. I had traded shoes with the Vietnamese in America, and I kind of liked it.
When we boarded the bus, the smell hit me first. Very specifically smelled like rice and feet. Although I was extremely tired from the plane rides, the excitement took over and I spent the entire time looking out the window in awe at this country.
My first impression of Vietnam was that it was a very loud, efficient, beautiful, diverse, and full of life. Even though it has only been two nights and a day, I feel as though I have taken the first step into this amazing experience and adventure.
First impressions 3/2When I walked out of the airport in Vietnam the first thing you see is people lots and lots of people. Now one could say that there are always tons of people at an airport but in Vietnam it’s different. The hundreds of people outside the airport weren’t leaving or coming back to Vietnam. Most of them were families all of them waiting for a member of their family which for some reason was coming back to Vietnam. I immediately realized how unique Vietnam is.
As we got onto the bus we were awed by all the Vietnamese things. As we drove through town I was amazed by the motorcycles and the way the swerved through traffic it was almost like there were no rules in Vietnam. I stared at the motorcycles through the bus window. They drove through Vietnam in an elegant chaos, it was amazing. Couldn’t help but stare out of the window when I got to the hotel room, I had finally made it. I was in Vietnam.
War remnants Museum 3/3 The word war is something we use to cover up the cold truth, something to keep the tears in from past memories. The American war was something on its own, not meant to be shoved aside with all the other wars. The horror of the atrocities that we can commit when we face enough fear and pressure is terrifying. Agent Orange is only one of the many examples of what people will go to in war and even in everyday life, to busy thinking about the immediate and not in the long term.
Being from a different generation from the war gives you a much different perspective. It changes things for you and brings out certain feelings and ideas that you may not normally feel. Guilt is one of them and it runs deep with the shock of what happened. In our eyes we are always the good guys but, in reality that is not always true. On the other hand the loser always seems to become the villain when everything is over. With death must come life and a flower has risen from the ashes of the American War.
War Remnants Museum 3/3Even as I write this passage hours after the fact, a sense of horror still lingers in me after visiting the War Remnants Museum. The relatively benign exterior of weapons of war such as helicopters, tanks, and planes do not betray what lies ahead. As the intensity slowly ramps up, you walk through “tiger cages” and accounts of the torture that awaited VC captured by the South. That is only the beginning. Many of the pictures and accounts that followed are too gruesome to mention, but one photo has been forever burned into my mind. An image of a US soldier holding up the mutilated body of a communist hung on the wall with a caption explaining he was killed by a grenade stuck with me. It provokes a profound question. How can a human being treat another one so? The American holds the body of his adversary like a fishing trophy, with no regard to the horror of it. A smile seems to cross his face. How can this happen? People say greed is the root of all evil, but they are wrong. Dehumanization can be spotted as causing many of the world’s ills. How can a person mistreat another so? The easiest way is to make the victim less than human. In the eye of the aggressor, if they are not human, then it is not a big step to torture, mutilate, or even kill them. People try to stop wars, but they treat people unequally. We must be fair for a kinder Earth for the future.
The Mekong Delta 3/4Today we got up early and rode the bus to the Mekong. It felt great to get out on the river, away from the stagnant air of the city. The river was so wide and the current so faint that it seemed like we were on a giant lake. Our boat passed miles of houses that protruded out over the water, their floors resting somewhat haphazardly on large, stripped sticks. All around us were boats, probably twenty feet long, piles of fresh produce, or fish, or houses with people living on them. Some of the people we saw waved as we passed, reinforcing my opinion that the Vietnamese are largely a happy and friendly people. I also saw little children in their yards, eating or doing work, and they waved and shouted “he-llo!” as we passed. As we were walking along the path, a kid about as old as I was, or maybe a little older, who was lying in a hammock in their yard, asked me, “What are you thinking about our country?” No one here seems to dislike Americans for any reason.
After several tea-and-fruit stops, where we saw how rice paper, coconut candy, and popped rice were made, we got into smaller boats, , paddled into an island on a smaller screen. There was little talking for a long time. Maybe it was just the awkward position that discouraged conversation, or the heat, but I think the setting stole the words from our mouths. There was an ancient feel to it, sitting in a long, low boat, sliding quietly through the jungle, wearing traditional Vietnamese style hats. I felt like the scene could have been from ten, fifty, one hundred, five hundred even a thousand years ago. It was peacefully awe inspiring.
Mekong Delta March 4th, 2011Straw hats bob down the sidewalk as Vietnamese ladies shout their wares. All 34 of us loaded the boats, each person nervous to step on. The boat wavered under my feet. I could feel each ripple splash against the boat. I stepped on, and the view was a stunning, even from under the roof. Lillie pad as scattered all over the Delta, hiding the greenish brown infested water. The sun glared down at us, causing us to gulp down our water bottles. By the time we got to the first island the bottles were half empty.
Shock, Fascination, sadness and hopefulness. That’s what I thought the moment I stepped out of out of the Evergreen bubble and into to the world. The first island we went to looked like a torn apart paradise. Each house was made with scrap metal, and a couple planks of wood. As we walked down the dirt road, complete strangers would wave and say, “hello!” and start a conversation. I really wanted to help these people, seeing how hard they work, but how they really know what’s important in life.
The rest of the day blurred by. We ohhed and ahhed at the exotic food and large snakes. Not one thought about the sadness of how poor the conditions were came up. I really learned from these people. They don’t need much money to have a great time, or love life. All you need is a family, friends, and to accept yourself.
Cu Chi Tunnels 3/5/11 200 miles through the red clay, eighteen feet underground, over twenty years. It’s hard to believe that the feat of the Cu Chi tunnels was done during the dark of night with only hand spades and bamboo baskets to carry the dirt out of the tunnels. If American G.I.s had been able to see these tunnels during the war they would have seen the sheer determination of the Viet Cong and their unwillingness to quit. This quote from Catfish and Mandala comes back to me now, “There are only two things worth seeing in Asia. One you can see from space. The other you can’t see when you’re standing on top of it.” It is amazing the quality of work went into Cu Chi and ingenuity in the making the tunnels.
Cu Chi Tunnels Reflection March 5, 2011Nothing
Have I done.
At this time I
Carry the burden
Of those
Who have.
Photographed as
The enemy;
Invited as
A guest.
Why then
Do they
Stare, wide-eyed?
First Impressions of Hoi An – 3.6.11 As I bike down the street, I realize that Ho Chi Minh City didn’t really feel like Vietnam. It was too much of a big city, and not enough of a relaxing place. Now, going to the beach it really feels like Vietnam. I think it’s mostly the lack of noise. Ho Chi Minh City was so loud; I didn’t get to enjoy the peaceful aspect of Vietnam. Now, I can enjoy the feel of Vietnam in a beautiful city with lots to do.
The realization hits me again and again as we keep going. All the time we are going to the beach, and while we’re there. I also realize afterwards at dinner, while I’m watching the lights on the river. I keep thinking, I’m actually in Vietnam, and I believe it. Now, I am in Vietnam.
Hoi Anh first impressions 3/6 It was hard to take in the beauty of the city and beach through the window when the world outside was moving so fast. Used to the hills of Seattle I was unprepared for how flat Hoi An was. It was less busy than Ho Chi Minh but still enough to be fast paced. It wasn’t as much as when we first flew into Vietnam but my senses were on overload and time had slowed down. The architecture looked Chinese influenced. Monster hotels sat next to small one bedroom households. The beach was one out of a postcard when viewed from three hundred yards away, I soon found out it was littered with garbage. The weather was hotter than Ho Chi Minh but there was much less humidity.
When stepped out of the bus it was like a blast of city mixed with farm land and some water buffalo to top it off. Sun beat down on us and was only cooled by the almost constant wind. I made an effort to take pictures of everything I could while still paying attention to my other senses and remembering to look around. The over load was wearing off and I noticed small detail’s, like the woman selling what appeared to be doughnuts and the lack of sunglass vendors swarming us. Here they made us go to them.
Hoi An Orphanage March 7, 2011 After a long day of activity, I had the amazing privilege to visit a nearby orphanage along with most of my classmates. We took a pleasant five minute stroll and were greeted by a man pushing a blue cart overflowing with food. Following Ha’s lead we helped this man push his heavy load into the orphanage. Then we were hustled into a room with a circular table, where each spot had a glass waiting for tea. Then Ha translated for us while we asked the director questions about the orphanage. It really struck me that they only received three hundred and sixty thousand dong per child each month. That’s how much I use in a day or two. Realizing that made me appreciate what I have. I admit and we all should admit to the amount of time I spend wishing that I had more. In the moment, I felt greedy and disgusted at my American lifestyle.
The instant entered the room with disabled infants, 24 set of eyes lit up. Tiny hands beckoned me over. As I got closer I saw that the little one reaching for me was a small 2 year old girl. As I approached her, I realized she could not see because she kept looking passed me with a disconnected look. I placed my hands in front of her. She immediately grasped them and began feeling her way around my palms. It felt like she was searching my soul through was of touch, instead of sight. I held her hands and swung them back and forth, which made her laugh. It amazed me at how a person who daily endures two of the worst things in the world; being disabled, and an orphan, could find happiness in the most simple things, like hand games.
I think we can all learn an important lesson from this girl. Although times get tough, it’s still important to find happiness through great struggle, and appreciate the little things.
Cooking class Cooking was my favorite activity so far. After having a free morning we were taken through the back alleys and side streets of Hoi An to a rickety old boat which took us down the baby barf brown river to a shallow marshy area with a stream flowing through it. After following the stream we eventually got to the cooking class/resort thing. After having a quick lesson on what plants looked like we were off again to the cooking class.
Cooking class was a gigantic collection of tasty failure. The teacher of the class would throw the ingredients together and then in a whirl of knives fire and chopsticks make a dish. Then we would do it. We sucked. The finished dish would be a haphazard concoction, held together by rice paper and hands looking nothing like the meal the chef had prepared. And then we would eat them. Even though they didn’t look pretty they still tasted great. We ate a lot of food that day and the boat ride back was really peaceful.
Farming in Hoi AnGoing farming was an interesting experience. Firstly, because I fell off my bike and strained my wrist ten minutes before the farming, and second due to the slow quality of the work. Nothing was hurried or rushed. I mean, take the lesson. We biked there, got outfitted in farmer garb, and headed into the fields. We got a bunch of interesting herbs pointed out to us, and then arrived at a small rectangle of unplanted land. We dug it, placed some seaweed in it, filled it back up, plowed it, planted it, and watered it. Then, the farmer answered some questions for us, and then we went back to his house and made ourselves some food. We ate it, and then headed home. That slow pace consumed five hours. It is all too easy to imagine the time stretching into days, weeks, months. That kind of simple life evokes a timeless quality to the space, but in an interesting way. In the rubber tree farm we passed on the way back to Saigon, where the trees seemed infinite, you expected fallen leaves to hang in the air, forever drifting. In the farm, you expected to walk outside and be in the midst of the Chinese occupation of Vietnam, or Dien Bien Phu, or the American War. The farm seemed to be everywhere, unchanging through the ages. You could enter the farm in 1968 and meet the same farmer who greets you in 2157. The trees were nowhere, detached from the ages. And then there are the places that seem to move ahead of the times, skyscrapers rising in a village, hospitals in the desert. Vietnam is all of these at once. It is an amalgamation of past history, present development, and future planning.
Connections – 3-9-2011 While going to the lantern making lesson, we had a little time to spare. Our guide decided to go to a school playground. A group of boys were playing soccer in the field and our guide asked the kids if we could join. They let us join, and our game started.
The boys and we barely had a single language in common. We spoke nearly no Vietnamese and they spoke just a little English. Even though we didn’t understand each other with words, we had connections. We understood what to do and when. I understood them well and I had great connections with all of them. A great example of my connections was I scored two goals. They were both off great crosses. I thought that we both had the same objective and the same goal.
That evening, before the bus ride to the airport, Mike and Ha took me out for one last meal. they know how I love to eat "like the locals," so we went to this street of sidewalk seafood restaurants.
