Dead Guy and a Sketchy Deal

Bus to night train to Hanoi to tour office. Ben tries to buy plane ticket. The day is booked, so he buys one for the next day (August 8) and then we head off to see how we can spend his unexpected bonus day in the North Vietnamese Capital. Off to see Ho Chi Minh's body, of course.

As we pulled up on the motorcycle (three of us including a driver), we see the line from blocks away. There's literally no end in sight in either direction. This thing wraps around city blocks for hundreds of yards. I won't tell you my guess on just how long it actually was, because I have no idea. I never saw the end of it.

So as we marvel at the spectacle, a suspicious looking tout (they're all suspicious looking) rolls on up and offers us "the short line" - okay, we think, do we really want to bribe the police/security to allow us, two know-nothing travelers, to jump to the front of the line, and to thus take precedence over the thousands of people waiting here full of hope and faith? Apparently, we do. So we shovel out three dollars and are pawned off to another "guide" who walks us several hundred yards forward along the line, around a few corners, then winks at a guard and lets us through the back gate where there is indeed a "short line." Full of tourists in tour vans.

We take our place in the line with all the other lemmings, and still manage to wait for maybe 45 minutes to get into the masoleum. Before we got within 100 yards of it, we passed our bags through x-ray machines, ben had to get rid of his water bottle, we went through metal detectors, and we checked our cameras. As we arrive at the entrance, two armed guards stand gazing at us, and more stroll around looking for suspicious people. Apparently, we're suspicious people, as between the entrance and the body I'm searched twice, Ben once. Which is better than the guy in front of us who went through the "open your bag" fiasco three times.

Finally, you arrive at the room. THE room, that is. The one where Uncle Ho himself lays perfectly preserved in a cool environment. Lights shine only on his hands and head as he lay in the glass enclosure, with a guard at each corner in the moat-like pit around him. Behind him, on the wall, are two huge red stripes - one with the hammer and cicle, and one with the vietnamese star. The walkway makes a horseshoe around this spectacle.

As you are forcefully pushed through by the several guards lining the path, your jaw is on the floor as you taste the grime left there by the shoes before yours. Everyone has this experience, apparently, as the scene is overcome by a silence that would leave a deaf man in awe. Of course, you're not fully aware of just how quiet it all suddenly became until you are thrust back out into the hot, humid, bustling air that envelops Hanoi.

The whole viewing takes maybe a minute. I can't imagine how long the last person in that line waited to see him. Just to remind those of you who slept through history class (or the 1960's), this is all for the communist revolutionary who told the French to keep their hairy armpits to themselves, and the Americans to go eat Big Macs and leave Indochina alone. This is the man who is on every single Dong bill here. On billboards throughout the country. In the form of statues across the nation. I can't even tell you what the current president's name is, but by now I could probably draw a portrait of Ho "The Enlightened One" from scratch.

This is the cult of personality all those crazy professors were blabbing about. This is a man who convinced a nation that he, and he alone, knew the enlightened secular path toward liberation. And they still believe it.




After the spectacle, we headed to Unkie Ho's house on stilts and took in all the other propaganda we could in the Museum of his name. Then headed to town to get some errands done solo. We met back up (Ben and I) to have some Bia Hoi in the street in the evening, and met a few ex-pats who had very interesting things to say about their time here. It served as a great reminder that not all travelers are to be avoided - and instead that speaking to them can incorporate their experiences into yours. Have I spent a year here? Did I witness the US elections on the very same Bia Hoi corner, where women were crying and people were drinking their sorrows away at the condemnation to 4 more years of the millionaire oil man? No. But they did. And I had the chance to see a little bit of the scene through their eyes.

Had a fantastic eel dinner on the street with Ben. Then, after recovering Ben's camera and passport from where he left them, mindlessly, on the street, had another beer and headed to sleep.

I awoke at 5:30 to go to the bus station, and left Ben with a simple "It's been amazing." "Yup. Maybe I'll see you in Africa." And so the next phase of my trip began. The solo phase.

And it did get off to an amazing start. At the bus station, I was immediately, as expected, surrounded by 9 or so people trying to sell me a bus ticket. --- Just one ticket, that is. For the same bus. Apparently it takes 9 of them. So after getting them to shove their 350,000 Dong price where they knew it belonged, we settled on 100,000 Dong, which I think is much closer to accurate.

I had an hour or so to kill now, so I had some bad soup and coffee, and played the spectacle a bit. Having all the conversations that people gravitate toward me to have - just because I'm white and novel.

Sat next to a very nice guy on the bus, and we talked a lot about whatever we could (not much). I was the only white kid on the bus (and actually the only tourist I saw the entire day other than Ben.) and everyone took an interest in me at some level - whether by staring, yelling from several seats away, grabbing my arms to feel me (it's very odd here - men will even feel your chest and rub your leg hair, just to see what the deal is. In the US you'd get smacked to oblivion for such acts), or starting up a conversation. At lunch, I had a good time. On the bus, I had a good time. At dinner, I had a good time (apparently Pho is only a breakfast food - so when I had it for dinner I got some very strange looks).

Then the crap came flying through the oscillator. Despite the fact that the driver, both of his assistants, the guy sitting next to me, the guys behind me, and a few guys up toward the front all knew that I was to disembark at Hue, none of them seemed to either 1) See fit to tell me we were passing Hue or 2) know where Hue was. The guy next to me, who even had a countdown going to when Hue would arrive, kept saying "no no no. Not yet."

Okay, there's a sign. Clearly says "Hue 10 Km" but it seems to be pointing left. Should I get off. No no no, not yet.

We're in Quay something-or-other, isn't that past Hue? No no no, not yet.....oh, wait. yeah. You missed it.

Well shit.

So I try to get the driver to let me off in some podunk town just because I saw a guest house sign, but he refuses and instead pulls through the toll booth up ahead, and into the longest tunnel in the history of all tunnels ever constructed in the Milky Way Galaxy. Maybe the entire universe, but I haven't seen it all, so I don't know. I mean, this thing is MILES long. If the eisenhower was a fallic symbol, then whoever built this thing must have been castigated.

Finally we get to Danang, maybe an hour or so, maybe a little less, after my request for the guest house. And the place is simply huge. I remember now, Danang is the 4th largest city in Vietnam.

So the motorbike driver says "hotel okay 4 dollars" and I say "4 dollars for Bed, not for bike, right" and he says "yes." I even go through the motions for him. Hands to the cheek, sleep 4$ khong hands to the motor bike handles. Right? Right. Wrong.

So I get ripped off on the motorbike, which takes me to the room which is 8 dollars, then to the next room which is 6 dollars after a hassle - at 2 in the morning. And this place is a gem - cockroaches, a bloodstain on one of the bed sheets, a creaky fan, a rusty pipe to serve as a shower head. A gem...

So I sleep, then decide my plan to go back to Hue is too much to handle today, so I head to the first motorbike driver before even eating, and head to Hoi An 30 km away, where I end up paying the same price anyway, and proceed to be pissed off because everyone in the street is bugging me to buy their stupid book or their stupid postcards or water or a coke or ice cream or what the crap ever I don't want it. Shut up shut up shut up.

But it's amazing what a little kindness from a stranger can do. I walked into the bookshop, and found a woman who genuinely wanted to talk to me, and my thrusters fired up a bit.

Then down the street where I was invited into a home and had a photo album taken from a child and thrust in my hands - "my father died two months ago" she says, with only genuine generosity in her voice. And I look at the pictures of the funeral, while she tries to answer any questions as much as she can. We have a great time, talk for a while, and then I bid my adeu. Not before she invites me to come by her store tonight to talk for a bit. So I'll head there after this (I'm already late). So now I'm set for liftoff.

And then a street vendor who, for a change, isn't really intersted in selling me anything, somehow gets my attention and I sit next to him. He has a genuine peg leg as he lost the real one in the war. I think he fought for the south, but he also said he likes the government here, and all my questions of "For south?" "With Saigon?" "For North?" "Against Saigon?" Were answered with "Yes." But I think he fought for the south.

Now, after this conversation, I'm airborne again.

It is at this point that another guy sits down next to me just to practice his English, then gets up and leaves. Then another guy. To this guy, I mention a purchase that I may be interested in making and ask if he knows anywhere to go. He says he has one sitting not 30 feet away. We go look at it. Good enough for me.

So off to the bank, then to get a beer (on him) with both him and the first guy who sat down as they happen to be friends, and talk of how the first guy can get an American girlfriend. I just told him no one can understand women anywhere on the planet and I have no idea. So after a while I decide these guys are either really genuinely good guys, or they are really good con artists. I'm willing to take the gamble.

So that, my friends, is how I became the owner of a motorcycle. Seems to run fine to me, but who knows what will happen down the road? At least for the time being, it seems I bought my freedom from the slow, crappy busses that don't stop in Hue or anywhere else that catches my eye on the way from the main highway. Tomorrow I begin my journey with a solo trip to My San - ancient ruins nearby. No friggin' guide or rental motorbike necessary...

And don't worry, Mom, I'm buying a helmet tomorrow.

[PS For all you readers who thought what I know you thought when you began to read about the above purchase, I think maybe it's YOU who are on crack, weed, or whatever else. But that does bring me to one final interesting point with which I will leave you. I was flipping through my phrase book earlier and noticed that there is a section on "drugs" The phrases include

-I'm stoned.
-I'm out of it
-This is for personal use.
-I take cocaine occasionally.
-I'm a heroin addict.
-Where can I find clean syringes?
-Do you sell syringes?

So despite the fact that it doesn't have the word "for", at least I can avoid getting aids while I overdose on Heroin.