GOODMORNING, Vietnam!

Well, hello there. We just left China last night and are now two nights away from Japan…my how time flies when this ship sails! China was absolutely amazing, but don’t worry…we’ll get to that.

First things first, location update as of April 9, 2006 at noon local time (13 hours ahead EST):
Latitude: 33 degrees 45.4 minutes N
Longitude: 124 degrees 43.8 minutes E
Average Speed: 19.6 knots
Distance to Kobe, Japan: 657 NM
Sea Depth: 81m 265ft
Sea Temp: 9 C 48 F (quite the change from when we got to Hong Kong!)
Air Temp: 12 C 53.6 F
Swell Height: 3.5-5m 11-15ft
Winds are blow hard at 28 knots coming from the SSE. Rough seas with overcast; showers with moderate visibility. They blew the horn three times from the bridge today.

Location update as of April 10, 2006 at noon local time (14 hours ahead of EST):
Latitude: 31 degrees 27.5 minutes N
Longitude: 131 degrees 52.5 minutes E
Average Speed: 18.3 knots
Distance to Kobe: 236 NM
Sea Depth: 949 m 3112 ft
Sea Temp: 21 C 69.8 F
Air Temp: 20 C 68 F
Swell Height: 5-6 m 15-18 ft
Strong winds from the SSE at 32 knots. Very rough seas overcast, showers, and moderate visibility. Definitely the rockiest the ship has been in a while, it feels good to be rockin and rollin again.

Now its time for ‘Nam Talk. And what a talk it will be. Of course there is so much that you are missing in the time that we spend at sea in-route to these new countries, but I don’t have time anymore to write all that shit. Which is horribly unfortunate, but I think the meat comes from the countries we visit and not necessarily the fluffy fun stuff at sea.

As you know, my parents and Betty flew cross country, traversed the Pacific and into Thailand they flew for three days before heading to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), to meet ME!!! Our ship made it way up the Saigon River and we were in port around 0900 or so. It was amazing how our ship, the massive vessel that it is, was able to zip about up the river with such ease, making 90 degrees turns and navigating that narrow waterway. We dock and I had no idea how I was going to be meeting up with my parents. Frankly, I was ecstatic about them being there at first, so I wasn’t one of the kids hanging off the side of the boat screaming to their parents. Of course that surprised and bothered my mother. It was funny though, I was about to get binoculars to try and find them (though the binoculars would not of been needed at all, it would of just been funny), but by the time I did so, there was an announcement made saying that the parents would be coming on board shortly and that we could meet in the union. Well, I was walking through Purser’s circle and saw some parents come on board so I ran outside to see where mine were and they were just going through security. I screamed to Tina, the head security officer, “Hey, don’t let them on board!” Well, I ran back inside and there they were. Mom jumped into my arms and people laughed and cheered around us considering the place we met on the ship was packed with people. I embraced Daddio to the fullest and what a reunion it was. It also brought great joy to be greeted by my wonderful and dear-hearted city-friend, Betty.

Ok so I’ll admit it. Once I saw them, it was really, really, really exciting and felt great after not having seen them in months! We toured the ship and they met all sorts of crazy people - from professors to Resident Directors, and my great roommate to good friends. It was a chaotic rendezvous. In touring, I sort of went through my daily life aboard, while at sea and in port.

We debarked together and off we went into Saigon. They had arrived the evening earlier, had a nice dinner and then anxiously awaited the ship’s arrival. Their hotel room had a perfect view of the ship so that helped quell the nerves. We took the shuttle into the heart of downtown District 1 and began exploring Saigon. It was like nothing I could have imagined, and I’m sure it was the same for the three them. What stuns you as soon as you step foot into the city it the number of motorbikes, or scooters as they call them. There are 50 million people in Vietnam, about 9 million in Saigon; there are 3 million scooters. Ten years ago each scooter had 9 square meters to drive in, now they have 3 square meters. There were times when you would see families of 5 on one scooter! It’s all you saw in the road. There are no driving rules really, and crossing the street is flirting with death. There is an art form to doing so. You walk slow and go when there is a break in the traffic, magically when you do cross, it’s like you are parting the Red sea because all the bikes just swerve around you and your fine. Mom and Betty had a different situation when someone on a regular pedal bike escorted them around a rotary as their shield and guide, they were wonderfully thankful considering they would have been moped pancakes had they not had this wonderful escort.

We perused streets and poked in and out of shops, breathing in the polluted air and taking in this modern city. We finally made our way to the market. A warehouse of sorts, sweltering in temperature and nauseatingly scented with the smell of meats, dried fish and other Vietnamese delights that could make the western stomach turn. Like most markets, it was incredibly overwhelming. Something that added to the excitement of the market was the currency and its exchange rate: 1USD to 15,000 Dong. You quickly learn how to convert big numbers in your head, 75,000D is 5USD, and 150,000D is 10USD and so on. Of course the best part about these markets is the bargaining. What I have learned from all the ports I’ve visited with bargaining markets is that the more dramatic you are, the better the price you will get. Also, you must, and I emphasize must be willing to walk away if they do not give you the price. You’ll learn that this is probably your best tactic considering more often than not you get called back and end up paying the price you want to. But the fun is in the calculator exchange; back and forth with the calculator cutting the price by 2/3 right off the top at first and slowly inching your way up from there. You should never, never pay more than half of the price they started at. It’s the dumbasses that don’t bargain that end up making vendors more stubborn to dropping the price because they know some idiot will come along and settle for their initial outrageous price.

Of course it was only our first day at the market and most times like me, my mother wanted to buy everything, but the good thing was she had to stay a bit reserved because dad was with us. Plus the heat was adding to the frustration of shopping. At one point mom was trying on shoes, and the great thing is they want to please you, so they bring over little stools to sit on and one of them stands there and fans you (which is a HUGE help, you can’t imagine, it really cools you down) while you pick and choose and try, try, try on shoes. Of course the funny thing is, Westerner’s feet and about twenty-five times the size of a Southeastern Asian’s so most times mom and I were laughed at when we would try to find shoes. Of course, Mom did end up finding some gems. But it was funny, at one point this woman and her infant child selling fans came up to Mom and tries selling her a fan. Mom had no desire to buy the fan but when the mother of the child basically threw her kid into mom’s arms, she just had to buy. The funny thing was, as soon as mom had the kid in her arms, the mother bolted! Dad and I thought for sure that the mother ditched the kid to the gullible American who of course would of taken the kid home in the extra suitcase in a second, but at the same time would have to buy another suitcase to hold all the new purchased goods.

We went back to their hotel for lunch and for me to check out their accommodations – top fucking notch. I was not surprised at all of course because when you travel with Semester at Sea, nothing is overlooked and you stay at the very best of the very, very best. The Renaissance Hotel in Saigon was really impressive. It was right on Riverside Road and was just up the river from the ship, with a perfect view from their window. We dropped off our bags, had a bite and then it was back to shopping. I had wanted to find a tailor to have a suit made amongst other things, so that was our next mission. We bumped into many an SAS folk on the street and I asked several of them if they had found a tailor. Luckily a friend of mine, John, had business cards from the tailor he went to on Dong Khoi Street, which was not far from where the hotel was at all.

I bought an Esquire magazine on the way to the tailor for some quick influence because I had forgot to do so in other countries, though it was hard to even find or see stuff like that in other countries. I got some quick influence and also looked at the many books of styles they had in the shop. I went in thinking I knew exactly what I wanted, for the most part anyway. But of course what I realized is that when you are getting clothes that are made from scratch, you have so many more options!!! Pleats? Cuffs? Pockets? Hem Length? Buttons? The Fit, the fabric…EVERYTHING! I was overwhelmed. I choose a fabric for my suit, a subtle charcoal with a pin stripe. Of course then I started looking through the magazine and started coming up with a few other ideas. There was a picture of a guy in a long trench coat that was used as an outdoors sort of rain coat. Well, there was a fabric in the store that I wanted for something, I just didn’t know what. Well, that was it. Instead of having it made as an outdoor coat, I was going to have them make it as a long dress coat. A cream colored fabric with a stitched black pinstripe – a perfect eye catcher with black pants and shirt, with a solid colored tie. My thought was evening cocktails at the Metropolitan when I get back in the city. It goes down to just above mid-calf and is the fit of a dream. When I went back for my first fitting, I added on a few pairs of linen pants to the order. And when I tried on the suit, of course it wasn’t done yet, there was a sleeve missing and there were chalk marks all over, but when I put it on, when I put my leg into the pants and pulled them up over my waist, fastened the button I could feel that they were actually made to fit me! As I put my arm into the jacket and buttoned it around me, I once again could feel that it was made to fit my body - my shoulders, my waist, my legs, arms and torso. What a great feeling it was. Of course by this time, you could see that my mother was also brewing something in that fashionable mind of hers. She started walking down to street while I was finishing up with the initial order. She too found a tailor a few doors down and we came up with the perfect outfit. I had to draw it out for the ladies at the shop to understand, but it came out exactly how she wanted it. It once again amazed me that language is not a barrier when it comes to communication. I learned that even more in China where they spoke the least amount of English out of any country we’ve visited, including Vietnam.

After the excitement of our tailors, they went back to the hotel and me back to the ship so I could round up some friends and we could all head to dinner with the rents. Luckily all the good, close friends were back at the ship and of course they were more than happy to join us for dinner. There was five of us, myself, YuYu, Margaux, Amanda, and Chad. We headed to the hotel and waited in the lobby for Mom, Dad and Betty to join us. Of course since they said we had a few minutes, we decided to order a cocktail and enjoy the sounds of the piano, violin and bass player while we sipped on our drinks. Betty joined us just in time and enjoyed a cocktail with us. Mom was the last one down of course because she had to change three times because of her weird sunburn – the disguise of clothing.

Dad had called the concierge and asked them to make reservations for us at one of the best restaurants in Vietnam. Well, they did not let us down. The recommendation from the ship was a place called The Lemon Grass; luckily they had no room for us so they made us reservations a place called The Mandarin. We showed up and it was sort of an unimpressive façade, it was tucked in around several other small buildings and restaurants on a little side street, about a five-minute cab ride from the hotel. Well, we walked in and were stunned. There again, like the hotel, was a pianist, violinist, and cellist serenading the dining ones. Our table wasn’t ready because we had one more to the group now, so we were sent into the side waiting room where there were beautiful chairs, flowers and low tables. We ordered a drink. There was a plethora to pick from. Our table was ready in a matter of minutes and off we went to the dining room.

Since there was seven of us, they tried to get us all to get the prefix menu, but it had lots of meat and Margaux and I are both veges, and Chad and Betty weren’t too hungry so we asked for regular menus. I was overwhelmed by all the choices. I picked out like ten things and narrowed it down to two. When I ordered my food though, I thought the waiter said to me after ordering two items, “Not enough.” So I ordered two more items. I ended up with the Vegetarian Spring Rolls (toooooo die for!), Sautéed Tofu, Mixed Vegetables and Fried Noodles with Vegetables. WHAT A MEAL IT WAS. Of course it was more than I would of ordered in an American restaurant, and more than I would of liked to have eaten, but I just couldn’t not finish the meal!!! It was amazing. Different flavors and cooked to perfection. Now, Mom and Dad and Amanda and YuYu ordered the prefix meal. It was for two people and was like 5 or 6 courses. They didn’t realize that until they just started bring more and more and more and more and more food! The best part about everyone’s dishes was that they came with some of the most amazing garnishes I’ve ever seen in my life. Most of them made from carrots, which must have been the size of a goddamn baseball bat, I kid you not. My first dish came with a rooster, Betty’s spring rolls came with a Temple, Margaux got a Tricycle and Cart and the prefix meals were even more impressive. A bouquet of flowers made from lemongrass with the rich shaped into a big flower. The entire body of the lobster garnishing the food underneath it, simply there for the show made the dish all the better. Not only was the food fucking fabulous, but also the presentation was top notch. Even at the best of the best restaurants, you don’t see garnish like that in the States. It was an art from; a flawless one that was a constant site for the eyes and brought huge laughs, cheers and smiles each time a new dish came.

Six courses later…and many a drink later came dessert. It was a margarita glass in a dish of dry ice (so there was fog pouring out the bottom of it, overflowing onto the table creating a stunning theatrical effect), in the glass were lyches (lie-cheese) stuffed with lotus pod seeds in a sugary sauce with ice keeping it cold. It was a different taste, not to sweet, certainly not a dessert you would see on just any menu. After being absolutely stuffed to the max, and sharing all sorts of stories about past months and travels, we jumped back into two taxis and headed back to the hotel. The kids of course had plans to continue on with the evening, all of us expecting the adults to retire to their suites. To our great surprise however, Big Bob decided to join us in our adventures to the club! It was so exciting, everyone, including myself was absolutely ecstatic.

Of course we had heard before leaving the ship where everyone was going for the night, a place called The Apocalypse. It was within walking distance from the hotel; just on the other side of the three land rotary that lie in front of the hotel. We managed to make it across that and find our way to the club. We got to the front of the place and to no surprise of ours it was inundated with Semester at Sea drunkards already. It was a laugh though. Dad wanted to go back to the hotel, but we convinced him to have few drinks with us, we really had to twist his arm (please note: thick sarcasm). Into the club we went and it was quite crazy. When we first went in, Dad’s first comment was, “Jeffrey, it’s like a bunch of sailors getting off the ship in a new port from the Navy!” I screamed, “That’s what we are!!!” People everywhere, of all ages really, though most of the older folk seemed a bit creepy. But there were some mid-aged local couples that seemed to be enjoying themselves. We found the bar and ordered some drinks. We enjoyed the beers and then some of the girls that came to dinner with us wanted to buy Dad a shot. Again, we really had his arm in knots before he said yes, but surely we got him to agree. We toasted to ‘Nam and snapped a few shots and downed away. Dad stayed a bit longer and then headed back to the hotel for the night. It was absolutely great while he was there. Several of my friends were thrilled to meet him and some thought he was this creepy guy just hanging around us. My friend Eric even came up to me started talking and then my Dad chimed in, Eric gave him this ridiculous look and then looked at me, and I was like, “Eric, meet my Dad.” It was hysterical; he thought it was some old guy just trying to fit in! It was great.

After Dad left a few of us decided we wanted to try another place. Margaux and I literally ran outside and the two of us jumped on the back of a scooter and told the driver to take us to a bar, any bar. We didn’t care about the bar; it was more the fun of the scooter ride. Of course, Amanda and YuYu had plans to follow, but their driver had other plans for them. Needless to say, we didn’t end up at the same bar. We videoed the ride and laughed like hell the entire time. We ended up at the Blue Gecko, an Australian bar with an hysterical list of drinks, beers and shots. Most of the time, initially, server’s thought we were from Australia and would offer us Foster’s to start, and then go on and list a few other Aussie Beers (XXX, etc.). They quickly learned that the massive amount of white people just in town were from America, not the A-land down under. We had a few drinks there and went back out where our driver was happily waiting to take us back to Apocalypse. Off we went, of course even less stable than the last time we were on and headed back to the club. We were there for a while longer and more people came and went, more drinks were had and fun time-shared. We magically made it back to the ship only to pass out and wake up the next morning at like 0630 to meet up with the parents on the trip to the CuChi (coochie) tunnels.

Another great thing about Vietnam is you get to say things like, Dong and CuChi (coochie), and people took you seriously!

It was a three-hour bus ride to where we were going, thankfully because I certainly needed to extra sleep. Our first stop was an interesting temple, like none I had been to in any other country. It was a temple that houses a religion that was a mix of three. Clearly a very open type of religion because if was Buddhist, Taoist, and Catholic…all in one. To me that sounds more like a horror house than a temple, but it was quite beautiful. Very open inside with massive, massive columns brightly colored in pink, red, blue and yellow. The columns had dragons and vines going up them all painted in the bright colors. There was a mass going on while we visited, thankfully there was a walkway above and around the interior. We looked down on a white marble floor in the center with a boarder of printed tiles. Men and women filed in, mostly in white robes but the select few were either in a red, blue or yellow robe. This signified which religion they were: Catholic, Buddhist, or Taoist. Blue robes were for Taoist, Yellow for Buddhist, and Red was for Catholic. The white robes were for the religion as a whole, the mix of the three if you will. I wondered as I watched them pray, what do they take from each religion. Perhaps the concentration of a Buddhist, the caring (?) of a Catholic, and level mindset of a Taoist. Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a religion that took the best from each of the beliefs of the world and found a way to bring religions together as opposed to further stretching the divide between them? Just a thought.

From the temple we drove about 15 minutes and went for lunch. Everyone was wondering where we would be eating considering all there was around us were villages, roadside “diners,” and farms. Well, we drove for a bit and then came upon this village where there was a HUGE building and in it was a nice restaurant, clearly only there for the tourist that regularly pass through the region. The good thing was that it could employ local people from the village it was in. There were also little local outlets you walked past as you walked into the restaurant. After our meal we got back on the bus. I decided to chance my luck by sitting in the raised back section. There were about 6 children that were running up and down the bus waving “bye” to us. We didn’t take off right away and thankfully, my seat had a window that slid open. I opened and began talking to the girls and boys below. One girl, about 4 years old, went over and picked a flower/weed and reached up as far as she could with the biggest smile she could give and handed it to me. I was hanging half way out the bus just trying to reach down to her. Of course then all the kids ran over with these in their hands, throwing them into my window. We were all laughing and having a good time, they were posing for my camera. I would take a picture of them and then show them the picture; they would all laugh and beg to take another one, of course not speaking any English. Finally, Dad was like, “Jeffrey, give them a dollar.” So I took the dollar and reached out the window hoping to give it to the little girl but of course her older, and much taller sister jumped up and snatched the bill from my hand. Well, didn’t that cause some animosity among the group of youngins. Another girl walked up to me and put her hand up with a big smile, when I didn’t give her what she wanted, her face turned to an angry frown and she pouted and walked off. They chased around the girl with the dollar and then came back to me for some more entertainment. As the bus drove off they waved, screamed bye and chased us.

As far as driving through rural Vietnam, it was still not what I expected. Yes of course there were rice paddies and people wading through them up to their neck in water, but it was still not what I pictured. Though then again, no country has been and no country ever will be what ones hopes, dreams or wishes it would be. There is always going to be the unexpected, the surprise that blows your mind. The road was paved, for the most part. At one point, dad was sitting at the very back of the bus and we went over this huge bump and he slammed his head on the ceiling. I woke up to him and the others in the back seat laughing and rubbing their heads. Naturally, there were your cows and goats roaming the streets. Looking out into the fields there were Water Buffalo that looked as if they had been spray-painted gray, but it was the dried mud that gave them a stony glow. We passed a rubber plantation. This was an impressive site because there were hundreds of trees and they were all lined up in perfect rows. No matter which way you looked, from the front, side, or on an angle, they were in perfectly straight lines. Something interesting about those trees, one cannot harvest the rubber from them for at least 7 years from the time they were planted. The French brought the rubber trees over after they realized the similar climates from some of their other colonies in Africa. During the War in Vietnam, the US had to pay for all the rubber crops they destroyed while dropping chemicals (mostly Agent Orange) that cleared forests and stripped anything even resembling life away.

This talk of the War leads us right into our next stop for the day: The CuChi Tunnels. This system of tunnels, more than 200 miles long, is clearly part of the reason the US was not fully successful during the War with Northern Vietnam. The tunnels started being constructed after 1945 and started being used during the Franco-Vietnamese War (War with the French). Though there were not nearly as many by the time that war was fought, it was the beginning of a system that would allow Vietcong people to fight with secrecy and defiance. The tunnels were dug with a simple pick ax, and both men and women took part in the building process. The intricate system of paths leads you all over southern Vietnam, as far west as the Cambodian boarder. There were three layers to the tunnels. The top layer, closest to the surface was where the kitchens, bedrooms, armory storage and making facilities were. The second was a series of paths connecting these rooms to each other with crawl-able tunnels and staircases that lead you deeper and deeper into the earth. Below the second was yet another layer of tunnels in which you would use if you were being chased because there were traps that could be set as you went deeper and deeper down. The ventilation system was minimal and not that effective, so tunnel passage was done as quickly as possible. Though, if you needed to, one could survive underground for up to a month.

In the kitchen there were stoves and tables, place to eat and drink and use the bathroom. They went to the bathroom in the bullet boxes left behind by the Americans. As far as cooking on the stoves goes, behind each stove was a channel for the smoke to go. As it filled the next channel, it was lead to another one slightly above it, as that one filled, it went into yet another channel above that one and from there it was at the surface. By the time the smoke reached the air, it was so faint and light, it was hard to notice even from ground level, let alone flying above in a plane. Now you might be wondering about the size of these tunnels. Well, let me tell you, first off they made the actual tunnels bigger for tourist – specifically those with larger bodies from the Western part of the world. Even with the tunnels being enlarged, when Mom, Dad and I went through them, you will still completely hunched down, using your hands with your knees bent to the fullest. The width was about a meter, narrower in some parts, and the height was maybe a bit more than that. There were faint yellow flickering lights in the tunnels now, and most of us brought flashlights. I preferred to keep the light off to set the mood a bit more. Just imagine for a second you are being attacked from above; you luckily made it into one of the entrances that disguises from where you entered; bombs dropping overhead, no light, a gun on in your arms with your bag on your back. Sweat pouring down your face as you crawl as fast as you can through these 100 plus degree tunnels. Not knowing if it is going to collapse in front of you or on top of you. The original size of these tunnels was half of what they are now. You could only crawl on your stomach, there was no squatting. And you had to be able to move at incredible speeds, sometimes with some chasing you from behind. Corners in front of you with dirt in you face, sweat pouring down and your life flashing before you.

Most people would think that since these tunnels and chambers were underground that they would be cooler, naturally air-conditioned if you will. But it was quite the contrary. Maybe they were cool if you were the first one down them in the morning, but remember that ventilation system, that bad, if not pointless ventilation system. Well, as soon as there were a few people in there, with their breath and hot body running around, up went that temperature, and out went all of your hydration. In 25 meters that Mom and Dad crawled through, they were sweating of course when they got into the tunnels because of the heat, but by the time they were done with the 25m, they were a bit sweatier. I continued on another 75 meters, completing the 100 m crawl. The further you went the more it changed, very narrow at parts, with niches and alcoves as you moved on. By the time I was done, I was truly soaked. Maybe it was because I started to rush and breathe more towards the end because I was getting a bit nervous in that little tiny tunnel for the time I had been in there.

We walked above ground, no the landscape feeling a bit more like Vietnam, with jungle like trees all around us, birds screaming and bugs flying about. Of course there were beaten paths, but 30 years ago there were none, and I’m sure the forest was much thicker as well. Of course the sound of AK’s and Machine Guns only added to the ambiance. Yes, that’s right, the sounds of war all around you. A firing range was there with AK-47s, Machine Guns and of course the name of the other gun is escaping me right now, yes, go-ahead laugh, laugh away. Anyway, Dad shot off both guns. The AK and the one whose name is escaping me, he bought five shots from each. He hit the target with one bullet from each. Of course after each shot you had to regroup yourself and find your ears that tucked inside your head like a cold penis or a turtle, which ever gives you the better picture. From there it was back through the woods and back onto the bus for the hour and a half back to Saigon.

Once we got back, mom and I went out to run to a few stores and find some new things. It was great. We had to go back to the hotel, to meet Dad for dinner. But I was lucky enough to convince Mom to jump on the back of a scooter with me. I’ve got pictures and a video of the whole thing! The funny part about it was the guy who took us was clearly not a regular scooter driver. He just happened to be there when we wanted a scooter, and I’m sure he was more than happy to make a buck. He wanted me to get behind him and then mom on the back, but I knew that I had to be the one on the back. So, on mom got, in her skirt and all, wrapped her arms around the driver and I jumped on and off we went. As we drove off, all the people he was ‘hanging’ out with laughed like hell as a 40+ year old woman and her son climbed on the back of his moped. The pictures are great. They are so much fun to ride on, and the driver did an especially good job of driving slower than the norm and not giving mom a heart attack.

We decided to chance out luck and walk down the block to find a restaurant. We walked down three blocks from the hotel passing all kinds of places to chow down, French Cuisine, and lots of Vietnamese. Thankfully, we kept on walking and stumbled upon a place called Santa Lucia. Dad checked out the menu and said lets go for it. They had streak and a full menu of Italian dishes. We sat down, drooled over the delicisous dishes offered, especially since it wasn’t of Eastern decent, and made our decisions. Of course we were thrilled to order Brushetta, the three of ours favorite. And it certianlty lived up to par, heavely. Perfectly toasted break with finely diced tomates, hints of basil, olive oil, and garlic, garlic, garlic. They also brought over a plate of different types of anti-pasto. Tomatoes, beets, baked bread type items, veggies with dip, and a delicious roasted eggplant that was to die for. Mom and Dad both ordered steaks, and I got a homemade Spinach Ravioli with ricotta filling in a cheesy cream sauce with fresh chunk tomatoes that I asked for. When they brought over our food, Dad had asked for his steak Medium-Rare and Mom Medium-Well. HA. Dad’s was basically black and blue and Mom’s was partially still mooing. They took them back and threw them on a bit longer, and no complaints. Delicious, absolutely delicious meal. Of course dessert was just as wonderful. Dad got a Chocolate Mouse, Mom a White Chocolate Coffee Mouse, and I got an Espresso with Vanilla Gelato. Not to mention the great wine we had.

I headed back to the ship and randomly met up with a few people at the port side shop/bar, not even a block from the ship. It was some good, relaxing fun.

The next day Mom, Dad, and I had to ourselves. As I’m sure you can imagine, we did some shopping after breakfast, and then some more shopping after lunch, and so on and so on. Later in the afternoon, we were a bit tired, and Mom and I were itching to relax our bodies. We went up to the pool for a bit, checked out the view from the top and checked out the services offered for the body at the hotel. There was nothing really, just dry massages. So we called the Concierge for recommendations as to where to get some good treatments for the body and soul. There was one right across the street, but we were more attracted to one of the brochures they gave us. It was called La Masion du L’Apothicaurie (sp). It was a French Spa with some of the best treatments we’d ever seen. We went to the one closest to the hotel, but they were booked. Luckily their sister shop, a few miles away, had openings for what we wanted to do. We couldn’t get in for another hour or so, so we decided to grab our map and walk there. It was a nice walk, through parks and regions unseen to the foreigner’s eye, past schools and shops, restaurants and residencies. After darting into street and dodging mopeds, we found the spa. It was off the beaten path if you will, we had to walk down a wide stone pathway with big stones for you to walk on, and trees making an archway above our heads. We arrived at the building, which must have been an old residence. A pool, beautiful entry way and wonderful, warm greeting by the employees made our arrival all the better. Open architecture, arched pathways, and gardens of beauty made our quick stay at this spa even greater. When we told them we walked from their other shop, they were all stunned that we had walked. They brought us water immediately and were quick to give us some tea as well. They then presented us with this menu of mixed drinks; non-alcoholic of course, they were immune boosting, skin enhancing, and antioxidant-blended beverages.

We had a personal skin session to determine what type of skin we had and what facial treatment would be best suitable for us. Well, we both ended up getting diagnosed as having the same type of skin; dehydrated, and sun kissed. Mine was of course oily as well. We both ended up with the same facial as well. We ordered massages and manicures and pedicures as well. We were led up to the mani/pedi room, which was nothing like a room you’d find at a spa or shop at home. We sat in suede chairs that were very comfortable, but they didn’t have any massagers or anything of the sort. After the hand and foot work, I was whisked to the massage/facial room where my body completely melted. An amazing back massage where at one point, the masseuse was on the table working my back. I choose the energizing oils that stimulated blood flow and the scent was wonderful. Next up, my facial. It was like a 12-step facial. I had feelings in my face that I had never felt before. I had never had a facial before, but mom said it was the best she had ever had – by far.

To no surprise of ours, we were running late and in a rush to get back and meet Dad who had been waiting for quite some time outside the tailor that mom was going her fitting at. We jumped in a cab and headed over there to meet Dad and have mom try on her outfit. Flawless fit it was. I headed back to the ship to see if I still had any friends left to go out with. Luckily, I did. We all decided to head out and ended up at a place that was filled with foreigners. It was interesting really, meeting people from England and Australia, Germany and even the US. It wasn’t all that exciting and the drinks were too expensive for Vietnam, so I made it an early night believe it or not.

The following morning, I met up with Mom and Dad for breakfast at the hotel. We had a service visit trip that we were going on in the afternoon and decided we were going to spend the morning at the War Remnants Museum. What an eye-opener this was. Now, as I write this, I don’t want you to think I hold hostility or any sort of hatred toward the people and the government of Vietnam. After all, the government in power now was the insurgency fighting off Americans during our tenure in Vietnam. And as we know damn well, those who will wars get to write the history. Though that’s not to say they were writing history, more just portraying the history from a different angle. When you walked into the complex you were surrounded by leftover American military equipment. Three plans, two choppers, a few tanks, several large artillery machines, bulldozers, and rocket launchers greeted you. There were write-ups at each piece of equipment, explaining the use, how many were in Vietnam, and the destruction or massacre they were responsible for. As you walked into the building in front of you, to the left were colorful pieces of artwork done by students from cities all over Vietnam. Frankly, my presumption is that most of them were done in the north because of what they portrayed. It was all paintings and drawing of “emotions” and “feelings” of the “aftermath” of war. The ages of the artists ranged from 4-16 years old. They all carried a common theme; most of them had lovely white doves and a globe, very brightly colored paintings, with children of the world holding hands with smiles on their faces. To me, it seemed scripted. All of the titles were similar, if not the same. It seemed like a group project where everyone was told what he or she were to put in their picture, and as long as they did that, they could add anything else they wanted too.

As you walked around this vast open room, there were pieces of sculpture, but it was mostly the photography and descriptions on the walls that captured the eye. I want to make it clear that I do not object to any of the information that was provided, nor did I disagree with the portrayal or depiction. I was an observer. Remember, the people that we, Americans fought are the ones who were in charge of this museum, so they really have the right to do and say whatever they want. There were however, horrific images, true, real photographs of some of the things that American soldiers did, as well as some southern Vietnamese fighters. In the descriptions of the photographs, the words chose to describe the image were well thought through and chosen wisely. Viscous and scathing words used to describe the actions of the Americans, just as Americans used to describe the actions of the Vietcong and the Iraqi insurgency of today. What startled me was that I had never seen words like this before in a museum, an historical one especially. One section was devoted to places Americans bombed. To no surprise, they chose to show images of the schools and churches that were bombed, the villages that were destroyed and burned to the ground. I can’t blame them. It was a smart and tactical move. Again, remember, the people who created this museum are the ones that were fighting against the Americans, not with. What made it even more interesting is that the museum was in Saigon, the former capital of South Vietnam, a place where the US defended with all its might during its time of struggle with the war.

One of the other sections was devoted to the chemical warfare used by the US Military during the war, specifically Agent Orange. Agent Orange was used for a variety of different reasons, and supposedly, since the War in Vietnam, it has been ruled out of warfare by the US Military, though traces have been found in Iraq as being used for different means. Agent Orange was used to clear forest. Stripping every tree bear of its leaves, and eating anything it touches, including human skin. A large majority of the photographs were of victims who fell into the drop zone of the chemical. Their skin badly charred and burned, as if acid had eaten away at it and left a torched body to die an horrific and painful death. Birth defects and long-term damage was clearly shown to show the aftermath of what war does to a country. The US never paid up for the dues it said it would after the use of Agent Orange.

There was also an entire section devoted to Senator Bob Kerry (D-IA). It was a huge photograph of his Senate headshot and the story of what he did, along with fellow troops to a village and family in Vietnam. A brutal and appalling story of what the war crime consisted of. Kerry recently admitted to the American people and citizens of Vietnam what he did, though he was never tried with a war crime. He had a formal trial in front of the House and Senate, admitting to his wrongdoing. The write-up said that Kerry never formerly apologized to the Vietnamese people for his viscous, heartless, and inhumane acts during the war. Now, Kerry may be an American Senator, a Democrat, and frankly, I probably agree with him on most political issues. However, that should not exclude him from a war crimes charge.

The most touching and moving part of the museum was in an entirely different building. It was the “truths” of the war as told through the eyes and lenses of the many photographers of the war from all over the world. Seventy-six of them were memorialized in this exhibit in which their photographs and life story tid-bits were shared. Stunning, as well as shocking photographs that these 76 photographers, all of which died during the war, were on display without government propaganda or interference for visitors to see. There were I think three women, one of them from Maine, Dicky was her first name, which she changed, I can’t remember her last. She started shooting war footage during WWII and took it upon herself to continue doing so during Korea and Vietnam. There was a photo that one of the troops she traveled with took of her after she died from when the chopper she was traveling in went down. She was lying on the ground dead, with the General from her platoon giving her last rights. A vivid image of war it was.

What made the museum so impressive, especially for me as an American-educated citizen was the perspective from the other side. Obviously we are not taught or told those things in our history classes on American soil. God for bid, Americans commit inhumane and indecent acts and then tell citizens about it. (My o my, sounds like modern day Abu Grab, doesn’t it?) Again, I object to nothing that I saw, and can’t say I disagree with the words used to describe the actions and photos of the American Military. On their part, it was literary genius.

After our propagandized yet educational morning, it was off to a different market in Chinatown. (Yes, there are Chinatowns in cities all over the world…what do you expect from the people with the world’s largest population?) We arrived at this market, which was much different from the other. First off, everything was in its own section. There was a shoe sections, with I kid you not, millions of shoes. Of course each place I walked into they would point and laugh at my feet because they were gianormous compared to Vietnamese standards. Not one place had my size. There was a scarf section and a cooking section, a food section, a baby section, a clothes section and so on and so on. What was drastically different from this market was that it was like the sellers wanted nothing to do with you. We were ignored, disregarded and blatantly pushed aside by people and vendors we would of happily bought from. O well.

From there it was off and away on our service visit. We first stopped at a school for the deaf in district 8 of Saigon. District 8 is one of the poorer regions of the city and thanks to city and government funding this school is a daily home to 45 students. We spent about an hour with them, playing games and communicating via notepads. I must admit, me trying to communicate with a deaf person was quite difficult, yet happily amusing. I would chatter away in trying to talk to them, crack jokes and wonder at first why they weren’t responding. Ask questions hoping for more exciting answers…and still, nothing really. But it was fun, we would draw pictures after they asked us questions like, “What is your name?” “How old are you?” (They asked Mom and Dad too. As a general note: most other countries in the world are far less concerned about asking the age of an elder than in the West…well, really just the US) “What is your address?” etc, etc. We drew out pictures of our house and pets and tried explaining where we came from and how I got there and how mom and dad got there. It was a great experience and the kids seemed very happy to interact with us.

From there it was onto an Orphanage. This was not just any orphanage; it was a home for the handicapped and mentally challenged. Basically, it was a shelter because these were children that were abandoned or given up because of their disabilities. Most were bed-stricken and had minimal movement. All had to be fed, but there was one boy who was feeding himself and even gave the biggest smile as food was running down his face he was yelling, “HELLO!!! HELLO!!!” In one of the many rooms we visited, Mom was playing with one of the kids in their cribs (metal, low sides, with a plain mattress and sheet, a toy or two). Well, he got very excited and it was amazing at how strong these children were. He pulled himself up now, and was reaching out for her to pick him up. She just kept on playing with him, smiling and laughing as a tear rolled down her cheek. He then got really excited and tried to jump out of the crib; this nearly gave her a heart attack. She jumped to catch him and the nurse/caregiver was just standing at the end of his bed and she was laughing and smiling. Mom asked, “Do they fall out a lot?” She didn’t seem to understand, so we did our best to act it out…she nodded her head and laughed like hell. Whether she understood us or not, I have no doubt that all of these children, those could move, fall out of their beds every once and a while. I’d probably throw myself out on a daily basis.

We went to the Lemon Grass that night for dinner; it was the restaurant that came highly recommended by SAS so we figured we better try it. Well, I’ll tell you, it didn’t compare to the Mandarin. We were on the third floor, so that had a bit to do with it as well. But I can’t say the food was bad, the presentation just wasn’t there. After the meal, I headed back to the ship and Mom wanted to go into a ship next door. Dad stayed with her but ended up falling asleep in one of the chairs in the store. I can just imagine, a LeFrancois falling asleep somewhere other than a bed? Mom said that the shop owners little son ended up falling asleep next to Dad and resting his head on his arm. So Dad at least served a purpose while in the store: a pillow.

The next day, Betty returned from what she called an excellent trip in Cambodia. She said it was great, if only it wasn’t for the heat: 110-degree weather. It was in the 90s in Saigon most of the time, and humid, humid. That morning we were headed off to the Mekong Delta, about two and a half hours south of Saigon. We stopped at a Temple along the way, yet another one of which I’d seen nothing like it. From there we drove a bit further and arrived on the river. A massive river at that, we boarded a riverboat and were headed for a little island, though the biggest in the delta for a tour. From the big boat, we stepped onto the island and walked a ways in to a little outdoors café type place where we tried a variety of different local fruits. After they pressed us past the “gift shop,” we boarded little boats, canoes of a sort. The four of us got into one, with a rower on the bow and one on the stern. I would say the canoes were about 4-5 meters (12-15ft) long, and very low into the water. We each put on our traditional Vietnamese hats (the lampshade, cone hats) and down the stream we went. This felt like Vietnam; it was how I pictured it. Murky water, with the scent of a swamp, surrounded by tall, tall palms and trees, with their roots running into the mucky mud, down into the water, with only light coming through their leaves, at times full sun when there would be a break in the canopy overhead. Hot still, humid and sticky. The sounds of birds, the swarming of mosquitoes and bugs, the water flowing past us, and the ore’s dipping in and out of the water as we navigated our way down this stream that was anywhere from 5-15 feet wide. There were other canoes passing us going the other direction, and we pushed on. Never slowing, never stopping, keeping a steady speed as we moved down this stream of sorts.

Go back 30 years and imagine it even thicker with trees and foliage, obviously no tourists, wading through the water, not paddling, and knowing that at any second, at the drop of a leaf, someone might jump out and try to kill you. Not knowing what is around each corner, not knowing what is looming in the waters below you, only hoping, praying that you will make it back to your command post, safely, with all you limbs in tact.

From there we went to a candy making plant…if you can call it that. They made coconut candies, and they were delicious. All self-sustainable, using each part of the coconut to make the candy, the meat and milk for the food, and the shell for the fuel to keep the fire going in order to boil the meat. Like all the other food making places I visited, there was a perfect manor and way about doing the candy making. Each step done the same way each time, from the boiling to the shaping, and cutting to the packaging – there was precision in the steps. We all got to sample the hot, fresh candy, which was like a dream. Melted in your mouth and destroyed all the dental work you’d had in the past 10 years at the same time!

We got back into out little boats and headed further down the stream. Finally we were back out onto the main river, at which point we were taken to another island where we were severed delicious honey tea. We also got to hold a bee’s nest in our hands, their one warning was, “Just don’t drop it!” Hahaha. There was also this boy running around with his python in around his neck. The snake was about 5-6 feet and you would just walk up to the boy and he would literally throw the snake around you neck. It was a bit nerve racking, knowing that the snake could just start constricting, cutting off my air supply whenever it wanted, thankfully he wasn’t hungry. The funny thing was, you’d have it around your neck and the boy would get distracted and run off. I was standing there, really wanting this snake off my neck and he just wasn’t there to do it. I had to wait a bit longer, and finally he came and threw it on Mom’s neck, and then Dad’s. Betty enjoyed touching the snake. It was a great family affair.

We got back into the big boats and headed back to the mainland to head out for lunch. We arrived at this massive structure, with an all palms roof; the inside was a massive dining hall. All open around, with just the roof. Beautiful ponds and gardens with flowers you only see in the movies (or at LeFrancois’ Floral and Gifts during a special occasion) surrounding you as you sat and ate your meal. The meat eaters were served Elephant Ear fish. It was brought to the table whole, fried, and it was standing up on the plate like a fish would be in the water. It was cut and served right in front of you. It was quite a site for the eyes, whether you tried the fish or not. All of the fish from the river is a meatier type, not flaky, and does tend to have a fishier taste to it.

From there it was back on the bus for the ride back and some shuteye. We got back to Saigon and went to pick up our tailored goods – perfect, perfect, perfect if I might add. After that I ran back to the ship will all my shit and changed for our last dinner. The rents were sort of fed up with local food so we decided to head back to Santa Lucia. Betty hadn’t been there, and the food was delicious so we had no complaints. It was a perfect Bon Voyage meal. Cheese Gnocchi’s with Spinach, Risotto, Steak and a Sun Dried Tomato and Pesto Pasta filled our bellies, in addition to the Brushetta and antipasto salad bar. I tried a new wine this time, a red one, it was delicious. Dessert was just a wonderful, I went for the Tiramisu this time, and it was a pleaser.

After dinner, Mom wanted to ride with me back to the ship for our big Good-Bye. We all got into the cab and I did my best to explain to the driver where to take us. He had no idea. He went in the complete opposite direction. After trying hard to explain where we were going, and me just wanting to get back to the ship, we had him stop and found a new cab. Thankfully, this one knew where he was going and we made it there. We got out, said our sweet, sweet, and blissful goodbyes, and went our separate ways. Me back onto my floating palace, and the three land dwellers back to their hotel, ready to go back to Thailand and then onto the States.

Vietnam was fantastic. Saigon was a city full of life, beaming with a glow that has lived through some treacherous times. For a people that are still under the restrictions of a communist government, they are pleasant and happy beings. From the scooters to the delta and the propaganda-packed museum to the markets and tailors, Vietnam is a country I would highly recommend over all the other ports I’ve been to thus far on this Voyage. I think my parents and Betty would say the same, it is a wonderful and easy place to experience. The food is fantastic, the people are pleasant (for the most part), the scenery is striking, and the culture is charming. We were only in a small part of the beautiful country; there are beaches to the north and mountains to the west, cooler climates to the north and rural regions all over. Though the people from the North tend to be colder and more self-oriented (as said from people who went to Hanoi, official capital of the country in the Northern region), I would still highly recommend finding your way to Vietnam. Whether it’s by ship or plane, if you have a chance get there. Just think, you could go there once a year, get an entire wardrobe made, and still save money on what you would of paid for all the clothes you got in the US. India is still my favorite country as far as food and culture, however, Vietnam is standing tall and strong in second place because of its lively hood, mopeds, scenery, and shopping.

I’ll be in Japan tomorrow morning (4/11) until the evening of the 15th. From there, its two week 'cross the Pacific and sadly, then we arrive in San Diego. I’m still hoping to get China up and done before I get to Japan…we’ll see if my fingers can make it through that much typing.

Sayonara.