That's AusZim!

First Impressions:

Hanoi International. Bright white lights twinkling below like a galaxy of chaotic patterns common to old neighborhoods. Compact fluorescents. In lighting, yes, they have any American city beat. Add in 4million 2-stroke motorbikes, and you have easily undone all the good work.

Transportation: It’s nearly impossible to navigate the city streets of Hanoi without your heart in your throat and a flannel mask protecting your petrol-chafed airways. If the Vietnamese have a 6th sense, it’s driving. They know where you are, and where you’re planning to go before you do. The traffic is unreal, worse than any capacity issue we saw in India. The traffic lessens considerably outside of the big cities, but that sense of controlled chaos remains.

History: We never encountered any animosity for being Americans, especially considering our ill-conceived militaristic efforts. It was interesting for us to visit places like Hoa Lo Prison and see the same kind of propagandist retelling on offer in most American museums and public schools. With well over 3million armed and civilian deaths on record, it is the American War in Vietnam. Yet the capacity for forgiveness is amazing. The past is the past as long as we learn from our mistakes. Hopefully, the US reign at policing the world is coming to an end. We’ve been pretty shabby guardians of peace and freedom these past 60 years.

Food: Vietnam is the land of Pho and rice vermicelli. It’s pretty easy to find safe, generally vegetarian and delicious food. If some people do eat dog, which was confirmed by a local, you’ll never have it. The places that serve “oops” meals have menus only in Vietnamese. We ate at a couple of them and knowingly/unknowingly ate things like duck tongue and bird eggs. In Phu Quoc, we ate some of the best fresh-caught seafood in the world. The island also produces the finest fish sauce, and you can’t take it with you. Fish sauce is a no-fly hazard apparently.

Language: It’s actually fairly easy to learn very very basic Vietnamese because the spelling is kiiiiinda phonetic. There are some obvious exceptions. Erin learned how to say, “hello, how are you?, good, bad, yes, no, thank you, goodbye, and keep off the grass.” Sam learned how to say “An iced coffee with fresh milk.” Beyond basic, it’s a no-go zone caked in multiple levels of formality, where it’s best to steer clear. That said, we were bowled over when Thy’s father referred to himself as our uncle. That’s a great honor.

Lingering Impressions:

Our trip wouldn’t have been 1/10th the amazing eye opening journey it was without Thy. Not only is she unspeakably kind, informative and patient - she’s quite possibly the most talented kareoke singer we’ve ever seen! The day she belts out Landslide in a LES bar on some return visit to NYC, she will get spontaneous marriage proposals. Of this we are certain.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Thy! You are amazing.

It was inevitable. I will say we tried to get it out of our system before we even left for Spain and on to Asia, but the disease has set in anew. Let’s get right to it: here is a picture of Sam flashing his dong.

Dong. “penis,” 1891, of unknown origin. Probably on a middle school playground. Either way it’s the legal tender here in Vietnam and in both circumstances it may be “frightfully good to have.” Size is also important when you’re talking about the least valuable currency in the world in terms of exchange rate.

As I said, we tried to joke the thing to death. Perhaps it was when we saw the symbol for dong, literally an exponential ‘d’, we were lost causes. The joke came back, to dong power. We even told Thy - last I heard she was still recovering.

Here are a couple of our classics:

1. These taxi drivers are ruthless, all they want is your dong.

2. Big or small, around here every dong has a Ho on it (Ho Chi Minh or affectionately known as “Uncle Ho”)

3. Check your pocket, your dong is showing, dude.

4. I need to wash my hands, I’ve been touching dong all day.

5. Never accept dong that is wrinkled, abused or torn. (True, stores will refuse to accept them)

6. They refuse to accept large dong here.

7. I have only been here a week and my dong has lost value!

Okay. There are WAY more, but we’re encouraged (read: slightly less embarrassed) now that Thy has joined in a couple of times. Thank you for putting up with us!

Our thoughts on leaving Laos as collected and collated by at least one raving lunatic over a period of three weeks.

We first experienced Laos, looking out an airplane window - cascades of verdant highlands and deep blue rock pocked by craters resembling dusty sunflowers from above. This “Jewel of the Mekong” had seen some terrible times.

Yet, like its national flower, the Dok Champa - the Lao people bloom everyday and embody sincerity and joy in life. That statement may seem on its surface disingenuous, unbelievable even, given that 40-50% of the country’s demography falls somewhere outside the term “ethnically Lao,” they carry a recent history of genocide, and put up with millions of unexploded ordinance in their daily lives courtesy of a generation that is probably reading this post. 

We met people from all over the country, widely dispersed and isolated by rugged landscapes, unsafe passage, and subsistence agriculture, yet there was a remarkable collective belief structure. We kept saying to each other, Laos reminded us of Ecuador - another land that just seemed to have “the answer.”

Villages crop up and fade away suddenly, rows and rows of stilted bamboo huts, hammocks and satellite TV. Relic CRT television sets, buried in a stack of concert-size speakers - perfect for sharing primetime Laotian karaoke or dial-a-monk with one’s neighbors. Afterall, something needs to drowned out all of those roosters.

So many experiences we cannot forget. Giggling at the Lao script, it reminded us of screen grabs from a game of Snafu (atari); Drinking 660s of Beer Lao by the Mekong; Steaming ourselves to oblivion in the Luang Prabang Red Cross (covered in yogurt); and enjoying the names of the roadside restaurants - Khieng Khong, Ms. Kang’s Kafay Thong, Cafe Wat Phu (ph = puh not fuh). We blushed at the generosity of our Baci ceremony and still wear our strings. And boy do we miss the coffee. Holy hell!

The Lao people seem to have perfected the peaceful life. They share. Anything, everything. When you are driving along a rural road, hungry, and see a “restaurant” - it’s often just a family that made soup and you’re welcome to a bowl for a pittance.

Like in Ecuador, every sign has a sponsor (almost exclusively Beer Lao), random walls have advertisements which the people seem to shrug off. That banner for Unitel telecom makes a great blackout curtain for the baby’s room. The roads are in excellent shape, the children are in crisp white school uniforms, and the sanitation is a thousand years ahead of India. (HINT HINT, India…)

While we were the recipients of such kindness and hospitality during our journey through Laos, we couldn’t shake the guilt we felt as Americans and what our military did to their country such a short time ago. They’re the most bombed country on earth, evidence of this is everywhere - most of it done by an ally who chose to prop up a military dictatorship over our ideal, popular will, because it was easy and it didn’t smell of communism.

To this day our lost and forgotten UXOs terrorize the fields and forests. People continue to lose life and limb. This is the legacy of our meddling in Southeast Asia. It’s heartbreaking to see the injured victims - to hear stories of exile, family “disappearance,” visa rejections, camps, and finally homecoming. Some young refugees our age are learning to speak Lao for the first time after spending their whole lives abroad. They talk of these terrible things like it’s past and reconciled. We are humbled.

We left India in regrettable circumstances - physically sick, fists-clenched and tails between our legs. We left Bangkok in a hurry, riding the crest of a truly historic flood out of town. We left Laos at peace, our hands pressed together over our heart center in thanks and profound respect. We are inspired by the people we met along the way -the proud, funny, smiling, waving, resilient Lao who seem to greet each day as a blessing.