The Dragon and the Fairy; Saigon to Halong Bay, Vietnam

Long ago, in a time when the world looked very different than it does now, a water dragon was given a great gift. Sired by a mountain god, the dragon, named Lac Long Quan, inherited a sprawling land near his home in the sea. One day, while flying over the green hills of his newly acquired realm, he met a beautiful fairy named Au Co. The two fell instantly in love and began to dance together. Mighty sweeps from the dragon’s tail collided with the rolling earth, creating colossal mountains and carving jagged islands in the sea. Soon afterwards, Au Co bore 100 eggs containing their children. The eggs hatched into a new race on the earth, a race of men.

Sadly the love between the fairy and the dragon could never last.  Lac Long Quan went back to his castle in the sea, his tears filling the gorges made by his powerful tail. Au Co retreated to her home in the mountains. The children of the divine pair were likewise divided, half went to live with their mother in the mountains and the other half chose to dwell near their father by the sea. And so the country of Vietnam was born.

This myth, handed down for countless generations, is both beautiful and enlightening. It speaks to the heart of this magnificent, mystifying country. Even today, the remnants of Vietnam’s unusual parentage can be seen all around. The bloody fangs of Lac Long Quan lend a murderous counterpoint to the ethereal splendor bestowed by Au Co. By turns the country can be enraging or enlightening, destructive or divine, blighted and beautiful, often all at the same time. It is a land that has been torn apart by war but held together by the indomitable spirit of its people.

Our first introduction to the bloody nature of the dragon was on the road into Saigon. We were nearing the end of a thirteen hour bus ride. Traffic slowed to a crawl and I let out a groan of annoyance at this new delay.  That’s when I saw the foot. Just outside my window lay the twisted wreckage of a motor-bike. A straw mat covered up most of a body that lay in a pool of red-black blood in the road. Sticking out from beneath the mat a single foot was gleaming white in the harsh light of car headlights. Her toenails were slick, glossy, and blue-green. The accident had taken her life but left her pedicure untouched.

About ten minutes later traffic slowed again, and I knew what was coming. The collision must have happened only a few moments earlier because the wheels on the motorbike were still spinning as our van crept slowly by. The body lay uncovered in the street. Dark, glassy eyes stared unblinking from his smooth, round face. This time there was no blood. The boy’s body seemed unbroken, as if he could jump up and walk away were it not for the fact that the rear view mirror of his motor-bike had somehow embedded itself in his left foot… Welcome to Vietnam.

We mercifully arrived in Saigon without further carnage. Officially named Ho Chi Minh City after the reunification, Saigon greeted us with wide, tree-lined avenues and slightly crumbling colonial-era buildings. The city has the look of an aging movie star, past her prime and a little rough around the edges but still easily recognizable as a stunner from the old days. We found Ben Thanh market in the center of the city and devoured some 

delicious crab soup before making our way to the War Remembrance Museum.

I felt mixed emotions as I walked through the museum. We had just come from Cambodia where a lack of American intervention allowed the genocidal regime of Pol Pot to systematically murder millions of his own people. Here in Saigon, we came face to face came with unspeakable horrors that US involvement brought to Vietnam. Images of destroyed villages and butchered infants were juxtaposed against the nauseating genetic consequences of the defoliant “Agent Orange.” They actually had a stillborn corpse of conjoined twins floating in a jar of formaldehyde. Confronted with such terrible icons the questions that arise out of this international Sophie’s Choice torture my soul — to intervene or do nothing... to suffer the slings and arrow of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles... am I my brother’s keeper? I cannot speak of such imponderable profundities and whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.

After Saigon we took a bus to the beach town of Mui Ne to meet up with our friends Clare and Willhttp://www.searchingforeldorado.blogspot.com/2012/05/please-dont-rush-luang-prabang-to-si.html and enjoy some much needed R & R. Here, the horrors of the war seemed a million miles away. Swaying palm trees silhouetted themselves against a backdrop of rolling azure ocean waves and imposing mountains rising in the distance. We spent hours lounging in hammocks swaying to the rhythm of tropical breezes. We even found a hotel with a swim-up bar where we whiled away a whole day splashing in the water and drinking cocktails with little straw hats.

From Mui Ne we caught a bus that drove us high into the mountains of central Vietnam. The city of Dalat is surrounded by huge pine-covered hills and blessed with a cool climate that feels like eternal spring. It was the first time in months that I had to put on long pants and shoes to ward of the evening chill. This temperate micro-climate also means that Dalat has some of the most diverse cuisine in the entire country. In the busy night-market we feasted on delicious food. It was here that we realized that the menu descriptions can be a bit misleading when we ordered “cook pork in sauce.” It turned out to be delectable a dish that consisted of a scalding hot clay pot filled with tender strips of stewed pork, onions and a tangy, sweet caramel sauce that sizzled and steamed at the table, filling the air with its intoxicating aroma.

The next stop on the trip was Nha Trang. This was where American servicemen went on their time away from the front lines. A crescent of white sand stretches for miles in front of the city. Beautiful islands dot the horizon and the crystal clear waters lap gently against the shore like a giant bathtub. We rented beach chairs on the sand in front of the Louisiane Brewhouse. It was amazing. We’d spent months drinking the local brews; Chang beer in Thailand, Beer Laos in Laos, Ankor beer in Cambodia, all of which taste like watered down Coors Light. The beer at Louisiane was a revelation. We downed frosty mugs of thick chocolaty stout, deep caramel ales and crisp, flavorful pilsners, all under a thatched umbrella that shielded us from the burning sun. When the inevitable afternoon rain showers arrived, we retreated inside for several games of pool and several more delicious brews.

The next day wanted to take advantage of the offshore islands and pristine water so we booked a snorkeling trip. Strange does not even begin to describe the itinerary. A boat picked us up at the local pier and took us to a protected marine preserve where we swam amongst the coral and a living rainbow of tropical fish for about an hour. And that was the end of the snorkeling. We went back to the boat for lunch and the crew began the “entertainment.” A full drum kit made of discarded plastic buckets was placed on the central table. The captain came out playing a cheap, imitation Fender Stratocaster and our guide warbled karaoke songs into a microphone with so much reverb that it sounded like he was singing in an empty auditorium made of tin. My favorite tune was a heavily distorted punk-rock version of “Yellow Submarine” by the Beatles.

After lunch the boat stopped in the middle of the sea, miles away from shore. The crew threw a few old tires into the water to use as life preservers. They then pulled out some bottles of rice moonshine and informed us that it was happy hour. The guide set up a few bottles and glasses on two of the larger tires and everyone jumped into the water to start downing shot of this vile concoction, often mixed with large amounts of sea water from the splashing waves. So much for snorkeling.

We left Nha Trang on a night bus and headed to Hoi An. Stepping off the bus was like being transported back in time 100 years. The ancient downtown area of Hoi An is closed to cars and you stroll the cramped maze of streets in relative silence that is unknown in other cities in Vietnam. The old colonial buildings are covered with ivy and bright crimson flowers. Crumbling French windows and the brilliant yellows so common to southern France, fit in perfectly with delicate pagodas and stupas of Buddhist temples that are a thousand years old. We rented bicycles and rode with a local, Mr. Trung, to his village just outside of town. Each village specializes in some type of craft. Mr. Trung smiled warmly as he showed us the techniques that his village had used to churn out red clay pottery for hundreds of years.

At night Hoi An lights up like a thousand dancing fairies whose rainbow of illuminations are reflected in the gently flowing water of the Thu Bon river. Au Co must have spent a lot of her time decorating this enchanting town as her centerpiece.

Bia Hoi Corner

Many hours of bus travel later we arrived in the capital city of Hanoi. The bustling, noisy city must be a far cry from the bombed out shell that was left after American troops ceased their bombardment. Every corner is filled with people hawking wears from bamboo bowls to snakeskin banjos. About every thirty feet you run into a group of people seated on stools taking bong hits of tobacco (I don’t recommend it). Another great specialty of Hanoi is called “Bia Hoi.” Meaning “fresh beer,” it is a brew that was introduced by the Czechs and is made without preservatives so it must be consumed quickly. It runs about 20 cents per glass and for two dollars you can spend the whole evening sitting on tiny plastic stools and swapping stories with locals and travelers alike. Incidentally, the place across the street from us sold the beer for even cheaper, but they would not serve foreigners. This wasn’t because they were racist or bitter, it was simply because the bar itself was illegal and when the police show up a bunch of drunk white people can’t run away fast enough.

It's called Bun Cha and it is AWESOME!

The next day we stopped for lunch at a restaurant called KOTO (Know One, Teach One). It was founded by an Australian of Korean and Vietnamese decent who has dedicated his life to helping street kids. He started a program to train them and to help them find jobs in the hospitality industry. The food was so good that we bought a cookbook to try and recreate some of the dishes.

After lunch we walked across the street to the Temple of Knowledge, a university that was founded in the year 1070. For almost a millennium, this institution trained young minds in the arts of medicine, politics, and law. It is a beautiful place with tranquil ponds and elegant pagodas that once housed the classes. 

A classroom in the temple of knowledge

Our last stop was at the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh. Unfortunately, the building was closed so we couldn’t see the old man himself, but we did get to look at the modest two room house he lived in from the 1950’s until his death in 1969. He may have been considered a communist pariah to the US government, but at least he walked the walk. The rooms contained little more than one bed, a writing desk and a bomb-shelter underneath.

Ho's final resting place

Ho Chi Minh's house

The bridge on Hoan Kiem Lake

Our final stop on this leg of the trip was in Halong Bay. About four hours by bus from Hanoi, the bay is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. According to myth it was carved by the tail of the dragon, Lac Long Quan, as he thrashed his way down to the sea after leaving Au Co. Molly and I decided to splurge on a three-day cruise onto the bay and it was unforgettable. Our boat, appropriately enough, was called the Au Co, and it was the definition of opulence. Each five course, gourmet meal was introduced by our Swiss cruise director and served by white gloved attendants. The white, goose-down comforters in our chilly, air-conditioned cabin made us feel like we were sleeping on a cloud.

From a distance, Halong Bay looks like a solid, impenetrable wall of green limestone cliffs but, like the country of Vietnam itself, it only reveals its splendor upon closer inspection. The islands themselves look similar to the dramatic karsts of southern Thailand, only much more concentrated. Navigating through the labyrinth of jagged islands must have taken considerable skill. We spent our days sea kayaking through limestone caves and swimming in the warm water. At dusk, the captain would position the ship on wide expanses of water for optimal views of the sunset. While sipping gin and tonics on our private balcony overlooking the glittering scarlet water, Molly and I whispered to each other, “We’re peaking.”

Vladimir Ilyich Uylanov!

Before dinner each evening the Vietnamese staff of the Au Co would gather in the dining room to sing a song. Many of the songs celebrated the victory of Ho Chi Minh and the recapturing of Saigon, which they called “Reunification Day.” It was during those songs that I realized something about Vietnam. The country, whose founding myth was about a great division, has always been yearning for unity. Torn asunder by the Geneva Conference of 1954 and ruled by imperialist powers from China to France for most of its history, the country was striving for its own identity. Ninety-nine percent of the soldiers who fought for North Vietnam during “The War of American Aggression” had never read a word of Marx or Engels. They were not fighting for the ideals of communism; they were fighting to rid their homeland of foreign influence. Communism just provided a common rallying cry. These days, although nominally communist, Marxist/Leninism has generally fallen by the wayside, making room for the new prosperity brought by capitalism (not to mention all the problems that go along with it). The people are enjoying a unity, peace, and freedom that they have not known for thousands of years. Although it still has a long way to go before the bloody scars of history truly heal, it now seems that the children of the dragon and the fairy can finally live as one.  

Holiday in Cambodia

"The past is never dead. It's not even past."

-William Faulkner

Perhaps no other country in Southeast Asia has had a more tumultuous run of things than Cambodia. Although the entire region is defined by mighty ancient empires, rampant colonial devastation, communist uprisings, American warfare, and the modern tourist trail, Cambodia stands out from its neighbors because of the dizzying glory of its triumphs and the devastating depths of its tragedies. From the untold riches of the Khmer Empire to the genocidal madness of the Khmer Rouge, the country’s history reads almost like a Greek myth. Like Cronus devouring his own children, the leaders of Cambodia turned on their own people replacing grandeur with gore and golden Buddhas with lifeless bodies. Enormous temples hearken back to a time when the highways here were the crossroads of the world, while modern signs covered in skulls remind you that to step off of those main roads is to risk being obliterated by a landmine. In Cambodia the past is very much present. The history is written in the land and on the faces of the people. A holiday here is like a walk from ancient times right up to the present day. And like all good stories we must start at the beginning.

The modern day city of Siem Reap draws its lifeblood from the country’s magnificent past. It is the gateway to the Temples of Angkor which are the official symbols of Cambodia. Between the 12^th and 14^th centuries, hundreds of thousands of workers toiled away for their god-kings to create some of the most awe-inspiring structures ever built. Even now, the great temple of Angkor Wat is the largest religious building in the world and has been in continuous use since its construction over eight hundred years ago.

We arrived at the bus station at Siem Reap and found an affable Tuk Tuk driver named Visu. “Like Visa/Mastercard!” he said with a smile.  He agreed to spend the next few days taking us around to the various sights in Angkor. This place is way too big to see in one day.

We awoke at four o’clock in the morning in order to make it to Angkor Wat for sunrise. On the road to the temples I drank in the chilled, dark, pre-dawn air; relishing every breath because I knew what roasting heat lurked as the vanguard of the rising sun. We arrived just as dawn was spreading her rosy fingers across the eastern horizon. Brilliant pink, red, and golden clouds drifted slowly across the deep blue canvas of the early morning sky. The black silhouette of the massive temple reflected majestically on the mirrored surface of the enormous moat that encircles the site.

We spent an hour or so wandering around the expansive grounds which are meant to represent the structure of the world. The massive moats and ponds are the oceans and seas, courtyards that are the size of soccer fields represent the continents, while the great towers evoke the solemn dominance of the mountains. Thousands of monks and nuns strolled around the area, collecting trash, meditating in the cool morning air or preparing for the birthday celebration of Buddha (which was that day).

Over the next few days we visited dozens of sites, too numerous to mention them all. We walked the mile-long Elephant Terrace where the god-kings of old lounged as parades of horses, elephants, and thousands of soldiers gave testament to their military might. We bathed in the cool waters of Kbal Spean, also known as the river of 1000 lingas because of the 11^th century carvings that cover the river bottom.

The most impressive site, however, was a temple called Ta Phrom. It is a gorgeous, ancient structure that is being reclaimed by the voracious jungle. Enormous trees grow up through the walls and around the stone pagodas in a seamless interweaving of the human and natural world. Crawling through the darkened corridors of Ta Phrom felt a little like the Raiders of the Lost Ark so I kept a sharp eye out for poison tipped blowgun darts and golden idols. If only I’d brought a bag of sand…

The town of Siem Reap is located near the shores of Tonle Sap, the largest lake in Southeast Asia. The boundaries of the lake change dramatically between the wet and dry seasons.  Since time immemorial, the people have found unique ways to deal with the ever-changing landscape. Houses constructed on the plains around Tonle Sap are built on stilts up to thirty feet high like spindle-legged elephants wandering through the dust of the dry season. However, during the wet season the lake water laps at the doorsill. Some residents have done away with stilts all together and actually built floating villages on the surface of the lake. These villages are complete with houses, grocery stores, schools, bars and everything else you could need... all floating on rafts. We took a boat out late one afternoon for a visit. It was truly amazing. You could live your entire life in one of these villages and never set foot on land.

Leaving Siem Reap we took the road south to the capital Phnom Penh and it seemed to me that we were taking a highway through history; leaving the wonders of the ancient world and moving into a time when the horrors of the Khmer Rouge washed over Cambodia like a river of blood. Much like the western calendar was divided into two parts when a knife cut the umbilical cord of baby from Nazareth, the history of Cambodia is also cleft in twain, but with a much bloodier knife.

On April 17th, 1975 Khmer Rouge forces, under the command of Pol Pot, entered Phnom Penh and changed history forever. As a young man, Pol Pot studied in France and became an active member of the French Communist Party. He admired Mao Tse Tung and fiercely studied China’s Cultural Revolution. With Mao in mind, he attempted to help his country take a “Great Leap Forward.” Unfortunately for Cambodia, Pol Pot must never have finished reading the Chinese history or he would have known the tragedy that was about to befall his country.

Pol Pot envisioned a country where the peasants were the esteemed members of society, where everyone lived with the common ideals of an agrarian, communist society. To make this a reality, the Khmer Rouge declared war on Cambodian civilization as a whole. In order to expunge the history of the country and cut ties with capitalist influences, the Khmer Rouge declared it the Year Zero, a new beginning. The army emptied the city of Phnom Penh of its several million inhabitants in just over three days.  City folks or “New People” were seen as the enemy and forcefully transported to the countryside to toil along side the peasants on communal farms. Temples, books, and works of art were destroyed in an attempt to purge the country of any ideas other than those of the state.

Any form of perceived resistance was met with swift and brutal execution. Teachers, doctors, scholars, and ordinary citizens were exterminated by the thousands. Wearing glasses or even having soft hands was enough to get you killed. Because all loyalty was supposed to be to the state and the state alone, the Khmer Rouge purposefully separated families in an effort to stamp out any familial loyalty. They outlawed love (seriously) along with reading and writing so that people could not communicate with the outside world.

With his new regime in place, Pol Pot proceeded to carry out one of the largest genocides since WWII, killing between two and three million people (approximately one quarter of the population of the country). City folk with no training had no idea how to grow rice so mass starvation began almost immediately. What little rice was produced was quickly sold to China in order to pay for weapons to keep the populace in line. Millions died the slow wasting death of hunger, but for others the end was much more sudden and brutal.

Courtyard of S-21

Inside Phnom Penh, Molly and I visited a place called S-21. The Khmer Rouge converted the lush green campus of a high school into one the most notoriously barbaric prisons the world has ever known. Of the 17,000 prisoners that moved through S-21 during Pol Pot’s reign, seven survived. Schoolrooms were converted into holding cells and torture chambers for obtaining false confessions. Waterboarding was one of many torture techniques used by the Khmer Rouge, and it was used in conjunction with stinging scorpions or ripping out the fingernails of prisoners with pliers. In the yard, prisoners had their arms tied to a huge scaffold originally used for tether ball and were thrown off the top to dislocate their shoulders.

Prisoners were kept in 4x6 cells in the classrooms

Most of the rooms were kept exactly the same as when they were found, bloodstains and all .

One of the last prisoners to die in S-21

Much like their Nazi predecessors, the Khmer Rouge were meticulous record keepers and photographed every prisoner who came through S-21. Their photos are on display in Building B of the compound, attached to huge boards that run for hundreds of yards. I tried to quickly walk through the building, rapidly glancing at every photo. It took more than half an hour.

Child Victims

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Of the 17,000 prisoners who went into S-21, seven survived. This guy was one of them.

View from inside the Killing Fields

Because mass murder is such a messy business, most of the actual executions for S-21 were carried out in the Killing Fields just outside of town.  Molly and I arrived on a bright sunny morning to the pastoral, tree covered fields. The warm sunshine and singing birds were a stark contrast to the dark history of the place. Over 20,000 people met a vicious end in this bucolic setting. Prisoners were brought in by the truckload. As many as 300 people a day were murdered. Unlike the Nazis who used gas chambers to exterminate hundreds of people at a time, the Khmer Rouge was much less efficient. Blindfolded prisoners were lead to the edge of a mass grave, forced to kneel and then bludgeoned to death with hatchets, farm hoes, and pick axes. They then had their throats slit with a dull knife, or sometimes the branch of a palm tree, and were thrown in the ditch. Toxic chemicals were then thrown in the pit to cover up the smell and finish off any survivors.

The Khmer Rouge would sometimes use sharp palm branches to slash the throats of the victims

One of the saddest sights at the Killing Fields is called the Killing Tree. The Khmer Rouge had a saying, “To kill the grass, you have to tear up the roots.” With that in mind they executed entire families, including children, if one member was thought to be a dissident. The babies were held by their legs and bashed against the tree until they died, then they were thrown in a pit with their mothers.

Skull fragments

Although the Killing Fields seem tranquil and serene today, there are reminders of their dark past everywhere. A huge pagoda was built to house the remains of victims. Seventeen levels of skulls and bones rise skyward enshrined in a delicate pagoda overlooking the whole scene. Then, of course, there is the ground itself. So many people were killed and buried here that they could not exhume all of the bodies. Whenever it rains, bones of the victims and the rags they wore while being murdered rise up to the surface. It rained the night before we arrived. The ground is littered with human remains. Femurs, fingers, teeth, and large chunks of skull rest idly in the mud and green grass. It is all you can do to avoid stepping on them. It is almost as if the skeletons of those poor departed souls are still calling out for justice, rising from the very earth itself to cry “Here I am. Do not forget me!”

Femur, teeth, jawbone and clothes

In 1979 the Vietnamese army finally liberated Phnom Penh, which by that time was almost completely empty, and ended the rule of the Khmer Rouge. Pol Pot and his cronies took to the hills near the Thai border and continued to fight for control of the country until 1998. In a bitter twist, the United States, still feeling animosity for losing the war in Vietnam, refused to recognize the new, post-Khmer Rouge government. We even continued to support the Khmer Rouge as the legitimate rulers of the country, sending money and aid to the genocidal maniacs still fighting for control.

After the horrors of the Khmer Rouge it is amazing that any Cambodians survived, but the thing that is most astounding about people is our resilience. The Cambodian people have an indomitable spirit that can never be broken. Eventually, the king returned and life began to return to normal. Citizens returned to the capital and began to rebuild with renewed vigor. The city is now a rising star in Asia. Molly and I spent our last afternoon in Phnom Penh touring the beautiful royal palace and silver pagoda that were thankfully spared during the madness.

We left Phnom Penh with a profound sense of sadness at all that had been lost. Heading south, we decided to take solace by the ever-forgiving sea. It was here that we found the most wonderful thing of all. Life around the coast is booming. The beautiful coastal town of Sihanoukville is abuzz with new construction as Cambodians look to capitalize on the natural splendor of their country. New businesses abound and the sound of children laughing fills the salty air. We spent the next week sipping cocktails and watching the azure water from the balcony of our oceanfront bungalow. The name of the resort was “Above Us Only Sky” from the John Lennon song, Imagine. I thought it particularly appropriate because the song itself is a prayer for all people to come together and live as one in peace. In a country with such a turbulent history, a little peace would go a long way. As I look out over the tranquil waters and at the smiling faces of the people here, I can’t help but think that they took a little bit of that song to heart. I can’t say that Cambodia has achieved John’s dream yet but it is nice to imagine.