off the map, off the (paved) road
sheesh. i think my writing reached a new low with that last blog entry. you really ought to comment more ruthlessly. there's no way i should get away with that. (i'll attempt to make it up to you today...)
[the past couple days i've been staying in hue where i can't find a single computer that allows me into the administrative page of my blog. i can post to the blog indirectly via e-mail (and that's what i'm doing now), but this always leaves the paragraphs all chopped up and ugly. i'm going to try and hit the 'return' button after each line; maybe this will make it look less messy. i get frustrated when i can't access a web site i want. it makes me realize--just a tiny bit--what it's like to be strictly controlled by government here.] [now i'm in da nang and am able to fix all this...]
travelling south, i'm trying to avoid highway 1's more developed and touristed coastline that makes for a hum drum excursion. the road goes straight to ho chi minh city and people anticipate to encounter tourists so there's little room for the unexpected--and that's what i'm after. regardless of the tourist-tourer role i try to avoid, there's some other force repelling me from cities. normally i like them but not for this journey. perhaps it's because cities are familiar to me, perhaps it's because people in the countryside are more open and welcoming. for whatever
feeling, i'm travelling on inland backroads through jaw-dropping beautiful vallies and cloudy mountain passes where unmarked intersections provide potential for the unknown.
i encounter my first surprise just outside of mai chau. after crossing over a bone-chilling cold mountain pass, i stop to wipe moisture off my glasses (condensed from the clouds i traveled through). i take measure of my map and compass. as a man tries to interest me in staying at his guesthouse (which i take as an indication i haven't travelled far enough) a man driving a dark-blue russian minsk motorcycle pulls up behind us. he removes his black helmet and reveals a totally shaved, white-skinned head. (i take this as a second sign i haven't traveled far enough). we make small talk. he is interested in the guesthouse and i decide to at least check it out. i flip my key on ignition, fiddle with the semi-manual shifter with my left foot, find neutral, and then give the starter a gentle kick with my right foot. vrrrrrrrrrrrm! i knock the kickstand up with my left heal, press the shifter down and forward with my toes and speed away in first gear.
the guesthouse is in the countryside just outside town. it feels quiet and peaceful here so i decide to stay. rick--the man's name--and i sit down to talk and have a drink. i quickly find out that although rick's now retired and living in guatemala, he spent most of his life nurturing frontier natural products, a co-operative bulk foods distributor that supplies most natural foods stores in america. he also tells
me about social ventures network, an association of ethically-run businesses. at this point i'm really engaged in the conversation. in seattle i've participated in a few ethically-minded, consensus-run, and community-based organizations. lately, i've become keen on the idea of building an alternative, local economy. an alternative to capitalism, that is. and although rick boasts he identifies as a capitalist (i
assume we have different definitions of the word) and i can still find a lot of common ground with him.
from my perspective, it seems most of the co-operatives and community-minded institutions formed in the 70s failed or at least mutated into institutions differing little from the money-driven businesses and self-serving non-profits we have today. i don't understand the pitfalls these people faced, and i want to
learn from their mistakes. frontier succeeded (at least in some ways), and i want to know how. the two main points rick conveys is that an alternative organization can't be too strict with its ideology. for example,if someone really wants to have calvin klein jeans so let it be. there should be no negative judgements on that decision, he says. the second point is that you have to make money. if you're check book isn't
balancing, collapse is almost inevitable. later that night, rick admits luck had a lot to do with it for him. (it turns out one of his main competitors was kicked in the chest by a horse and died). rick and i talk all night and i feel lucky to get glimpses into a more organized world of conscious institutions outside of seattle. in the morning, i head south and rick goes north.
i travel for a couple days, but fail to break out of the tourist-tourer role. it's really starting to bother me now and i feel uncreative not having developed an idea. language is the biggest barrier. i start to think about how easy it was to make friends in china, and wonder how i can crack into vietnam.
in xuan son, i find a main street lined with hotels and crowded with tourist buses. drats. (this is from where i posted my last blog entry). in the morning i decide to take a road further west and head south through a national forest. i'm nearing the edge of my map (which only covers northern vietnam), and i'm running really low on cash, but i consciously ignore this, halfway hoping these problems will land me somewhere interesting. like stumbling through a door to get attention, it's my halfhazard tactic to end up somewhere interesting.
i get to the border of the national forest. there's a little concrete booth and a lever across the road to keep vehicles from crossing. a man strolls out and immediately shooo's me away. i turn off the engine, get off, and try to figure out why. i point to map--strapped to the gas tank of my bike--and indicate that i want to follow the ho chi minh trail. he waves no, and points to my gas tank. i don't think this is a problem because i know i can go about 200 km on a full tank of gas (which i have) and just before my map ends there's another road that cuts east toward a city not that far away. the man walks back into the booth and three other men come out to see what's going on.
i break out my vietnamese phrase book and try to communicate with them, but this proves relatively useless. the phrase book is written for your everyday tourist and provides little language outside of: "how much is it?" and "where is a hotel?". i soon realize that these guys aren't going to let me through. i try to use charades. (you'd be surprised out how much i can communicate this way). i act out: if i go
back to town, get a gas cartridge, fill it up, and strap it to the back of my motorcycle, can i go through? one man nods a hesitant 'yes', the others just stare. i must look like an idiot, i think. i act it out a few more times and get more confident nods, so i take to my new task. i return with 5 liters of extra gas
and they wave me through. success.
the road is paved and empty, but i still take it slow around the sharp corners. all around me are steep hills covered in trees that in turn are covered in vines. big black butterflies flutter around. it's a rainforest (i think). i reach an intersection and there's a sign indicating the country of lao is 35 km to my right. wow.
i drive up and around, around and up, down and around, down and up, around and round and up and around. i'm in the middle of nowhere. my compass points south more often than north so i am satisfied. i don't see anyone except a few workers camped out here to clear the road after mud slides. i worry a bit, but the well marked road signs indicating towns within my gas and daylight range boost my confidence. about three hours of driving put me into a huge valley. i'm out of the forest and start
to follow a thick, glimmering river. i stop to rest and read some of my book on a cliff top above a small town. the wind blows across a vast rice field. where the wind gusts strongly, the rice plants bend closer to the ground and reflect the suns rays in different ways. it looks like ripples on a green velvet lake.
just as i find a suitable rock to plunk down on, a man pulls up on a motorbike. he starts talking to me and it quickly becomes evident that this guy is a cop and he wants to see my passport. i smile and hand it over. as he flips through the pages i notice he's wearing well ironed, matching green pants and shirt. his shirt isn't tucked in all the way so i can't see his belt. he has funny-looking yellow plastic sandals and his right eye is all puffy. he's in a bad mood and i try to act attentive
and innocent. he keeps talking to me in vietnamese (and i haven't the slightest clue what's going on). a younger man pulls up. the cop hands me my passport and indicates i should follow the young man into town. i'm thinking i may have wondered into an area tourists aren't supposed to go (and i might be in trouble) or that they just want to ask me a few questions. i have an inkling this is going to turn into a good story.
the cop motors away in the other direction and i follow my police escort into town. we go slowly, and in town we pull off the road and turn down a dirt foot path. we enter through the gate of a tall iron fence enclosing a large two-story yellow building and a couple of smaller, one story buildings to the right. must be a police station, i think. i turn off my motor and put the bike to rest on its kickstand. the boy waves me into one of the smaller buildings. inside, there's just one room filled
with a long table and chairs all around. at the far end of the room there's a poster of a yellow soviet sickle and hammer imposed over a yellow, five-pointed star, which is vietnam's national symbol. the background of the poster is red. to the right there's black and white pictures of marx and lenin. at the center of the far wall is a white bust of ho chi minh. below ho, a tv blares an episode of jerry springer.
three relaxed men turn their heads from the tv to look at us. everyone starts talking and someone motions me to sit down. two of the men stand up and walk toward the door to sit down next to me (or perhaps to sit between me and the door?). i'm trapped. it makes me feel uncomfortable, but i remain calm. i notice on the near wall there's a chalkboard. i soon hear lots of children laughing in the distance. duh, it's a school! i realize. and this is the teacher's lounge! (as a student,
the teacher's lounge always possessed some kind of powerful quality. it was the abode of authority, and i feel pleased to have infiltrated, however inadvertently, this secret place).
i presume i'm hear to talk with the english teacher. relieved, i ask for some water. i want to test out just how much trouble i'm in so i stand up and start walking slowly toward the door. nobody stops me but they watch. i go to my motorbike and get the phrase book. i step back into the room and sit down. while the men are chatting away, i look up the words "why" and "police". this gets me nowhere.
wondering what's going to happen next, i just hang out, drink tea, and snicker inside at the irony of all these revolutionary figureheads juxtaposed next to an obnoxious episode of jerry springer.
to be continued...
[the past couple days i've been staying in hue where i can't find a single computer that allows me into the administrative page of my blog. i can post to the blog indirectly via e-mail (and that's what i'm doing now), but this always leaves the paragraphs all chopped up and ugly. i'm going to try and hit the 'return' button after each line; maybe this will make it look less messy. i get frustrated when i can't access a web site i want. it makes me realize--just a tiny bit--what it's like to be strictly controlled by government here.] [now i'm in da nang and am able to fix all this...]
travelling south, i'm trying to avoid highway 1's more developed and touristed coastline that makes for a hum drum excursion. the road goes straight to ho chi minh city and people anticipate to encounter tourists so there's little room for the unexpected--and that's what i'm after. regardless of the tourist-tourer role i try to avoid, there's some other force repelling me from cities. normally i like them but not for this journey. perhaps it's because cities are familiar to me, perhaps it's because people in the countryside are more open and welcoming. for whatever
feeling, i'm travelling on inland backroads through jaw-dropping beautiful vallies and cloudy mountain passes where unmarked intersections provide potential for the unknown.
i encounter my first surprise just outside of mai chau. after crossing over a bone-chilling cold mountain pass, i stop to wipe moisture off my glasses (condensed from the clouds i traveled through). i take measure of my map and compass. as a man tries to interest me in staying at his guesthouse (which i take as an indication i haven't travelled far enough) a man driving a dark-blue russian minsk motorcycle pulls up behind us. he removes his black helmet and reveals a totally shaved, white-skinned head. (i take this as a second sign i haven't traveled far enough). we make small talk. he is interested in the guesthouse and i decide to at least check it out. i flip my key on ignition, fiddle with the semi-manual shifter with my left foot, find neutral, and then give the starter a gentle kick with my right foot. vrrrrrrrrrrrm! i knock the kickstand up with my left heal, press the shifter down and forward with my toes and speed away in first gear.
the guesthouse is in the countryside just outside town. it feels quiet and peaceful here so i decide to stay. rick--the man's name--and i sit down to talk and have a drink. i quickly find out that although rick's now retired and living in guatemala, he spent most of his life nurturing frontier natural products, a co-operative bulk foods distributor that supplies most natural foods stores in america. he also tells
me about social ventures network, an association of ethically-run businesses. at this point i'm really engaged in the conversation. in seattle i've participated in a few ethically-minded, consensus-run, and community-based organizations. lately, i've become keen on the idea of building an alternative, local economy. an alternative to capitalism, that is. and although rick boasts he identifies as a capitalist (i
assume we have different definitions of the word) and i can still find a lot of common ground with him.
from my perspective, it seems most of the co-operatives and community-minded institutions formed in the 70s failed or at least mutated into institutions differing little from the money-driven businesses and self-serving non-profits we have today. i don't understand the pitfalls these people faced, and i want to
learn from their mistakes. frontier succeeded (at least in some ways), and i want to know how. the two main points rick conveys is that an alternative organization can't be too strict with its ideology. for example,if someone really wants to have calvin klein jeans so let it be. there should be no negative judgements on that decision, he says. the second point is that you have to make money. if you're check book isn't
balancing, collapse is almost inevitable. later that night, rick admits luck had a lot to do with it for him. (it turns out one of his main competitors was kicked in the chest by a horse and died). rick and i talk all night and i feel lucky to get glimpses into a more organized world of conscious institutions outside of seattle. in the morning, i head south and rick goes north.
i travel for a couple days, but fail to break out of the tourist-tourer role. it's really starting to bother me now and i feel uncreative not having developed an idea. language is the biggest barrier. i start to think about how easy it was to make friends in china, and wonder how i can crack into vietnam.
in xuan son, i find a main street lined with hotels and crowded with tourist buses. drats. (this is from where i posted my last blog entry). in the morning i decide to take a road further west and head south through a national forest. i'm nearing the edge of my map (which only covers northern vietnam), and i'm running really low on cash, but i consciously ignore this, halfway hoping these problems will land me somewhere interesting. like stumbling through a door to get attention, it's my halfhazard tactic to end up somewhere interesting.
i get to the border of the national forest. there's a little concrete booth and a lever across the road to keep vehicles from crossing. a man strolls out and immediately shooo's me away. i turn off the engine, get off, and try to figure out why. i point to map--strapped to the gas tank of my bike--and indicate that i want to follow the ho chi minh trail. he waves no, and points to my gas tank. i don't think this is a problem because i know i can go about 200 km on a full tank of gas (which i have) and just before my map ends there's another road that cuts east toward a city not that far away. the man walks back into the booth and three other men come out to see what's going on.
i break out my vietnamese phrase book and try to communicate with them, but this proves relatively useless. the phrase book is written for your everyday tourist and provides little language outside of: "how much is it?" and "where is a hotel?". i soon realize that these guys aren't going to let me through. i try to use charades. (you'd be surprised out how much i can communicate this way). i act out: if i go
back to town, get a gas cartridge, fill it up, and strap it to the back of my motorcycle, can i go through? one man nods a hesitant 'yes', the others just stare. i must look like an idiot, i think. i act it out a few more times and get more confident nods, so i take to my new task. i return with 5 liters of extra gas
and they wave me through. success.
the road is paved and empty, but i still take it slow around the sharp corners. all around me are steep hills covered in trees that in turn are covered in vines. big black butterflies flutter around. it's a rainforest (i think). i reach an intersection and there's a sign indicating the country of lao is 35 km to my right. wow.
i drive up and around, around and up, down and around, down and up, around and round and up and around. i'm in the middle of nowhere. my compass points south more often than north so i am satisfied. i don't see anyone except a few workers camped out here to clear the road after mud slides. i worry a bit, but the well marked road signs indicating towns within my gas and daylight range boost my confidence. about three hours of driving put me into a huge valley. i'm out of the forest and start
to follow a thick, glimmering river. i stop to rest and read some of my book on a cliff top above a small town. the wind blows across a vast rice field. where the wind gusts strongly, the rice plants bend closer to the ground and reflect the suns rays in different ways. it looks like ripples on a green velvet lake.
just as i find a suitable rock to plunk down on, a man pulls up on a motorbike. he starts talking to me and it quickly becomes evident that this guy is a cop and he wants to see my passport. i smile and hand it over. as he flips through the pages i notice he's wearing well ironed, matching green pants and shirt. his shirt isn't tucked in all the way so i can't see his belt. he has funny-looking yellow plastic sandals and his right eye is all puffy. he's in a bad mood and i try to act attentive
and innocent. he keeps talking to me in vietnamese (and i haven't the slightest clue what's going on). a younger man pulls up. the cop hands me my passport and indicates i should follow the young man into town. i'm thinking i may have wondered into an area tourists aren't supposed to go (and i might be in trouble) or that they just want to ask me a few questions. i have an inkling this is going to turn into a good story.
the cop motors away in the other direction and i follow my police escort into town. we go slowly, and in town we pull off the road and turn down a dirt foot path. we enter through the gate of a tall iron fence enclosing a large two-story yellow building and a couple of smaller, one story buildings to the right. must be a police station, i think. i turn off my motor and put the bike to rest on its kickstand. the boy waves me into one of the smaller buildings. inside, there's just one room filled
with a long table and chairs all around. at the far end of the room there's a poster of a yellow soviet sickle and hammer imposed over a yellow, five-pointed star, which is vietnam's national symbol. the background of the poster is red. to the right there's black and white pictures of marx and lenin. at the center of the far wall is a white bust of ho chi minh. below ho, a tv blares an episode of jerry springer.
three relaxed men turn their heads from the tv to look at us. everyone starts talking and someone motions me to sit down. two of the men stand up and walk toward the door to sit down next to me (or perhaps to sit between me and the door?). i'm trapped. it makes me feel uncomfortable, but i remain calm. i notice on the near wall there's a chalkboard. i soon hear lots of children laughing in the distance. duh, it's a school! i realize. and this is the teacher's lounge! (as a student,
the teacher's lounge always possessed some kind of powerful quality. it was the abode of authority, and i feel pleased to have infiltrated, however inadvertently, this secret place).
i presume i'm hear to talk with the english teacher. relieved, i ask for some water. i want to test out just how much trouble i'm in so i stand up and start walking slowly toward the door. nobody stops me but they watch. i go to my motorbike and get the phrase book. i step back into the room and sit down. while the men are chatting away, i look up the words "why" and "police". this gets me nowhere.
wondering what's going to happen next, i just hang out, drink tea, and snicker inside at the irony of all these revolutionary figureheads juxtaposed next to an obnoxious episode of jerry springer.
to be continued...
posted by charlie at Thursday, March 16, 2006
3 Comments:
You want people to be more ruthless...maybe you actually discovered a little about yourself that you didn't know was there...we are all human. I enjoy the unabashed rantings..and learn a lot. Keep up the good work.
RP-N
This is Rick - that weird shaved head old guy Charlie met. Fully agreed - the conversation was excellent (my explanation for why I prolonged it long after we were both in bed and the other occupants of the bamboo stilt house had been quiet for hours).
Charlie is only one of many travellers in Vietnam, but he is definitely an outlier. At the positive end of the distribution. Made me feel very guilty for not blogging, having too much money, being too reserved with the locals, and even being a vegetarian.
And let me add one thing - Charlie is far more intelligent than the average tourist, even the average young tourist (what other explanation could there be for the way older people visit countries like Vietnam than low cognitive abilities?). He appears to get more out of every 24 hours than I, regretably, get out of 7 times that many.
I finally caught up on all your entries from here in Padelford... and your last one is THIS! I'll be biting my nails all day.
Your blog is such a blast to read; keep it up. Here's to your health and lots of good story fodder...
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