Time was running out on my visa and I had to get moving back to Vietnam. I spent the last few days of Cambodia in Siem Reap which is home to Angkor Wat. Due to time I left my bike in Phonm Penh and took the bus. It was a different perspective than the motorcycle. I was now in the bus that I played chicken with so many times before. It’s an easy ride and I was delivered to the door step of the hosel. Simple and controlled. Different, and I immediately missed the bike. A different experience, not good not bad, just different. Whatever it was, it wasn’t exciting.
I booked a driver for the following day to visit the museum and tour the ruins. It was nice to do a bit of touristy things but it all starts to feel like a school field trip. There is no thinking, just look, take a picture, and move on. A picture I’ll never look at again and could find a better one with a quick google search.
As I walked along the worn stone paths and steps with the mobs of tourists I really wasn’t present. This is one of the top UNESCO sites but these monuments and structures are lost on me. Operators advertising the “Tomb Raider” tour taints the experience. These temples are from the 11th-13th century and are somehow still standing. Conflicting accounts of how they were discovered. Some say it was a western butterfly researcher who first stumbled upon them. Another, that he was just the first westerner to see them and report his findings. I’m not sure but I think I’m the first in my family to see them.
I am curious why they were build and forgotten. Curious about the people who lived there and why they abandoned it. The structures are of Brahmanism and Buddhism influence. The ancient scriptures providing a blueprint for their creation. The balance between creation, preservation, and dissolution. The structures paying homage to the gods and what they represent. I guess based on that, they needed to be abandoned and destroyed. Maktub.
The following day I went to a lesser known museum - the landmine museum. It’s an afterthought for most tourist and traditionally never highlighted. Landmines are now of great interest to me after my experience in the jungle.
The museum was started by Aki Ra a child soldier for the Khmer Rouge. He doesn’t know the year he was born but estimates it was 1970. Aki Ra also isn’t his given name, he chose it when he was an adult as he never had a name, only nicknames from his child soldier buddies.
He was stolen from his family at 10 and was laying landmines at 11. He was good at it and remembers as a child he considered the landmines his friends. They kept him safe and every once in a while an animal would trigger one and he would have food.
An estimated 2-3 million landmines are left unexploded in Cambodia. After Aki Ra deflected from the Khmer Rouge he made it the mission of his life to clear Cambodia of these devices. He wants to liberate the land of his country and make it safe for the farmers to plow their fields and children to have a place to play.
What makes landmines interesting is the sinister intent of them. The goal of a landmine is not to kill but to injure and maim the victim. Pragmatically a dead soldier is less of a drain on the army, they are buried or their body removed. An injured solider needs to treated and cared for which takes resources, time, and adds an additional psychological impact for the surviving soldiers. Pol Pot considered landmines the perfect soldier, never complained, never ate, just indefinitely waiting to do its job.
On average 1:300 people in Cambodia are landmine victims and the museum is part of a larger project. In front is the museum, in the back a school and rehabilitation center for children. Children who are not only impacted by the landmines but also by debilitating diseases like polio. Visitors are only allowed in the museum section but the dormitories and facilities can be seen from the perimeter.
Behind glass cases are deactivated landmines produced by weapons manufacturers from every superpower in the world. Every landmine in here Aki Ra removed by hand or rather a stick with a metal spade tied to the end. Photos of him in the fields removing the devices hang on the walls. He wasn’t wearing armor or protective equipment. A photo of him removing landmines while wearing a Salt Lake City t-shirt stops me in my tracks. I’m not sure I have ever seen such determination and commitment in one photo.
One exhibit highlights the children’s experiences. Hanging from the ceiling are water color paintings arranged in cubes. Each side telling a story. What they were doing before the landmine, the experience of the landmine blast, and their hopes for their future. The paintings were haunting and hopeful. Expressing the feelings of joy playing soccer, the agony and terror of the blast, and the colorful hope for the future. There weren’t any words to accompany the paintings and there didn’t need to be. You could feel the experience through their work as elementary as they may have been.
Highlighted are stories from the war, one where Aki Ra was fighting the enemy. 50 yards away in the sites of his weapon, ready to shoot, he saw his uncle on the other side. Realizing his reluctance to shoot, his friends asked why he lowered his weapon. Faking a headache he raised his weapon again and with a clear kill shot, he aimed high to scare his uncle and allow him to retreat. Not telling his uncle of this story until an emotional meeting years later. They had a big laugh about it and now his uncle now works with him at the rehabilitation center and removal efforts.
I have met a lot of people on this trip. Of those, many and the most interesting have been those that would be labeled as bad or evil based on their actions through out their lives. But something happened, something that changed them, changed their views and their ways. That isn’t them now and they are making an attempt to make things right with the world. Trapped in the pain of their previous decisions. Hopefully that while capable of horrendous acts a sliver of compassion remains. I find it strangely relatable, I’m no saint but our previous actions don’t dictate or present or future-selves.
As I ride I am left wondering about good/evil, love/hate. Is it karma coming back around? Was it written that way and part of destiny to teach them a lesson? Are there people who are predetermined to be evil or was it their choice to act that way? I think being “evil” is easy, our survival instincts are written that way. Protect yourself and your kin because everyone else is out to get you. It’s a choice to act with compassion and love. It is written in all the religious texts but for some reason it doesn’t seem to be the common choice. I guess that is, if there is a choice at all.
Time was out in Cambodia and I had a long ride to a remote border crossing into Vietnam. With a little over 500km to my destination I anticipated a 12 hour ride, I needed to leave early. I spent my last evening in Cambodia watching the sunset over the Mekong River. It was a beautiful sunset reflecting off the water. A wonderful send off from a country I really enjoyed. The school had just let out and the children were watering their vegetable garden which lay along the banks of the river. Pail after pail of river water was carried up the hill and along the plant beds, each plant watered with care. I think I’d like to have a garden one day, that sounds nice.
Setting off at 5 am and leaving before sunrise wasn’t my best idea. My headlights are horrible, but there I was in the darkness riding the dirt roads out of Cambodia. It was cold and families had fires burning on the side of the roads to keep warm. It looked like the apocalypse. I stopped for a few moments to warm up and wait for some sun. About a klick ahead was an accident, a bus hit a tractor carrying a family and the villagers were coming to see the commotion. It didn’t look like anyone was seriously injured but looking at the grill of the bus and the flipped Ox cart, it seemed unlikely. They waved me by not allowing me to stop, not like I could help anyway.
About 70km from the border crossing I stopped to get some gas. I get started talking with a well dressed man who spoke english. We chatted for a moment and after learning I was from the US he became very animated. “Breaking news from your country! From the state of Florida! School shooting, many dead”.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t my first time hearing news of a school shooting but this was different. The speed of how fast information travels and the type of news that is traveling so fast blew me away. The speed of school shooting viral news. He was the first one to tell me about it. In the middle of no where Cambodia I am getting word of mouth news about a school shooting in Florida. What the actual fuck.
I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about an alternative universe. What if, just what if, that conversation was different and the guy said to me “Did you hear about the great thing that happened in Florida? The woman who helped her community doing that thing? That’s a problem we have here and I think those ideas could help us.” What if we could highlight the people in the world that are doing the things that matter, the ones who are leaving a positive impact, and inspiring others in the process.
The ones like Aki Ra and so many others who are passionately working to make their little corner of the world better. The ones no-one hears about, not even those in their own community. The little corner of the world no-one will ever hear about because no-one thinks it matters. In this alternative universe it would matter. The sharing of ideas and positive projects helping others and leaving the world a better place then when they found it.
Information traveling at a new positive viral speed. A social inspiration platform. Empowering those who spend the only resource we have - time - on helping others. The ones doing the heavy lifting behind the scenes that makes the rest of it all work. But we don’t focus on those people and without a quantifiable metic, it’s difficult to see the impact. It’s easy to count up dead bodies, it’s hard to count those you have impacted or inspired.
I’m sure the school shooting news generated a lot of clicks along with ad revenue and no-one is going to click on a story about people donating their time to help others in their small community. Or would they? And we just don’t have the option to click on such a story?
It becomes more clear to me everyday that everyone is looking for something. It’s just how honest they want to be with themselves and what their willing to share with others. The fear of being judged for alternative ideas or what they feel.
I see the groups of backpackers never leaving the safety of the hostels and fixed tours; it’s easy and predicable. Avoiding trying to find themselves in the bottom of cheap beer mugs all while attempting to create an ‘authentic’ experience but unwilling to leave the beaten path. Travel all the way around the world and do the same shit.
The mocking tone of people asking if “I have found myself yet” always strikes me as odd. Asking as if from a pedestal of this “I found myself” club and anyone trying to do the same is foolish. If you had found yourself, why would you ever discourage someone else from doing the same?
These kind of questions used to bother me a lot but are bothering me less and less as things become more clear. Attempting to find yourself might be the most frightening experience that life can offer and the majority of the fear lies in admitting it. Alternatively, I think not even trying is more terrifying.
When I crossed into Vietnam it was Chinese New Year eve. I heard that Vietnam shuts down for Tet Holiday but figured the economic impact of tourism would prevail. Christmas is a popular family holiday at home but everything is still open. Not the case in Vietnam. The country shuts down and everyone goes to their family and villages. Nothing is open, it’s a ghost town a ghost country.
As I ride along a main route I am starving. I spot a cafe with the gate opened, figured they might have some food too. I pull in and they are closed. Most shops here are the family home. Shop in front, family in the back. I can’t communicate with them and act out eating trying to ask for a place to eat. The whole family is present and no one speaks English they all have a laugh. They say “only coffee, no food”. I put on my helmet and an old man yells out to me from the stoop and motions for me to come in. They weren’t a restaurant but the family was having lunch and invited me in.
In the back was the kitchen, on the floor was a spread of food with family members sitting on the floor. Through google translate I send messages to the son. We are about the same age and he is visiting his parents with his wife and son for the holiday. I have no idea what there was to eat but he made it clear the food was free. His young son tells me about his favorite super hero characters and that Spiderman is the best. They have a dog named Blue after Blue’s Clues. I don’t stay for long but enjoy the time we spent together. There isn’t much conversation but they seemed happy to have me.
Along this remote region of Vietnam there isn’t much in terms of tourism. Coupled with the new year, there is nothing. I have found it more interesting to go to a place first before making a plan but this time I started to get nervous. I arrive in Kon Tum Vietnam and find one homestay. I pull up on my bike and the son tells me to park in the back. The homestay is run by grandma and grandpa and the kids are home to celebrate together.
Only planning on staying for a night they enthusiastically offer to let me join their family new year celebration. I decide to sign up for a few days. The house is awesome and the dorms look like something out of a popular instagram page. I settle in with two other western guests. The daughter-in-law explains that tonight there is a big party then tomorrow we will visit the family and the day after visit with neighbors.
We sit together as a family and have dinner. A huge spread of food covered the table. Some food I recognize and I like and others I can’t say I could recognize or enjoyed. Chicken feet, pig heart, and spring rolls are in abundance. Every time we question what we are offered they would press saying it was good for health. Apparently, everything is good for health.
The beer and rice wine is flowing. Grandma and I quickly become friends and I am confident she could drink anyone, I have ever met, under the table with ease. She leads the cheers, chants, and finishes full cans of beer while I am on my initial sip. We are told she made rice wine for 22 years and this is water; I believe it.
We - the westerns - are asked about our families and family celebrations. There was a sense that they felt bad for us. We don’t have these large family celebrations and were happy to adopt us. Happy to have us and happy to have us experience their joyful family celebration.
It’s not long and we are drunk, at least the men, guests, and grandma, not blacked out drunk but visibly intoxicated. It’s approaching midnight and there are fireworks. We need to drive the bikes to the fireworks and everyone is taking their motorbikes. I plead with them that I can’t drive and they are surprised at my objection. I offer an alternative to watch them from the roof. Legend has it there are no DUI laws for motorbikes in Vietnam and everyone takes full advantage.
We pivot and while some went to see the fireworks I stayed back with some of the others. Midnight strikes and the fireworks go off. We sit in the formal family room in beautifully large wooden chairs watching state TV about the country celebrations. The family with their ringing phones constantly having conversations of well wishes with friends and family.
As soon as the fireworks started so did the fires. Every house is burning something in the road or in the pseudo lawn. Grandpa has a bon fire burning of just about everything he can pile up. Confused I asked what was going on. Growing up in scouts many a time I discovered the joys of playing with fire but found it hard to believe I had found a country of pyros.
They are burning as a symbol of ridding their lives of the bad things they did or happened to them in the following year. Im not sure if there is a correlation to the size of fire and the quality of the previous years events or decisions.
We drink more rice wine and beers chasing them with cupcakes, nuts, candy, and other sweets. It’s fucking awesome. I had a blast and while they only knew me for 6 hours before and couldn’t really communicate, I really felt like family. We go to bed late and warned that if we are not up at 9:30 grandma will pour you a rice wine to wake up. The woman is tiny but she is terrifying in the most loving way.
Morning comes and I learn that while rice wine goes down easy it leaves a wicked hangover. I get myself together and quietly creep around the compound. Grandma isn’t in sight but I can hear commotion in the house. New Years is about to start and I have no idea what to expect.
Despite drinking everyone under the table Grandma is ecstatic and gives me a big hug. She then hands me a red envelope. Red is a symbol of good luck and family members give envelopes of lucky money to their loved ones. I got a red envelope and I can’t tell you what was inside because that’s bad luck, it was a gesture that really meant a lot. It was really cool and something I will keep with me in memory and good luck.
After breakfast and putting on every piece of red clothing I have which was my bandanna. The family is dressed to impress and the grandson is wearing a shiny red gown thing looking like a prince. Now this is where the day changed a lot and it just started. Entering into a dimension that was full of emotion, love, and the unexpected. When I was told we were going to visit the family I expected just that. In my mind, we go see the uncle, relatives, extended family and have a nice time.
It’s about 10 am and everyone gets on their bikes. Grandma, grandpa and grandson on one, son and daughter-in-law on one, and the three western guest split on two additional bikes. We enter the road way and it looks like rush hour. Everyone is out going somewhere. It’s exciting, people are happy, waving and smiling, really really good vibes.
Along a small side road we follow a small trail which switches from gravel, to pavement, to dirt and sand. Winding into the forest the small path is packed but I have no idea where we are going. It’s difficult to keep up with the caravan due to the hordes of motorbikes. I am concentrated on riding and don’t take any note of my surroundings.
We traveled for ~7km and I see the sons bike parked ahead and pull next to him. I park the bike, take off my helmet, and hop off. We are definitely not at a house and we are at a cemetery. The grave of his brother. We are visiting the family and just because he has left his physical body doesn’t mean he isn’t still family.
While I have been calling her grandma this is the grave of her son. He died of cancer at 29 unexpectedly and suddenly. He was an architect working on a very famous building in Ho Chi Minh. He was recently engaged and was expecting a child. The cancer quickly killed him once it was discovered. It’s been 5 years now and they visit him every new year.
My soul is shaking as I am cautious to do anything that could be seen as disrespectful while trying to take in the moment. We light incense, wave it three times, bow and place the sticks in the sand pot in front of the grave. The grave is more of a mausoleum with a roof and granite tomb. What would be considered a headstone has his picture, a few dates and some writing. The resemblance to the living son is clear.
Pepsi, shots of liquor and some sweets are left at the foot of the tomb. We sit on the edge of of it and stay at the brothers house for a while. The little one is too young to understand what is happening and climbs on the structure, playing with the rocks that are placed on the top of the tomb. Grandma is clearly sad, she has lost her son, it still hurts, but smiles as the little one laughs and plays.
Everyone in Vietnam is doing the same thing. They all make phone calls to their friends who are doing the same thing. Wishing them a happy new year and giving their best to the family who have passed. It’s somber but it’s happy, it’s not sad, but it is, its confusing. It’s unlike anything I have experienced before and felt honored to be invited to their brothers home.
While I sat with the other American we discussed the events. How different they were, commenting, “this would never happen back home”. We also discussed the cancer and the facial deformation of one of the cousins. Also noticing the lack of vegetation on the hill tops. The area we were in was one of the hardest hit during the war with Agent Orange. Agent Orange is extremely toxic and its goal was to remove the vegetation so the Vietcong couldn’t hide in the forests and jungles. It kills everything and causes immediate and generational birth defects along with diseases within humans. There is a direct correlation between areas where this chemical was spread and health complications.
Now I am no scientist and never claimed to be one. What I am about to say I would ague that most humans excluding the lawyers of the chemical companies, would agree is plausible. I’m an American, my government through their use of this chemical caused the death of her son and birth defects within their family.
I’m stuck in my head asking: How does she not hate me? How is she able to look at me let alone accept me into her family? How could she bring herself to give me lucky money? And how was she able to bring me to his grave with no expectation of repentance or placing any blame on me? I realize I am not the American government but still wouldn’t I have a sliver of hate for the descendent of someone who did something like that to my family? Isn’t that expected?
I just felt love, I just felt accepted and proud to share this experience with them. There was no hate in that moment, no tears, it wasn’t a party by any means but there was no anger.
“This would never happen back home” stuck with me since then and I don’t like it. It’s a generalization and I think there is a different question or statement we should be making. Just because it doesn’t happen back home doesn’t mean it’s not. I feel the real question or statement is a personal one. If the tables were reversed, would I act the same way? Would this happen in my home? Or would this happen in the homes of the people closest to me and I associate with? It’s easy to hide behind generalizations but it’s a personal question and one that each person needs to answer. Because if we don’t, it will still never happen back home.
After leaving the cemetery we went to the temple to burn more incense and pray. The burning is symbolic for the family that has passed to remind them they are not forgotten and to look over them. At each place there was no payment for the supplies needed. Just handed the incense sticks and placed inline to pay respects. Outside the temple are huge pots full or water and beautiful waterlilies, we stop to smell them and move on.
Once we finished we headed to the extended family. Age is important in the Vietnamese culture and we first went to grandma’s older sisters house. Sitting at the main table as if we were guests of honor. Food and drinks given to us and seemed they were happy to have us. It felt so normal and asked if it was common to have people from outside the family let alone foreigners at these gatherings. It’s not but they were gracious hosts and made us feel at home. When eating chicken feet it’s important to remove the claws then the rest is kinda like a chicken wing. We visited three families who all lived within 100 feet from one another. It reminded me when we used to live in Philly, everyone living on the same block or neighborhood.
Each house has a large formal living room. Very clean, with a mantle, sound system, big low set table surrounded by large wooden chairs. Portraits of family members are hung high on the walls and a picture of Uncle Ho is in every home.
Once we got back to the house we felt that while we were gracious the family was certainly balancing playing host and enjoying time with their relatives. I spent the afternoon relaxing and thinking about the day.
I left the following morning to a family send off. Grandma gave me a big hug and they wished me well. They even knocked some money off the bill and asked me to come back next year.
As I pass through the towns there isn’t much traffic, most travelers use the Ho Chi Minh Highway and I am riding the Ho Chi Minh road. The road is a concrete and dirt path that winds through the mountains and valleys. As I enter villages the kids run out and we high-five as I drive pass, they yell “Hello Biker!!”. I take a wrong turn and end up on single track road, a woman with a sickle waves to me. Every home has a red Vietnamese flag accompanied by a red hammer and sickle flag next to it which line the road and my path.
As amazing as the homestay was I was ready for some western food and have found it in some tourist destinations of Hoi Ann and Phong Na. They make a pizza here that might win one-bite.
Hoi Ann was nice but just beaten down by the backpacker circuit. I didn’t do much besides walk old town. I did meet a Chilean man who I know I will visit one when I make it to Chile but other than that I really just enjoyed a burger.
Phong Na has been a lot of fun. While converted to tourist attractions these caves acted as hospitals, storage, and munition depots during the war. Entire cities existed in these caves and were extremely important to the war efforts. The supplies were moved from these caves along the Ho Chi Minh road to the front lines during the war. A lot of history here and it has been nice to experience it at my own pace. The caves are massive but my pictures will never do them justice.
I’m heading north and needed to make a decision, time is crunching and while I have over a month left, I don’t have time for both northern Vietnam and Laos. I’ve decided to go to Laos. I have been on the Ho Chi Minh road heading north for ~600km with another 200km to go until the boarder crossing which should happen over the next few days. I have no idea what is in Laos but I’m gonna find out.
-Joe