Good Morning Vietnam

Day number one of my adventures to Vietnam was filled with excitement at the prospect of being repsonsibility free (ie. no children) for 5 days, breathing thick smog, avoiding crazy traffic, getting in some awesome shopping and recieving a massajee (that's how it's pronounced in Asia). The day started off with us all boarding a bus and traveling from Daegu to Busan where we took a five hour flight to Hanoi. We were in a tour group of about 15 people all of which were somehow affiliated with the Army in Daegu.

One of the first things I noticed about Vietnam was that it did not look at all like Korea, Japan or Taiwan. The architecture looked much more European, except for every once in awhile there was a shrine or a temple that reminded you that you were only a few miles away from China. The second thing I noticed was all the red communist propaganda that lined the streets in every direction you looked. The next thing that struck me was that the Vietnamese drivers make Korean drivers look sane. CRAZY doesn't even cut it in terms of appopriate adjectives. There were many times that my short, beautiful life flashed before my eyes--like the times that our bus was headed straight on toward a semi-truck, only to swerve at the last minute. Or the time that I almost was flattened between the sides of two buses. Or there were the times where I thought for sure we would be scraping a scooter rider off the pavement.

We visited downtown Hanoi first. We stopped and were introduced to Vietnamese Phu--traditional noodles in broth. It was pretty dang good actually. As it turns out, I was the most adventurous eater of the group--which is incredibly ironic because I will not try most Korean food (I think smell has a lot to do with it).

We visited the Turtle Pagoda and a lake in the center of Hanoi. Of course by the lake was a Buddhist temple where people made their offerings to Buddha. I'm not sure why I found it so hilarious that they were giving Buddha Oreo cookies, but it seemed sort of ironic considering the Anti-American propaganda all over.

The above picture is a typical taxi ride around the town. Our group was let off to ride these, but only myself and two others were willing. Everyone else was too high maintenance, so the group got back on the bus. I was a little disappointed. The below picture is a street barbershop. It only costs the equivalent of $1--but as I witnessed, you definitely get what you pay for!

We spent a couple hours shopping in downtown Hanoi and I saw more white/black people in that time than I have seen in the last 9 months. Sadly, many of those tourists are sex tourists and we met a couple 14 year old girls that we were pretty certain were being pimped out in the nights and selling postcards during the day. It broke our hearts because the children were full of untapped potential--they spoke several languages--it was amazing.

The shopping streets were chotic and dangerous, but I learned that you could not stop for the cars, you had to hold your breath, hope for the best and walk straight out into oncoming traffic, otherwise you would never get across the road. I became the group's fearless leader when it came to crazy traffic crossing. I would go really slowly and smile at all the ticked off drivers as they honked. Meanwhile, my group would run across on the other side of me. They don't call me Guido for nothing (but that story doesn't even do the name justice--you should see my bartering skills!!)

After shopping we went for a traditional Vietnamese evening meal with all kinds of things I've never had before--some good and some not as good and something fried with hair in it. . .

After dinner we headed back to our hotel in Hanoi. It was a nice place next to a lot of empty high rise buildings that looked like they had been under construction for a few decades, with squatters living inside. My roommate, some guy friends, a married couple and I all decided we would go for a massage (pronounced massajee) because it was only $15 for 90 minutes. Who can resist that set up, right? Well, it wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

First, the masseuse (who was dressed in heels and a miniskirt) told me to strip down to my birthday suit. Usually when I get a massage, I leave a "little" something on, but that wasn't allowed here. So naked as the day I was born I was led into a sauna, steam room. It was great for the first three minutes, but then it got so hot and suffocating I thought the end of my life had come. I kept waiting for the timer to go off or for the little Vietnamese massage diva to come get me. . . but no. I tried to turn my head down or sideways, but I felt like my nostrils and lungs were burning up. Finally, I pounded on the door to be let out. When I stumbled through the door into fresh air, the little high-heeled lady stood there laughing at me. Maybe she had placed bets on how long the dumb American would last in the steamy torture chamber?

Next, I was ushered into a bubble bath. The lady shampooed my head for me--which, while I've never had anyone do that for me before--wasn't all bad. But not bad turned to "Oh no she didunt" when she proceeded to take an over-used, under-santitized loofah and scrub every, and I mean, every inch of my body. Awkward!! All I could do was try not to laugh at the absolutely ridiculous, lost-in-translation, can't speak the language to tell her I feel a little violated here, situation. After my thorough cleansing, I noticed the black ring around the tub that I was quite certain did not come from just me. So not only was I violated, I realized I was also contaminated.

The little woman pulled me from the filthy tub and pulled me into the room with the massage table, but before getting a massage (which I was highly anticipating), she sat me down and blow dried and styled my hair. Why thank you--now that you've rubbed every part of me, why not do my hair, too? Once my style was complete, she pushed me toward the table, still buck naked. I was so anxious to slip between the sheets and enjoy something in this cultural experience. But, no. . . there were no sheets, only a large hand towel. I strategically placed the towel over my nether regions, only to realize once she started that it was pretty much futile.

Surprise number one (in case now would be a good time to start numbering them) was that this massage did not include any oil--meaning that it was tad bit (understatement) grippy on my freshly loofahed skin! Surprise number two was that every joint in my body was about to be popped or otherwise brutalized. She started with my toes, which, I am not kidding, she sprained my right, big toe joint and I still, a week later, can't put pressure on it. Surprise number three, was that little missy was about to climb onto the massajee table with me, pull my legs wide open, wrap one at a time around her as she pounded the hell out of them. I tried to negotiate the towel to stretch every bit of coverage out of it as I could, but in the end, I just wanted to know how to say "Don't judge, I've had five babies" in Vietnamese.

Finally, after an hour of having my body pounded into an unfortunate pulp, I was privileged to have several strands of my hair purposely yanked from my head, followed by her cupping one hand and smacking it with the other into my forehead and temples several times. In the moment I thought I would break and tell her any U.S. secrets she wanted, she pushed me up and told me to get dressed. I've never been this happy for a massage to end. I am pretty sure that I will need years of therapy to overcome this experience. But, if I thought it was bad for me. . . it wasn't nuthin' compared to the treatment the guys got. After being burned, washed and tortured, they were seduced and offered a "happy ending" for $50 dollars. . . but I'll save the rest of that story for Day 2.