:: Psycho Cyclo :: 
The cyclo (xich lo), or the pedicab, short for the French cyclo-pousse is a three-wheeled bicycle with a rickshaw-style passenger carriage mounted on the front. The driver pedals from behind leaving the passenger’s forward view unobstructed (except, of course, for all the other cyclos and motorbikes on the road.)

There are many ways of getting around the cities of Vietnam – walking, bus, taxicab – but the two most readily available are the motorbike taxis and the cyclos. A ride on either generally costs 10,000 dong (US 65 cents) one-way to anywhere within the city center – more if you’re going a greater distance (say 5 to 10 miles). Alternatively, cyclos can be hired by the hour at a paltry rate of 15,000 dong (US $1) per hour.

I hired a cyclo driver yesterday to take me back to my hotel after a morning stroll through town. Halfway home, he crashed into a motorbike... (Let’s pause a second for dramatic effect)... What happened was the motorbike in front of us had stopped suddenly to make a turn. My cyclo driver had been building up some momentum, couldn’t stop in time (although he didn’t really seem to try to stop at all), and plowed into the rear of the motorbike, breaking a taillight and knocking the rider clear off his bike. I went to get up out of my carriage to help the fallen rider when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder pull me back down into my seat. “No problem. No problem,” shouted my derelict cyclo driver as he furiously pedaled away from the scene of the crime. At first I was a bit aghast, but then I started to notice that no one seemed really bothered by the incident. Traffic moved on. Pedestrians barely paused to look. Even the fallen rider got back up and, although visibly upset and muttering obscenities under his breath, took the fall in stride and rode away on his bike with the now-broken taillight.

In traffic-law-less congestion, bumps and minor accidents are expected and are just part of what commuters put up with to ride on these streets. Congestion also means that no one can really drive very fast anyway, so accidents are nearly always minor. In fact, in several cities, helmets are not only not used, they’re actually prohibited my law. Reason being that accidents rarely occur at more than 15-20mph, and in weaving traffic, the peripheral view that a helmet blocks is more valuable than the safety a helmet might provide in a collision.

As an aside, I saw a motorbike rider’s foot get run over by a small car while he was stopped at a light. Calmly and nonplussed, he tapped on the roof of the car and motioned to the driver to roll back off of his foot. I would have been screaming.

Accepting then that bumps may come and riders fall, I got “back up on the horse” today. I hired another cyclo driver – one of fifteen stationed outside my hotel – for the whole evening. Basically, he wheeled me around the city for five hours as I made various stops to eat, drink and shop. The highlight of the evening was crossing the Trang Tien Bridge. On Thursday and Saturday nights from 7:00 to 10:00pm, the bridge is illuminated with colored floodlights (limited hours because of electricity shortages). Each of the five spans of the bridge is lit in a solid wash of color – red, purple, blue, green, white, and yellow – and every few seconds, in out-of-sync rotation, the colors change. It’s quite brilliant – romantic and eerie at the same time. We went across three times in a row. Paid by the hour, my cyclo driver didn’t seem to mind, although in confirming my instructions to cross the bridge yet another time, his face told me I was strange.

At the end of the evening, after finishing up at the last bar, I was a wee-bit drunk, and consequently insisted that the cyclo driver let me have a go at peddling while he sat comfortably (or perhaps fearfully) in the carriage. At 1:00am, the streets were now dark and empty. He must have been drinking rice wine with the other parked cyclo drivers because he began singing a Ricky Martin song. As I peddled us back to my hotel, his singing became louder. He only knew the chorus (and barely that), but proud of his learned Spanglish, he kept repeating it.

One. Two. Three. Four.
Ole... Ole... Ole.
Here we go!
Ole... Ole... Ole.
Go. Go. Go.
Ole... Ole... Ole.

Somewhere along the way, I joined in.

:: Primped and Pampered :: 
Hoi An is a beautiful city. Just 30 clicks south of Danang and near China Beach, this picturesque seaside hamlet is a city worth lingering in. Untouched by the “American War,” there are over 800 structures of historical significance. Untouched by modernity, there are several miles of streets lined with 200-year home wooden homes and shops, most with original shutters and terra-cotta tiled roofs. Lit with lanterns by night, the streets of this old city are great for leisurely evening strolls. As captivatingly romantic as the streets and architecture are, the real reason to come to Hoi An is to shop and be pampered.

Hoi An is a shopper’s mecca for custom-made clothes, traditional art, art reproductions, carved furniture, lanterns and lights. Yesterday, I had a wool suit custom made for me. After three fittings with the tailor, the Hugo Boss design that I had picked from a catalogue looked and fit perfect. Cost = US $24. This morning, I spent hours under a cabana at the beach, eating, drinking and reading. At one point, I received a complete beauty treatment (manicure, pedicure, facial and massage) from three older women in conical hats. Cost = US $3.

In Vietnamese cities, you’re constantly being approached by people trying to sell you things – books, newspapers, gum, fruit, handicrafts. Call it Red Capitalism, but everyone in communist Vietnam is an entrepreneur. This is no different in Hoi An, except that half of the people that approach you here don’t actually have anything with them to sell you, but instead politely ask, “Is there anything I can go get you?” Go into a shop and the question is similar, “Is there anything I can make you?” Custom consumerism.

Another point about street solicitors that’s become funny to me is that they frequently use the sly sales tactic of trying to befriend you first before hitting you up to buy something. Actually, it’s not really very sly at all; it’s pretty obvious. It always begins the same way: “What’s your name–Where are you from–How old are you?” It’s gotten to a point where I interrupt their approach with the immediate declaration that, “My name in Ken. I’m an American. I’m 29-years old. What are you selling?”

:: Weasel Shit Coffee :: 
Unlike most other parts of Asia, Vietnam has more of a coffee culture than a tea culture. Although tea is readily available, coffee seems to be the caffeine-carrier of choice. In every city center, a coffeehouse is never more than a block or two away. All are locally owned and operated (read: no Starbucks… yet).

The French introduced coffee and coffeehouses to Vietnam during their 96-year colonial rule, but the Vietnamese have since imbued this inherited drink and coffeehouse institution with a taste and character that is distinctly Vietnamese. Like the French, the Vietnamese prefer their coffee dark-roasted and espresso-strong. Like some French, the Vietnamese prefer their coffee fresh-brewed at the table; a dripper filled with coffee beans is placed over a cup and hot water is poured in. (If you want an iced coffee, they’ll place the dripper over a glass filled with ice.) Now, here’s where the recipe changes from French to Vietnamese: The Vietnamese like their coffee sweet – desert sweet. Order a coffee with milk and the dripper will be placed over a cup half-filled with sweet condensed milk. (Condensed milk is what sweetens most ice creams.) You actually have to specify “fresh milk” and accept the additional charge if your sweet-tooth doesn’t extend to coffee.

The Vietnamese also have “delicacy” coffees – high-end coffees with special roasting formulas that only the Vietnamese could come up with. There’s butter roast (coffee roasted in butter), rice wine roast (beans soaked in rice wine before roasting), and my personal favorite (and what I happen to be drinking right now as I write this) – chon, or weasel-shit coffee. With chon, coffee beans are fed to weasels, later collected from their excrement, presumably cleaned, and then roasted. mmm. Strong, thick, fragrant coffee with a buttery aftertaste mixed with sweet condensed milk for a taste and consistency that resembles warm fudge. mmm.

:: In Country :: 
I didn’t know what to expect being an American in Vietnam – maybe lingering resentment; maybe hostility; maybe even a pop star’s welcome. No where in this country have I not felt welcome. And aside from an insufferable backpacking hippie from Australia who needed to voice her disdain for American foreign policy to the only American around, I have never once felt attacked, dismissed or begrudged for being an American. Still, there is a perceptible difference in the way the northern and southern Vietnamese regard Americans (and for that matter, all Westerners). In the North (in Viet) people are mostly indifferent towards Americans – not respectful, not disrespectful, just indifferent. Attitudes in the South (in Nam) range from indifference to magnanimous warmth. On more than one occasion, I was greeted by someone who began chanting, “America, number 1! America, number 1!” to which I could only politely smile and return the strange compliment in kind, “Vietnam, number 1! Vietnam, number1!”

The North and the South still have yet to heal their own civil war wounds, and the differences (beyond simple reception of foreigners) are manifest conspicuously in daily life. The North runs the government; the South runs the economy. The northerners are party patriots who idolize Ho Chi Minh (and who proudly express their patriotism in song – someone even tried to teach me a song about Ho Chi Minh, or “Uncle Ho” as they prefer to call him); the southerners are party capitulants who idolize the dollar. The view of history that you can hear is totally different from North to South. The museums and war memorials throughout the country, for example, are run by the government (i.e. the northern propagandists). These may be the only places in Vietnam where an American might become offended. At the Hanoi Hilton (prisoner of war detention center), a placard read:

At the War Remnants Museum in Saigon (which used to be called “The American Crimes Museum”), a pamphlet handed out at reception pulls no punches in describing the photo gallery as, “Some Pictures of US Imperialist Aggressive War Crimes in Vietnam.”

:: Amusement in the Jungle :: 
Vietnam is still predominantly an agrarian society, but every year, more and more villagers and farmers move into its cities (Saigon in particular). They come in droves to realize their dreams of wealth and business ownership. They come to earn enough to buy a motorbike, their Honda Dream if you will (the actual model name of Vietnam’s most popular motorbike… and yes, it’s written in English.) They come for the glittering nightclubs, KFC chicken and multiplex movie theatres. In three words, the come for “the better life” ;-)

The streets of Vietnam are still mostly lined with crumbling tenements and ramshackle street-level businesses, but every so often, you’ll run across a beacon of modernity. It might be the glass and steal Citibank skyrise that towers over central Saigon or the straight-out-of-London New Century dance club in Hanoi. But my favorite symbols of Vietnam’s emergence from communism have to be Saigon’s numerous bowling centers and water parks. Saigon has three mega bowling entertainment centers (bowling, arcades, karaoke, etc.); I bowled a 155 at one of them. Saigon also has a few waterslide parks. In a remote corner of suburban Saigon, almost nearly rising out of the jungle, Saigon Water Park has children’s wading pools, a wave pool, and 15 looping, rafting, and straight-drop waterslides as good as any you might find in the West. I’ve heard that Western tourists often visit the Saigon Water Park, but I couldn’t find any today – just a mass of screaming Vietnamese kids pointing at and splashing the big funny white guy.

:: Evel Knievel :: 
I’ve never been on a motorcycle prior to Vietnam, but here close to half the population owns a motorbike (a scooter or small-cylinder motorcycle). And just about anyone on the street (with room on his bike) will give you a ride for less than a buck. Everyone is a motorbike taxi – not just the guys stationed outside hotels or on street corners. You have a dollar? You have a ride.

Not all motorbike taxis are the same, though. Take my driver from this evening, for instance. It was bad enough that he pushed his way through rush hour traffic, cutting people off and bringing me within knee-brushing distance from other drivers, but halfway home, apparently sick of the congestion, he rode up onto the sidewalk and finished the trip dodging pedestrians and banking sharply around sidewalk stalls. Turning into the block my hotel was on – still on the sidewalk – Mr. Knievel jumped off the sidewalk onto the street, cocked his head around briefly to see if I was still attached to his bike, cut across a maze of traffic to a hail of horns, and screeched to dime-target halt steps away from the front door of the hotel. With a big grin, he announced, “We’re here. This is your hotel.” I opened my eyes and paid the man his dollar.

:: Rice :: 
Before 1975, the Mekong Delta region alone produced enough rice to feed the whole of Vietnam twice over, leading the country in its robust rice export trade. Even during the height of the “American War,” rice production in the Mekong Delta was enough to sustain the country despite immediate ground battles, fire bombing, and defoliant spraying. Resilient farmers continued the backbreaking work of seeding and harvesting the rice, their work now made considerably more dangerous by the flurry and fiery of war activity that engulfed this region.

When the communist party swept in in 1975, land was collectivized and, as in the North, large landowners and landlords were summarily shot. (Estimates vary, but these land reforms – North and South – collectively resulted in close to 50,000 executions.) Under collectivization land reforms, no one owned land anymore, currency was banned, and communal farming programs were implemented. What followed was the type of inefficiency and corruption that has plagued all communist systems in the 20th century – production shortages, famine, and black market profiteering. Without incentive, the Mekong Delta region was barely able to feed itself, yet alone the rest of Vietnam, yet alone the world in export trade.

These failures of collectivization aside, something else happened along the way that destroyed the spirit of Vietnamese agrarian culture. Rice has always been more than just a cash crop for the Vietnamese. It is the cornerstone of life. The overwhelming majority of Vietnamese work in rice production. Even today, over 70% of the working population is involved in some way in rice production. It is a staple in the Vietnamese diet, used in everything from deserts to alcohol. Rice is a central theme in most folklore and the subject of most prayers. The Vietnamese even bury their dead in rice fields. Their ancestors literally, not just symbolically, live on forever in the fields they once toiled, fertilizing the rice that will sustain their descendents. When the production of rice fell, so did the Vietnamese heart.

In 1986 when the Doi Moi economic reforms were implemented across Vietnam, collectivization ended, a hard currency returned, and a new age of Red Capitalism was born. Privatization has slowly replaced collectivization in land ownership and in business (Saigon even recently established Vietnam’s first stock market.) Politically, the country remains communist (a one-party system, at least) but much like China, economically, it is pure capitalist. Everyone in Vietnam is out to make a buck. Had this country been spared the traumatic setback of collectivization, they might have very well been Southeast Asia’s leading economy. As for rice, production has shifted from subsistence to cash cropping. Today, Vietnam exports close to 5 million tons of rice a year. Behind only Thailand, Vietnam is now the second largest producer of rice in the world.