from Ho Chi Minh to Ca Mau(ld) and back

I have the distinct pleasure of writing the second to last blog entry. Pleasure is a relative term, I guess. I know that I've lost track of the days and only know, and barely at that, where we are in the world. We have all tried to keep track of the time in the US - I don't know how successful most of us were, but I know that the more I tried to do that, the more confused I became - so Happy Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday (take your pick).

We arrived in Saigon City yesterday afternoon following ANOTHER 4 hours bus trip. The roads between Can Tho and HCMC are fairly developed in places. Some of them are better than I-16 headed to Savannah (but not for too long - gotta keep us on our toes, right?).

It is a bittersweet, though somewhat rushed relief to be back in the New Epoch here on Cach Mang Thang street in District 1. I'm certain that I couldn't find this place on a map if I had to. The traffic NEVER stops - and by never, I literally mean never. Jacob and I heard the honks and beeps of the motor scooter brigade out of our window all night long and last night, as we were leaving dinner, Xavier, Kim's brother-in-law, explained crossing the street - (in his French, Vietnamese accented English) "The philosophy is different. You go forward or you stop, but you NEVER go back. If you keep moving, traffic will part to accomodate you, but traffic will not stop."

One of the benefits of writing at the end of the trip is that I get to tell the stories that haven't been told yet.

Finally, last night, after Kim's family hosted all 20 of us for an amazing dinner, Katie Beth Judd, with much prodding and coaxing, sang Karaoke. She scored a 94/100 on the vietnamese karaoke version of "Seasons of Love." I think Simon Cowell would've been more generous with his score than the karaoke machine. We all hooted and hollered for her, generally making a ruckus, which caused one of the tenants to shut the door to the karaoke room.

Kim's nephew, Louis, one of the most precocious 8 year olds we've encountered (he now speaks French, Vietnamese - which is an accomplishment all in itself - and English) goaded by Kyle, performed his breakdance moves for us. He and Kyle then proceeded to become friends using their common tongue - French. I don't know about everyone else, but after listening to Kyle and Louis talk, I wish I had stuck to those foreign language lessons my parents told me were so important.

Jacob, Lauren, Vian, Shane, and Kyle spent the afternoon in HCMC being fitted for suits. It was a madhouse in Mr Binh's (the tailor) showroom - with our group of 9, Xavier, and the staff of 9 - all trying to communicate somehow at the same time. There was pointing and measuring and gesturing and discussion and trying on of jackets and pointing to pictures - all in bare feet and all with a general sense of camaraderie. One thing I've learned - good business knows no language barriers - compassionate medical care doesn't either.

Ok, its almost 8:30 here, time for breakfast soon, but before I go, a story and then a reflection.

Last Friday night in Ca Mau, Kim, Katie Wells, KBJ, Naomi, Lauren, Jacob, Kevin, and I went to see a Buddhist temple after clinic. In retrospect - they had this planned all day long! We walked down a dark alley littered with fruit peels and smelling of either feet or durian fruit to this large temple complex, where I was coached by Kim to fold my hands and keep them folded for the entire time that I was on temple grounds to show respect for the Monks and for the Buddha. I complied, and kept thinking that it was a strange gesture, but that I'd go along anyway, afraid to offend any monks.

We removed our shoes and entered the temple to watch the Friday night offering service led by the temple monk, equivalent in rank to the junior pastor. With my hands folded, I tried hard to keep concentrating on the service, thinking through the whole thing, wondering if it was rude to make eye contact with the monks who were on my left and sneaking glances at their shaved heads and bare feet. Someone down the line from me got tickled (hmmm, who in our group starts to laugh in inappropriate places?) and had to hide her face in her shirt (so that only her head of long blonde hair showed) to stifle the laugh. We filed out, I bowed, still holding my hands up, wondering why the rest of the Americans were being so rude. The laughing spread as we were met by one of the monks outside the chapel. Finally, someone showed me a picture...

Kim Phunong - you trickster you! I had been had.

Ok - so 3 weeks in Vietnam. Come and see what this country is like - any words I use here to describe it will fall short of the reality. We have experienced a country full of people and stories with some interesting culture and some interesting places. I've seen patients in clinic living in circumstances that are abominable with bleak futures glean hope from a smile and a reassurance that they will be ok, that their pain is bearable, and that someone, even if they are millions of miles away, will remember their faces. I am now convinced that there is only one way to get to know a culture and that is through its people. Nothing anyone in any part of the world makes sense without hearing the stories (sometimes through the limited common language of a translator). The Communist Vietnamese and the Capitalist Americans share the same humanity - and that, I learned, from the stories.

--Bob Bina