Amanda Takes Off...

So this morning I woke up late (7:30 instead of 6:45) and had a light breakfast. I then headed over to Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum, Museum, and Home.

I took a xe om (motorcycle taxi) over there. Walk ten feet in Hanoi, especially in the Old Quarter where I am staying, and you'll hear "Moto bi...cyclo? Moto bi...cyclo?" from tauts. I knew I didn't want to walk there in the heat (though it is walkable). So I stopped at the first person, pointed to my map, settled on a price (15,000 dong), and climbed on his motor bike.

Traffic in Hanoi is scary. To cross the street, you pray and then walk slowly across, letting all of the motorbikes, cars (few), taxis (few), bicycles and cyclo drivers rush around you.

Motorbikes Ready To Go

So there I was on the xe om, rushing through the streets, zigging, zooming, sucking in pollution, wind blowing through my hair. We passed six trucks full of Vietnamese military men. The army, the navy, all of the branches. Truck after truck of uniformed men.

I thought, "This is what I always wanted." When I was a teenager, this is what I dreamed of. Well, not zigging through Hanoi on the back of a motorbike, on my way to look at a dead communist... No, not that.

I always wanted to live abroad, though I thought it would be Europe. And here I am, living in Korea, traveling to parts of Asia. I was wearing my pink backpack and flip flops...a bag and shoes I bought before my very first international trip to Sweden, in March 2001.

When I decided to leave the States, the people who didn't know me well claimed I was running away from something; the people who knew me well said leaving the States was the best decision for me.

I think I ran to my life.

For reasons beyond my control, I may be back in the States next summer for a few years. I can't see myself living there for long. My life isn't there. My life is pretty much anywhere but there. This is what I was thinking while traveling at breakneck speed through Hanoi.

Hanoi Traffic

So I got off the motorbike to look at a dead communist.

I got in line, then deposited my bag at the luggage station. The lines snaked hundreds of meters around this complex, out onto the street. I went through a security checkpoint and waited even longer. Walking into the building itself, we passed security guards (military, dressed in white uniforms and full regalia) with bayonets. While shuffling our way up the stairs, a woman fainted and was carried out by two military guards.

What am I doing here?

The Vietnamese (most people in line were Vietnamese) were quiet, very solemn.

We walked in the cold, air conditioned room with his body laid out behind glass. Soldiers stood, one at each corner, protecting Ho Chi Minh's body. More military men were standing in the room, making sure we took no photos (all electronics were forbidden), didn't talk, didn't wear hats, and kept our hands out of our pockets.

As we exited, we were shuffled to Ho Chi Minh's house. I paid the 10,000 dong fee but skipped most of the house to get to the museum (another 10,000 dong fee).

The museum was filled with surrealist sybolism. Giant plastic (clay? plaster?) pieces of fruit on a titled giant table with giant bent chairs. Cars coming out of walls. Photo after photo, a veritable Who's Who of Communists. A group of middle school girls, dressed in white shirts with red scarves around their necks surrounded me, "Hello!"

"Hello!"

"Where are you from?"

"America, but I live in Korea."

"North Korea?"

"No, South."

The main speaker looked a bit disappointed. "What is your name?"

"Amanda."

They try out my name. "A...man-da?"

"Yes." They, in turn, each introduced themselves to me. "Welcome to our country!"

And I wonder why I'm allowed by the US government to come here, a communist country, but not to visit Cuba. Is it because my gov't finally admitted defeat in Vietnam and Ho Chi Minh is dead, but they still can't stand the fact that they can't properly kill Castro?

The whole area was like a Disney World of Vietnam. Families were there, children were excited, it was like an outing. The man I met at the Temple of Literature wanted me to see how the Vietnamese see Ho Chi Minh. I think I only scratched the surface of understanding today.

Modern Propaganda

I got another xe om ride home (20,000 dong this time) and noticed that the lights count down from 20. This explains why everyone starts going at exactly the same time.

I got back, slept a bit, read a bit, and went shopping.

I bought two silk dresses, a silk wrap tunic, and a wide-legged pair of silk pants. Average price per piece, under $30. One of the dresses is being altered as I type. I told Good Man that he's taking me out to dinner when I get back.

Silk Dress

Embroidery on Silk Tunic

This is the traditional hat worn by women (today, too, not just in the past). I bought it yesterday for $1, and it's the reason my face isn't as lobster-red as my arms and shoulders. I was playing dress-up in the hostel room when nobody else was around.

Vietnamese Conical Hat
(모자를씁시다!)