I just started this novel by W.G. Sebald, “The Rings of Saturn” a few days ago and it brilliantly illustrated my feelings concerning the creation of museums detailing the atrocities of war. While I believe  it is one thing that cannot be denied due to comfort levels, at times, as a tourist I feel as though it is a strange marketing ploy and my place is not only foreign in these environments, but almost intrusive and arrogant. I can witness the sights of the horrors, but I am not forced to endure the burdens and aftermath of such atrocities. I do not “understand” what has happened, which is where I think the arrogance comes in. Anyway, I thought I must share this quote to start off the blog, since it’s something I’ve been thinking about lately and Vietnam has put me in a reflective mood.

“This then, I thought as I looked round about me, is the representation of history. It requires falsification of perspective. We, the survivors, see everything from above, see everything at once, and still we do not know how it was.”

Before I left Ho Chi Minh City I saw the most amazing older woman sitting at a street side coffee stand with her friend. I saw her, chatting with all the character that age brings to a face. I don’t know why it charmed me so much, but I think the quality of mortality in an aged face brings with a certain comforting feeling. The inherent and obvious vulnerability to the factors of life that I have faced and probably will face somehow formulates into an almost proven theory that the hardships of life are bearable and will lead to a position where I can chat with my friend on the sidewalk and discuss the mundaneities of life. I wonder if it’s my youth that tends to idealize conversation and look for some sort of dialectic with each engagenment and maybe the miniscule details of life that we see as mundaneities are really the most important. I have found that I have difficulty in conversation here, after so many months away. I long for the fulfillment of having a shared past and going beyond the surface to something– either the discoveries of myself or them to various philosophical outlooks or even pop culture. Sometimes I don’t want a conversation driven by the baser instincts or alcohol, but one where I learn something. I think that’s what I’m missing the most: learning and the nuances of language. This is a confession and one I am not proud of, but I find in speaking with people that are not fluent– and I KNOW it goes both ways– it’s hard to learn something because the language is so rudimentary. In some ways this creates a whole new learning experience in which someone must go beyond spoken word, but it can be an exhausting difficulty. I am here to learn about different places and people and find myself sometimes too tired to do so. And in comes the idealiziation of the familiar. I’m enjoying myself though, this isn’t written with melancholy, but it something that I have been observing that I don’t quite understand.

And jumping right into the unknown, foreign, and exotic, I got to be a specimen of wonder in my days in Da Lat. The first was me, on a motorbike, alone, traipsing through the mountain roads. Countless “Hello!” and waves from passing motorists shocked that a lone Western woman is on a bike and amused to see me in my orange rain poncho with a sense of wonder that I’m sure wasn’t inconspicous. Absolutely incredible taking my own motorbike through the hills. It was a mistake to do this and then the tour on a “hog” the next day because it really paled in comparison to having the control of the reins. But, the next day was quite comical, so I must not complain.

The first stop was to a Zen pagoda on top of a hill where several boys in a group each took turns having their picture taken with me. Some chose to stand up the hill from me, so as to not appear so short next to giant me. A couple of people on a tour then asked to have their picture taken as well. This was a first in Vietnam, but was not to be the last. We then stopped off at a waterfall. Da Lat is the tourist spot for Vietnamese so it was crawling with tourists. Sidenote: the sights of Vietnam are quite strange. To see a waterfall one must pay a fee, whereupon one sees there is the option of riding a rollercoaster down the hill to the waterfall. Strange.

Back to the matter at hand, as I’m walking down the hill, a Vietnamese woman starts talking to me. I pretend I know what she is saying. By this I mean I am pretending to myself that I might have some idea what she is trying to communicate with me. Maybe I did. We start walking together and are soon joined by the whole family. Pictures ensue with every member. The mother takes a particular shine to me and I receive kiss on the cheek, hugs and several translated compliments. She seems to like my eyes, being exotic in their green-ness. I think a woman down in the Delta complimented me on this as well. Or at least she pointed to eyes and said something in Vietnamese.

So the day was being carted around and being a spectacle to accompany the other sights the other tourists had come to see. Hilarious. I’m finally finding my inability to understand a bit comical. When we were down on the Delta the tour guides and boat driver were speaking Vietnamese and laughing and I found myself chuckling a bit. This was not because I thought it sounded funny, but the fact that I was sitting there with absolutely no idea what they were talking about. It struck me as strange–maybe uncanny, if I may– to be in that situation. It’s a good thing. I’m entirely out of place and it’s a bit funny to me. It’s better than feeling badly– I must accept that it’s ridiculous that I speak no Vietnamese and expect understanding. I’m fortunate that some English is spoken and that my pointing and pantomiming skills are becoming spot-on.

Off to get some lunch. Tomorrow is tailored clothes. This is me being a Westerner in Vietnam. I am shopping and as much as I’ve begun to loathe shopping and commericialism while here–even more than back home– I will in Hoi An. I will support the local economy. This is what I’m saying I’m doing.