Yeah,
I brought an expired credit card with me overseas. No worries for the
naïve. Move money around like its millions and I can spend dollars
like they're Vietnamese Dong. It's good karma keeping the economy
going. Before long though, Westpac caught wind of my inclination to
fits of abstract consumerism and halted the haemorrhaging of cash
before it reached 'nervous phone call to Nana' stage.
I
don't know why I chose this holiday to make up for all the previous
trips I had taken without buying a single present. Having a backpack
big enough to hold a small car made me less concerned about carting
the crap home. A large portion of my budget had been set aside to
blow on needless things, but I had initially intended to be the sole
recipient of such a savage spend-up. Everything is so cheap in
Vietnam that even blatant rip-offs seem like good buys when compared
to prices back home. The whole country is like one big $2 shop. So I
spent my time in Saigon shopping like the act of purchasing was a
panacea for all of life's woes.
Without
needing any encouragement, I nearly opted for a new laptop when 'old
faithful' stopped charging. Watching sparks fly whenever you plugged
something into a socket was a common and enjoyable occurrence. Anyone
less enthralled by something so simple might have considered what
effects such a volatile connection could have on the innards of
valuable technology. Fortunately, the components weren't cooked like
a curry and only the charger itself copped the excess electrical
current.
The
laptop was out of service long enough to remember how to write, and
also how much simpler computers make the process. I penned a few
notes about valuable things I wanted to write or remember. A week
later, I've lost the note pad and forgotten what I wrote. As usual,
the process of recording events became redundant when it seemed far
more valuable to just experience them. It was the last two days with
Uma and only vague possibilities exist for us travelling together
again, so we wanted to make the most of our time.
We
stayed in the Pham Ngu Lao area, composed of the densest
concentration of backpackers in Saigon. The bus had dropped us there,
with the likely intention of delivering us into the waiting hands of
Hotel touts. Never one to waste time looking for bargains, the price
was fair, the location was ideal, and near by, and the need for
independent thought was removed entirely. But, the price would have
been fair if it had have been what he quoted, and a seedy alley is an
ideal location if shadey deals is your highest priority. Five floors
up just to see a room AGAIN, and neither of us had the intention of
going back down and up into the attic of another place.
Further
removed from China than Hanoi, Saigon had a certain softness to it
that made it feel more welcoming. More Western is probably the best
way to put it, as the straight lines and hard edges of communist
simplicity and functionality were smoothed out by a more cosmopolitan
and global approach. I would like to offer a far more in depth look
but my time there was not spent with such an awareness. More than
enough awareness was taken up avoiding traffic, even though I never
made it to the worst areas where millions of scooters oozed through
the tightly packed streets.
Our
only adventures beyond the main tourist drag were to the two most
commonly visited tourists sites. The first was the Reunification
Palace,
where power was finally wrested away from the South Vietnamese
government to end the 'American war'. A decommissioned helicopter sat
forlorn on the roof, a solemn reminder of the iconic desertion by the
Americans being airlifted to an offshore sanctuary on 30th
April 1975. As the site of a tense turning point in history, the
place hung lost in limbo ever since and a feeling of time suspended
permeated the environment. Looking at all the empty government rooms
was a study in 70's interior design and boredom unbalanced the
tranquillity of an otherwise peaceful part of a manic city.
The
imagery on show at the War Remnants museum was more than enough to
further unbalance my emotional tranquillity. Some of the images were
so shocking, my lunch would have reappeared undigested were I to have
looked closer at the victims of Agent Orange. The most haunting image
turned out to be a villager suspected of VC ties begging for mercy
from his captors. The somewhat biased representation of American
brutality leads the viewer to believe he would not have been shown
any. In one sense, it was refreshing to see the other perspective of
the conflict, but it was utterly demoralising to see, yet again,
exactly what humans are capable of doing to each other. The pleading
eyes of the old man held my attention like his entreaties were
directed at me. My heart was bracing itself for another teary goodbye
with Uma and I had to walk away from the display before it started to
represent all the things I was about to miss.
The
last days passed in a blur of bargains and emotions. The sadder I
felt about leaving Uma and Vietnam, the more reminders of the moment
I tried to accumulate. Another pith helmet and 16 DVD's containing
the first 108 UFC events were essential items, but my purchases were
more indicative of my personality than the recent memories I was
hoping to bolster. Bangkok was tempting me with a wider range of
goods and was one flight closer to home to lug my bag of bricks so
some belated control was eventually exerted.
Some
control over emotions had always been present as self preservation,
knowing that Uma was heading home to the other side of the world.
Belated amends must be made about the way Uma was portrayed in my
journals as well. She was an amazing travel companion, far more
entertaining for her company than her hijinx, although the latter
made far more interesting reading. Her sense of fun and willingness
to experience everything travelling had to offer was admirable and
inspirational.
Being
with Uma has
reminded me that my life is a constant process of lessons in letting
go. It is my most important lesson because it is what I find hardest
to do. If I really enjoyed something or someone, i just want to hold
onto it, or even just the memory of it. Yet, it's like practicing
voodoo on yourself. That
is why learning exactly what letting go truly means is so important
as well. It isn't about moving on to something different with only
pleasant memories to keep. It's also about working out what to
incorporate into my personality that was changed by the experience.
Letting go of the historical aspect of it, but utilising the
positive, influential part of it. It will always be special to me,
but the important thing is to shift the relevance from an everyday
proposition like it was while I was there, to an integral part of
what makes me who I am now.