Whirlwind Vietnam

*Apology for any mistakes as this has not been spell-checked.

November 5, 2005
Ho Chi Minh City’s Temples and Churches

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

Meandering up the Saigon River, swerving around corners, left, then right, then right again, we enter the city, rice paddy hats swaying from outstretched hands of women on the docks holding a welcome sign and twice as many parents from the parent trip. Seeing them brings me to the realization of how much I feel away from the familiar. News, cuisine, television, movies, music, and more importantly family and friends. There is such a sense of disconnection, even though the ship has become a home, a closely-knit community. Just today as we sat in the Union, Bob brings Betty, Heather, and I into a small circle to say how much we have meant to their trip, Betty smiling and trying to hold back tears. She’s not ready to say goodbye, like us. To wake up in the morning with the undulation of white caps and foamy surf out your window – the occasional whale whose blowhole erupts on the horizon like a volcano spewing bubbly spray, or the rainbow ribboning across blue sky and feathery clouds – is such an experience, too perfect and beautiful in its entirety to be here for a semester and not a two week cruise.

Heather writes, “At eight thirty in the morning the pilot and twenty four other miscellaneous passengers including immigrations, customs, and embassy officials, pulled along side the rear of the Explorer and climbed aboard via ladder. I can only imagine crossing that small void of blue water and clinging to the silver rails to board the vessel. It took three hours to navigate the Saigon River, meandering to the right and then the left around and around and around in some maze known only to the captain and his first mate. We watched as the ship spun on its axis to swerve around tight corners, all the while both port and starboard mere meters from the green shore. Sampans rowed along the river, their occupants waving excitedly as we passed until finally after our three-hour tour we approached the pier in what was quickly becoming monsoon conditions. Along with a dozen or so Vietnamese girls in traditional dress and rice paddy hats we were greeted by a small army of rice paddy hat clad parents, though quite wet I would imagine. They waited in the pouring rain for the ship to dock, at least an hour or more before students emerged from the bowels of the vessel. I started to cry looking out the window, wishing that mom and dad had been there. It makes me think that we only have three ports left, which sounds like nothing in comparison to the eight that we have already experienced. Yet, at the same time we really only have a month, almost thirty days, but it seems like just yesterday that we were celebrating the half way mark of the voyage. Oh, how I wish that I could give a great big hug to mom and dad!”

At the pier, it started to pour, monsoon really, the parents taking cover under a green roof, their paddy hats looking a little like those peculiar and ridiculous personal umbrellas worn on the head. Some opted for the torrential downpour to wave up at their son or daughter and blow kisses. Looking out the window of the Union where my trip waited to disembark once the ship was cleared, I teared up, and even though they were not my parents, they were parents, something familiar.

It took nearly two hours of waiting for our trip to depart, a hiatus in the rain a nice surprise to get on the bus and head on our temple tour, seven distinct centers of religious worship. Betty and Bob was on our trip, providing company on our tour, as well as Sony, the videographer. It was obviously not her day, as the third stop she managed to step on a pile of leaves while filming for the Semester at Sea Fall 2005 video, and seconds later was being bitten by hundreds of red ants. She ran into a corner where some female students surrounded her, holding up their shawls as she removed her shirt, everyone wiping and brushing the ants off as they clung to her skin. Later in the day, her viewfinder on her large camera broke off. With a smaller camera on the ship, she will still be able to film, and hopefully some repair can be made on the original.

At a mosque it was interesting to read the translations of the signs, “No Femininity Allowed,” and “Area for Mankind.”

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

At last we made our way down the two-story gangway in the rain around two-thirty for our trip to Ho Chi Minh City’s Temples and Churches and the jubilant crowd of parents. Right at the terminal there is a small hut selling rice paddy hats; I think you can guess what we bought dad and his two favorite girls! We even got a small one thrown in, which happens to fit Bearing, so of course now Awoo has to have one. The city seems very clean and cosmopolitan, with the juxtaposition of small venders in rice paddy hats lining the streets selling fruits to the suit and tie businessmen riding in swarms on motorbikes. Our first stop was a Muslim mosque and I was so excited about the cute little street less than ten minutes away lined with the most wonderful array of shops; you have never seen so many cute shoes, purses, and Asian clothes in one place.

There was a beautiful pool at the mosque for their ceremonial baths and the afternoon sun shining through the clouds dappled the greenish water with a ghostly white reflection of the scalloped arches. We only spent fifteen minutes at each of the temples or churches and so with seven such stops on our itinerary it was indeed a whirlwind tour.

Megan writes, “Yellow, blue, and green plastic buckets, the color of crayons, were on the tiled ledges around the pool. With the scalloped arches it felt like an extravagant bath and would have been perfect with an array of bubbly soaps, oil, fragrances and a Jacuzzi whirlpool. Of course, such relaxation was not to be found at this mosque, as fifteen minutes would have been far to short a time.”

Pretty soon we were on our way to the Notre Dame Cathedral and the statue of the Virgin Mary. On our way we passed the Ba Chieu Market in the Ben Thanh District where baskets of squid and octopus sat on tables, grains of rice and stacks of fruit gleamed on the shelves, and row upon row of flowers bloomed like the smiling faces of the people. At the Cathedral a large crowd had gathered at the statue to see the newly discovered teardrop on Mary’s face. They stood staring at her, singing under the blue sky in the presence of the Cathedral. At the front of the church a wedding party gathered for pictures, the bride in the prettiest gown, the blackest hair, and the reddest lips. She looked so happy.

Megan writes, “The slightest variance in the stone indicated a gentle tear rolling down the check of the Virgin Mary. It reminded me of the image in the news that had appeared on a bridge and a large congregation had formed around her statue, dwarfed by the presence of Notre Dame Cathedral.”

Inside the church the stained glass windows cast small dots of color on the wooden benches and in small alcoves stood stone elephants displaying fresh cut flowers. In fact everywhere you look in Vietnam at the churches and temples you can see the elephant statues like Nanas, which is now sitting in Megan’s room. Is it possible that she got it here? I have taken to documenting many of them and have even found a store not ten steps off the ship that sells them. The bride marched down the aisle as we watched and it is hard to imagine what type of reaction so many foreigners appearing at an American wedding would produce. As it was she seemed undisturbed by our presence and did not even mind the click of our shutters as we snapped a shot.

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

It was such a wonderful opportunity to visit the various mosques, temples and pagodas. Many were small and dark inside, the camera illuminating the inner recesses and providing a wonderful ‘second viewing’ once downloaded to the laptop, as small beaded items like turtles on fabric and marble elephants pop into sight in lucid and bright details. At Notre Dame Cathedral a bride in the most elaborate gown, ruffles of silk undulating in a long trail walked down isle and at the Saigon Central Mosque, a funeral ceremony was taking place, a monk chanting in loud syllables to the ding dang dong of the bell.

From Notre Dame Cathedral we were on our way to Cong Tam Quan Pagoda, banyan trees’ roots digging into the green of the grass, their vines hanging like a canopy, an umbrella in the rainy weather. Inside the spirals of hanging red incense, bizarre at first as I wondered what they were, made the empty complex seem more like a bright festival. Piles of soot from the burning had fallen to the floor. Red banners, and fabric umbrellas glittered in the light of candles, many with beaded turtles and birds. The smell, a smell so distinct I can only compare it to the aroma of Autumn and cold mornings with chimney smoke, proliferated and seemed to breed in the enclosed space, the swirls of smoke circling in the air like small tributaries of a stream and branches of a tree.

Heather writes, “Our next stop was the Cong Tam Quan Pagoda, but before entering the grounds we had to cross the street, which would not be worth mentioning if it were your typical Western street with crosswalks and stop signs. Okay, so there are crosswalks, but pedestrians just start waling and keep edging their way across. Don’t stop, just keep going, take a tiny pause as another bike zooms past and keep going. It is very literally a throng on motorbikes zipping and buzzing down the street, as you and your companions cling to each other digging your nails into the others arm. Ouch! Perhaps, I forgot to mention the hundreds of motorbikes, but certainly keeping next to the tour guide is the smartest idea. I guess that the only thing that would come close is trying to cross the street during the peak hours on the busiest street in New York City.

The temple was dark and intricately decorated, red spirals of incense twirling on the ceiling with silk banners sequined in every color of the rainbow. Every surface was lit in the ambiance of a candle, with brass figures reflecting the light. I just loved all of the tapestries and beading, at the end of the temple a small pool draped with the red silk and green fronds – a rather large fish swimming lazily in its depths.”

The one large fish seemed to engulf the cement pond, his large lips seemingly more caricature-ish of a cartoon fish about to eat an enormous worm. His eyes gazed up at the surface of the water, and at us, as we stared back.

Excerpt from Heather’s Journal:

After crossing the street once again, a task repeated many times during our trip, we made our way to the Dai Glac Pagoda. It was very dark inside and rather small for the size of our group. I have to say that I was disappointed by the almost Las Vegas like display of lights adorning the shrines, as if the Buddha statue were some musical legend or Hollywood star of the silver screen. Sony, the videographer found herself covered in red ants, and I guess it is best to say that modesty was the first to go as she ran to a corner surrounded by girls from our group with shawls, wraps and jackets to create a wall of privacy as she sought to rid herself of the crawling, biting, and itching bugs.

Megan writes, “From Dai Glac Pagoda, a funny name I think, rolling off the tongue as you say ‘glac’ sounding like goop, like some sort of a sticky, gummy mess, we left for the Saigon Central Mosque. A funeral ceremony had began, the loud chanting of the monk in melodic tones seemingly had an effect on our group as we entered, feeling so awkward as we stood, we joined the already large procession and sat on the floor, shoes having been left outside.”

Next we found ourselves at the Saigon Central Mosque whose stairs spiraled into the treetops cast like silver in the glow of the evening hours. We walked inside to the chanting of voices to sit cross-legged on the tiled floor to watch a traditional funeral. I was surprised at the display of wealth on the central shrine and the people sitting on the ground with their arms held in prayer.

Excerpt from Megan’s Journal:

One of the last temples we visited in the dark of night was the Cao Dai Temple, in which we walked up three floors to the top where silk blue and white checked pillows were scattered geometrically across the floor, hundreds piled in the corner, mimicking the glittering silver stars on the blue ceiling. There were 3,600 stars, because I counted them all while I was there. Of course I am only joking, as the tour guide explained at the time this temple was built it was believed that there were 3,600 countries in the world, and 3,600 different people. These small silver flecks seemed to twinkle even more in the darkness surrounded the opened windows, candles flickering on the ceiling responsible this light show.

*Okay, so we have run out of time…we would like to say more but it is ten minutes until we meet to leave for Cambodia. This will be continued in our next posting, which will let you know we have returned. Just like one of those episodes to your favorite show or a novel in a book that ends abruptly, we shall have to write… TO BE CONTINUED.

P.S. How come no one mentioned our fabulous song?