In Transit, May 22, 1995

Vietnam conjures an array of images for most Americans, especially those of my generation. Even though I never went there to fight, being of draft age I was deeply affected by the war. Twenty five years ago it was a place for me to avoid at all costs, and now I find myself touching down in Saigon.

On the flight over I sit next to a group of Vietnamese Americans returning home for the first time in over ten years. Their apprehension is greater than mine. Clearly they have a lot more at stake. We are all nervous. My fear is compounded by reading Le Ly Hayslip's chilling memoir When Heaven & Earth Changed Places in which she writes of her family's experiences during the war and her return to Vietnam 20 years later to visit them.

Saigon, May 24

Stepping off the plane it feels like a sauna. Outside of the terminal I'm immediately surrounded by dozens of taxi drivers, only one of whom I can communicate with. Driving into Saigon I see people clustered together in small groups standing around talking in the street. Without any cars it is like you'd imagine a city decades ago.

Wake up at 5:30 this morning with no jet lag. By 6:00 there are people and motorbikes everywhere. Beautiful light. On the street I notice a group of teenagers entering a courtyard from the large boulevard. The girls are dressed in absolutely white ao dais, the traditional women's dress of Vietnam. The white silk is striking in the dirt and chaos of the street. By 7:00 the movement everywhere is staggering.

In the afternoon I went to Cholon, the Chinese district. My cyclo driver used to work with the South Vietnamese Army, as an interpreter for the Americans during the war. When the Communists took control he was sent to a reeducation camp for a year and a half. He still remembered the names of Amercian GI's who befriended him over 25 years ago.

Saigon, May 25

There are few references here for a Westerner. I'm struck by the lack of technology. People here still work with their hands and everything is recycled, nothing gets thrown away. There are streets where all they sell are used parts for Hondas, men finishing and spray painting fender guards that look new. It's difficult to imagine the American presence here during the war since the daily life is so far removed from ours. I don't know if I've caught up with reality yet dropping in so quickly from the States.

6:00 am: In the midst of all the traffic I noticed a single file of monks walking down the street followed by a colorful float with four heavily made up little girls on top fanning themselves. In the rear a marching band is playing "Beseme Mucho". It's a Buddhist funeral.

First impressions: most people are receptive to being photographed and aren't shy about offering soulful smiles. Not the distant looks from another planet one sometimes encounters in far off places. I can feel eyes on me everywhere. People watching me while I photograph others. The attention would probably drive a lot of people crazy but I love it. It's the opposite of the anonymity of life in the States.

Saigon
Dalat 1 | 2
Nha Trang
Hoi Ann
Hue
Hanoi 1 | 2
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