The fact is, if you actually go about the business of living your life like the inspirational social media posts suggest—I’m talking about the real hardcore carpe diem stuff—many people will think you’re crazy. Seriously. Try it. Live your best life. Go monk. The responses from friends, loved ones, and total strangers will be wildly polarized from something like “Wow! That’s amazing! I wish I could do something like that” (you can: more on that later) to utter disbelief that anyone would think such a thing is a good idea. Epitomizing the latter response is the question, “Why the hell would you want to go there?”
The first time I heard this was the first time I’d ever mentioned to someone maybe going to Vietnam. This was over a dinner of pizza, beer, and that massive salad over at Pizza Rock in Brandon with Ryan, Kristina, and Kristina’s dad and brothers. We were talking about traveling, and I mentioned that, for me, Asia’s sort of like the final frontier. Never been. Wanna go. Pressed for details, I threw out Vietnam in an offhand way, mostly because it’s the only Asian country I’d ever seen Gina show any interest in visiting (on my own, I’d probably say Thailand or China). I’m pretty sure that all conversation, music, ordering of pizza, beer, and massive salads suddenly ceased at this moment and Pizza Rock was enveloped in total silence until Kristina’s dad leaned halfway across the table, with a look of total disbelief—like he’d just seen a ghost—and practically whispered: “Why the hell would you want to go there?”
This wasn’t the last time I heard this. To be fair, when Kristina’s dad was in country, Vietnam wasn’t as hospitable to Americans as it is today. Sure, there was the Hanoi Hilton for POWs, which we have on good authority from the state-sanctioned Hoa Lo Prison propaganda really was a sort of pleasure resort for shot-down American pilots, but by all other accounts—and they can’t all be Western imperialist lies, can they?—Nam wasn’t all that great at the time. But weren’t the Americans the problem, and before them the French, and before them the Chinese (for 1,000 years)? I mean, for a long time Americans pretty much exemplified the stereotypes about obnoxious tourists: I’m no history buff, but I’m pretty sure this had something to do with not adapting to local customs, bombarding the land with Agent Orange, and adopting misguided fashion statements like ear necklaces and combat helmets that say “born to kill”.
What’s that? I can’t hear you.
But Nam has changed since then. For one, they stopped letting Americans bring guns and knives into the country. That seems to have solved a lot of the problems. And so long as you’re arriving in country by Air Asiana or some other reputable Asian airline with, frankly, wildly attractive stewardesses instead of in a B-52 or an A-4 Skyhawk, you’re welcome to visit. No problem. Come on in. Would you like a motorbike ride, a cold beer, some delicious noodles, all on the cheap? How about a massage?
I can understand why the vets are skeptical. But I was surprised by the people who’d never spent a day in country during the American War or after, but whose basic assumption is that Vietnam is a dangerous place indeed. Word is, my uncle was taken sick to bed with worry for my safety after I told him the news. My mom literally said, “I just keep thinking about how dangerous it is there,” before rejecting out of hand my suggestion that we fly my nephews out to see us for the summer trip of a lifetime. I can’t really say what my brother thinks—he hasn’t said much to me since he decided to get married during his vacation in Alaska, not even to tell me that he was getting married—but I’ve been told by friends that he seemed angry with my choices in life. And here I thought I was doing amazing things.
I think we need to reconsider what constitutes a dangerous place. The USA is a nation in which mass shootings occur every day. Young people suffer from anxiety and depression at rates that are, frankly, staggering, probably because their parents (myself included) don’t have the basic sense or spine to keep them off the social media. The social security programs are laughable, the healthcare costs are outrageous, the job security is nonexistent, particularly by the time you reach your 50s (and we’re likely to live a long, long time), and the cost of living is sky-high and rising. Have you heard about the opioid epidemic? It’s all the rage. You really must try it. And while you’re trying stuff, try buying a decent house in a middle-class neighborhood in Tampa today. Got a hundred thousand dollars to put down? Of course, you do. It’s sitting right there in a nice fat stack next to your boot straps. All this strikes me as dangerous. But you gotta love all that freedom.
Look. All I’m saying is that the whole dangerous-not dangerous business is a little bit silly. And nobody moves to Vietnam simply because it’s not, relatively speaking, dangerous, do they? So there have to be some other things Vietnam has going for it that having nothing to do with safety. Right?
Right. Nam’s got some stuff going for it. Lots, in fact, which we’ll get to in more detail later. For now, I’ll make a short list:
They had me at motorbikes. Everyone rides a motorbike here, and they put American drivers to shame. Don’t have your own motorbike? No problem. You can take a GrabBike across town for, like, a dollar. It’s totally safe—they give you a helmet to wear that’s entirely too small—and the wind will dry your clothes, which will be totally drenched with sweat the minute you walk outside.
They also had me at bia hoi. Bia hoi is so good I’m devoting a whole post to it—stay tuned—but for now, know this: Bia hoi is beer. You drink it out of a green glass while hunkered down on a tiny stool on the sidewalk. It’s low alcohol so you can drink a lot of them. And it’s cheap. Like 50 American cents type of cheap, also so you can drink a lot of them. And with any luck, your bia hoi will be served by a beautiful girl who will laugh at you if you try to order your beers in Vietnamese—“Hai cold bia hoi”—because they think Americans who try to speak Vietnamese are cute.
Then there’s the food. Also stay tuned, but for now it’s worth noting that American breakfast ain’t got nothing on pho, and, yes, I’ve had bacon. And that cute American Saturday market that the uptown liberals love so much—“Look at these tomatoes, Todd. They’re so fresh!” “Oh my god, Margot! They are!”—is amateur hour compared to the sidewalk markets that happen here every morning. Those tomatoes aren’t fresh. Not even close. Not like the fish here, which are still flopping around on the sidewalk. Heck, even the fruits and vegetables flop around. You can hear them crying out in pain.
Last but not last—not by a long shot—it’s seriously cheap to live here. A meal for two in a restaurant will run you about ten strong American dollars. If you drink the bia hoi and eat the street food, and you should definitely do this, your dinner will taste better, cost far less, and you’ll have way more fun. Travel and accommodations? We booked six months in advance for under $5,000—this includes flights and AirBnBs—which is, by the way, less than the homeowner’s insurance and property tax on our house in Tampa for six months. Look, we were well off in Tampa. But we weren’t rich. And who doesn’t want to be rich? Liars. That’s who.
And I haven’t even mentioned man-pampering yet.