Northern Vietnam

We're lumbering down the inner lane of a four-lane highway -- sixteen or so mostly white-skinned tourists, a guide, and our driver -- when a black SUV zooms out from behind us and accelerates past us on the left. At this point the SUV is in the lane nominally assigned to automobiles heading in the other direction, towards us. The concept of the "double-yellow line" versus the "passing lane" does not come into play here. In fact, all lane lines in Vietnam are white. The idea that we should drive in the rightmost lanes for the sake of avoiding collisions is more of a helpful suggestion than a law. We constantly pass motorcycles driving on what we would call the "shoulder" going the opposite direction as traffic, plus various encampments of Vietnamese people who just decided to get off their bikes and have lunch sitting on the highway guardrails.

I think of some of the elderly people whose golf bags I used to carry when I was 19 in Illinois, and the panic and anxiety they would experience if they attempted to navigate this expressway.

Back to the SUV. As it carved up the highway on our left, directly ahead of it was a large semi truck accelerating directly towards us, as cars going the opposite direction normally do; it was only about 200 meters down the road when the SUV made its move to pass us. Neither our bus nor the oncoming truck showed any inclination to slow down to allow this maneuver to occur -- the SUV driver was on his own.

When he finally did slide back into our lane in front of us, his back bumper was inches from our front bumper, and his front bumper was probably six feet from the truck's. At no point did anybody think to honk, though our whole bus-load of tourists could barely keep our jaws from grazing the floor. I wondered then what would have happened if the SUV driver had been a half-second late, or if either us of the truck would have sped up by a mere few kilometers per hour -- but the answer is obvious: he would have died right there in front of us. This type of driving is unbelievable to us westerners, and completely routine here in Vietnam.

The amazing thing is: multiple parties couple have ended that driver's life at any time by speeding up. And I'm sure that driver knew that; yet he went anyway. I guess that's just how things are in Vietnam: they appear chaotic at first glance, but in reality, things are totally fine. A dense web of cooperation, trust, and dignity holds it all together.

...

The highway I'm describing spans the distance between Hanoi and Ha Long Bay, the latter of which is where Pouyan and I spent the last 3 days. The experience was remarkable from a physical beauty standpoint (search for "Ha Long Bay" on Google images to see what I mean) but less remarkable per my interests, which are to see how people live in a place that is much different than the United States. In Ha Long Bay, we ate tasty food in a floating hotel and drank beers with Australians, New Zealanders, Brits, and assorted other visitors while we casually conversed in English and were waited upon by a full Vietnamese staff. Whatever. It was nice and pretty and relaxing, but not interesting enough to document here. (Though kayaking through rock caves was pretty damn cool.)

In lieu of the tale of my high-seas adventures on the bay, here's a few anecdotes about northern Vietnam that I thought were interesting:

- Pretty much every car on the road here is a make and model that can be purchased in the USA. Lots of Toyotas, Hyundais, Audis, even Fords, just like home. Very different than, say, Mexico.

- Here, repeatedly honking one's horn on the road just means "hey, FYI, I'm right here, please don't deviate your course significantly." Very unlike the States where honking roughly equates to "F*%& you!", though I think a lengthy extended honk here still means the same thing.

- Motorcyclists sometimes drive along the shoulder of the road against the flow of traffic.

- Most people in Hanoi and elsewhere in northern Vietnam seem to be engaged in a somewhat casual brand of entrepreneurship. Most addresses in the Old Quarter are shops and restaurants, but even the ones that aren't will still sell some goods (sodas, beers, snacks, some of the food they cook near the sidewalk, etc.) The proprietors -- and their friends and family who are often eating with them -- don't seem to care much whether you buy something or not. Unlike some other nearby nations, none of the vendors will hassle you or chase you down the street for your business, or so I hear.

- No signs so far of abject poverty. People here seem well-fed, content, and in good spirits overall. I have seen a lot of very charming homes inside and outside of the city. People seem to have a good work ethic despite the fact that more people seem employed in certain professions that would seem necessary (e.g. there are 3 operators in every toll booth, two of whom seem to just be reading the newspaper). I make a mental note to research what type of government Vietnam has, and revise my opinions on capitalism and socialism accordingly. Based on the text of my visa and what we saw at the Hanoi Hilton, Vietnam appears to be nominally a socialist republic, but clearly I lack any nuance of the subject.

- Hanoi has a lot of places called Bia hois, which is Vietnamese for "beer house." Here you can drink a beer for 5000 VND, or twenty-five cents. It's pretty tasty, and the price is right. Bia and Hoi are pretty much the only Vietnamese words that Pouyan and I can understand.

- Nobody appears to flinch when I mention that I'm American. But maybe they are sticking their tongues out at me behind my back. Everybody seems to know what San Francisco is.

- Lots of texting and driving among motorcyclists. It's a worldwide epidemic!

- One guide mentioned that Vietnam used to use the Chinese alphabet until missionaries came in the 17th century and encouraged everyone to switch to the English alphabet. It's interesting to see how that alphabet has morphed over time, since very few Vietnamese words do not contain symbols and accent marks that are not found in English.

- For a country that is supposed to be firmly behind Thailand in the pecking order of second-world countries, this place is pretty damn impressive. Then again, I haven't been to Thailand yet. 

That's all for now. Just some thoughts. Tomorrow we fly to Phu Quoc, and a couple days later we will head to Saigon. Cheers.

Hanoi

Hanoi is the sweatiest place I have been in my whole life.

Hotter than summers in Las Vegas. Stickier than the swampiest days in Baltimore or Washington DC. The only remotely comparable memory I can recall is the time we spent two May nights in New Orleans sleeping in an RV without air conditioning.

It's an incessantly sweaty experience. The notion that honeymooners would ever fly here with the intention of having sex is laughable. My whole head is covered in sweat by the time I'm three steps away from the hostel.

I'm writing this from my bed in our hostel on Hang Vai street, just a few blocks from Ngoc Son Temple and the lake it sits on. I believe this neighborhood is called the Foreign Quarter. It's 4am (I think that's 1pm California time) and I've been up for an hour. Hopefully we can be fully adjusted for jetlag by tomorrow. We're only able to sleep because a small fan attached to the wall is pointed on this exact spot where we are laying. Pouyan just woke up as I started writing this.

Yesterday our only goal was to acclimate and get our bearings. Having been awake since the previous midnight in Vietnamese time (or something like that), we figured that staying up past 8 or 9 would be a coup. We were asleep by 6:45pm. Oh well.

Prior to that we did spend about eight hours exploring the surrounding neighborhood. Hanoi -- and specifically our area -- is a fascinating and intense place. The heat and humidity is only one aspect of the intensity; nearly as oppressive is the sheer number of people. Humans are everywhere around us. People mill around down the streets (probably 97% Vietnamese and 3% Caucasian). Motorcycles -- thousands and thousands of them -- snake their way among the people, cars, stands, and tuk-tuks, ignoring all traffic signals and passing within centimeters of us regularly. Cars, vans, and buses lumber among this chaos like blue whales surrounded by guppies and krill.

Crossing the street is very daunting at first, but eventually we get the hang of it (sort of). Success comes from possessing full confidence that the agile motorcyclists will bear the full burden of avoiding a collision.

The streets are numerous, curved, and relatively hard to navigate. For some reason the printed names of roads on our map rarely seem to correspond with the street signs that we see while walking. Further complicating things is the fact that many roads change names after every few blocks.

The majority of establishments are retail stores or restaurants that spill out of the buildings and onto the nearby sidewalks, each with dozens of motorcycles parked in front of them. The median store width is probably 8 or 10 feet. Some shops have one lone person handling business while some have as many as ten individuals lounging in and around the store.

At most places, food costs almost nothing. The exchange rate is approximately 20,000 Vietnamese dong to one U.S. dollar, and we have found that most food items are between 10,000 and 50,000 dong, or between 50 cents and $2.50, though some nicer restaurants with AC that cater to tourists are able to charge somewhat more (four to six U.S. dollars). We did stumble upon a rather chic neighborhood filled with Chanel and Cartier retail stores that also had restaurants serving burgers and steaks at San Francisco prices, but who the hell wants to fly to Vietnam to eat an $18 cheeseburger?

Instead, Pouyan and I had dinner in the neighborhood last night. Our total for one beer, one diet coke, two orders of spring rolls, and two large entrees was 227,000 dong, or $11.35. And it was friggin' delicious. The beer we had was called Bia Ha Noi (i.e. Hanoi Beer) and both of us really like it, though every bottle we've seen has a different ABV % printed on it, ranging between 4.2% and 5.1%. We found this to be rather peculiar.

Today our plan is to see some of the city sights, such as the Hanoi Hilton and the American War Museum, and enjoy some more good food and beer. And sweat our asses off. Tomorrow we head to Ha Long Bay for three days.

(Note: for some reason this blogging app is not letting me upload photos from my phone. Sorry :/ )

Asia for a Month

April 10th was my last day at Dell. Since then I took a brief trip around the U.S., enjoyed San Francisco for a few weeks, discarded many of my possessions, got rid of my hair (not for forever... but it's going to be 97 degrees and humid every day in Asia), and prepared for my first long-term (well, medium-term, really) excursion outside the United States.

Everything I'm bringing overseas, though I'll probably ditch some of it as I put it in the backpack.

I'll be traveling with Pouyan, a very good buddy of mine. Our itinerary is as follows:

 

Interestingly, as of last night the Thai military seized control of the government via a military coup. Oh well. We'll have to see whether this impacts our plans at all. Bangkok still seems relatively safe but obviously the situation can alter very quickly.

Our flight leaves tonight at 1:30am (technically Friday morning) and lands at 6am Saturday morning in Taiwan. Then following a brief layover we have a 90 minute flight to Vietnam, and then... I really don't know. Adventure and excitement, hopefully? My expectations are almost nil. It would be silly to expect a short trip like this to completely alter one's worldview, or be an extraordinarily seminal moment in one's life. It's just a three and a half week jaunt to somewhere that westerners go to all of the time. I suppose my only goal is this: to get comfortable living out of a backpack, and being outside of the United States for an extended period of time, and having cell phone service turned off -- with the expectation that if this goes well, I will be better prepared for a real serious trip one day in the future, a la yearlong round-the-world adventure.

Anyhow, I need to get moving. Only eight hours until we leave for the airport.

Several people have asked me whether I will be blogging and posting photos of the trip; so, yes: This is the place where I will be doing that, as well as (possibly) on Twitter. If you are actually interested in getting my updates in your inbox via e-mail (this probably only applies to my mom), there is a signup box for just that on the right side of your screen ------->

If you need to reach me about anything, e-mailing patrick.mathieson@gmail.com is the best way to accomplish that.

All right, folks, that's about it. Thanks for reading.

On Minimalism

I have been binging lately.

On cappuccinos and beet salad? No (well, yes -- but that's irrelevant). On blog posts. About minimalism.

Here's a good one. And this. And this one too. I can't stop. This morning I woke up at 7:30 and my first thought was how to mentally prepare the path I needed to walk to get to the coffee shop to begin reading articles on minimalism as fast as possible.

The probably isn't healthy. Minimalism is concerned with making conscious decisions about consumption, and being transparent with oneself about the desires that cause us to, say, feel the dire need to buy a new pair of Jimmy Choos. So maybe I'm being overrun with some bizarre desire to consume these articles. I don't know.

All I know is that it feels right. Sometimes life conspiratorially presents an idea to us at precisely the moment when we need it. For me that moment was last week when my mom forwarded me an article from The Minimalists. The context is that I had left my job five weeks prior, had just completed a two week journey around the U.S. carrying only a duffel bag, and was in the midst of preparations for a month-long trip to Southeast Asia (I leave in two days). I had been feeling an existential need to streamline my life; to direct it away from distractions and towards meaningful pursuits. Some of the distractions were obvious -- drinking alcohol, toxic relationships, a two-hour round-trip commute -- but I still felt like there was something obvious that I was missing.

And then, there it was. Stuff. Possessions. Things. My bedroom (and my life) was utterly filled with meaningless things that I had purchased and stored in the inconcrete notion this was what I was supposed to do with my money. That stuff was supposed to make me happy. That more shirts and more books and new skis and bicycles were a useful, productive, and necessary use of capital.

My trip to New York last month should have made it clear how silly that was. I spent almost fourteen days living out of a medium sized duffel bag, and probably only used two-thirds of the clothing I had brought with me. If I can live indefinitely out of a duffel bag, then why do I have 30 button-up shirts hanging in my closet? And more importantly -- what could I have done with the time and money that I spent acquiring and maintaining those things?

The ways we spend our time and attention tell us a lot about our desires and priorities. It's no wonder I've made next to no progress at learning the piano over the past year -- I spend half of my free time running errands to buy shit that I don't need.

Anyhow -- back to binging. I've spent the last seven days doing two things: reading blog posts on minimalism, and getting rid of my things. Whole boxes of things! Half of the time, I laugh out loud at the absurdity of keeping these things in the first place. For example, I had an old ski jacket hanging from the door to my bedroom closet. (For the record, I barely ski. I hardly have the need for one ski jacket.) Why was I keeping this thing I wasn't using? I did have some vague notion that I would eventually sell it, but it wasn't like I had taken any steps to further that goal. It's been hanging there for almost two years! I promptly pulled it down and gave it to a homeless man on Saturday night. Yesterday morning I saw the same man outside of Walgreen's, wearing the same ski jacket. When he saw me approaching, he nearly started crying out of gratitude.

Giving him the jacket doesn't make me a good person. Hanging onto it for no good reason actually makes me a bad person. Why didn't I give the coat away two years ago? That's 730 days of warmth for somebody who could have needed it; totally wasted. And there are plenty more examples from my apartment alone.

So: Thanks, Mom. I needed this. It's about time for some spring cleaning. Here's to a 2014 devoted to a lighter and more meaningful existence, less encumbered by the upkeep of material consumerism, and doubly-focused on giving attention to the things that matter.

On Dingleberries

From Google:

din·gle·ber·ry

ˈdiNGəlˌberē/

noun

vulgar slang

noun: dingleberry; plural noun: dingleberries

1. 1.

   a particle of fecal matter attached to the anal hair of an animal.
2. 2.

   USinformal

   a foolish or inept person.

Earlier today I had an hour-long phone conversation with a very good friend of mine. We devoted a large portion of that conversation to discussing a certain kind of person -- the assholes who stubbornly and ignorantly perpetuate hate and discrimination.

This topic came up because her boyfriend had recently been involved in a rather contentious dispute on Facebook (I know.. the horror!). In short, somebody had written a post warning the citizens of Facebook to stay as far away from homeless people -- especially African-American homeless people -- as possible, lest we get mugged, dismembered, or worse. My friend's boyfriend responded by respectfully cautioning all of us to avoid generalizing: Sure, some homeless people will kill and rape you, but not most. And furthermore, many (white) people with homes would be more than happy to slowly dissect you with a rusty scalpel while munching on fried portions of your skin and watching reruns of The View.

Anywho: The backlash was immediate and vitriolic. You don't know what you're talking about! Homeless people are all crack addicts that would kill you in an instant! I hope a mob of black bums gang-rapes you in the street!

...

Ugh.

Do you know what these people are? They are a bunch of fucking dingleberries. Trolls. Bigots. Fear-mongerers. Panderers to the lowest common denominator. Smug, entitled cowards living in fear of anything that doesn't match their narrow definition of "normal" and "safe" -- as if anybody gives a crap about their opinions in the first place.

The dude who refers to homeless people as "trash", "the lower portion of society", and "degenerates"? Dingleberry.

The tool who self-destructed because ESPN aired video of Michael Sam kissing his boyfriend after he was chosen in the NFL Draft? Dingleberry. Dingleberry, dingleberry, dingleberry.

Some people are not worth the effort it takes to respond to their nonsense. Our time on this planet is finite. Every day brings us closer to the last day of our lives and our very last breath. Why waste any of your precious time pushing hate upon others?

More importantly -- why waste any precious moments responding to the dingleberries?