in full swing at home when we finished our tour of duty. By then, according to us, the war had claimed the lives of 1.3 million Vietnamese and fifty-eight thousand American troops. If there was a winner, somebody forgot to tell us.
I looked up to find Bella smiling at me. Only she could give me the space I needed and still be right there by my side. Mentally and emotionally, I felt a little better about the trip, thinking, Iâm in good hands this time. Physically, however, I couldnât imagine anything but jagged knives causing the kind of pain that shot through my upper abdomen. I need to take some pain meds now , I thought, or I wonât even make it off this plane.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When we touched down at the Ho Chi Minh City Airport, Bella and I were met by several greeters who bowed in traditional Oriental greeting before us. It was unexpected and felt awkward. Where there were once rifles pointed at our heads, now weâre embraced? I turned to Bella and shrugged. Something deep inside felt very different and it didnât take long to figure it out. I was no longer filled with hate, an all-consuming feeling that had been fueled by my fear of losing my life in the war, as well as having to take the lives of others for a cause I didnât believe in, nor truly understood.
We gathered our bags and stepped outside of the airport terminal to hail a taxi. It hit me. The heat and humidity were downright oppressive, nearly unbearable, and I was reminded of the endurance it took to survive in this climate. Some things havenât changed, I thought.
As we drove through the city toward our hotel, though my heart remained in my throat, my eyes took in every detail.
Vietnam was an ancient land, struggling to catch up with the modern world. Even with their massive population, there was a significant lack of technology. There were more bicycles and mopeds on the road than cars. What struck me most, though, was that these people were happy; most of them smiling, others waving. A slight grin made its way into the corners of Bellaâs mouth, as she watched my reaction. She could tell I was dumbfounded.
Hundreds of people stood along the roadside; some even outside their homes, selling chickens, liters of gasoline, soda and cigarettes. âFor a non-capitalistic country, everyoneâs selling something,â I whispered to Bella.
âItâs the way of the world, I guess,â she replied.
The taxi driver jerked the car to a stop and jumped out to grab the bags from the trunk. As I opened the door for Bella, I felt something take a good bite out of the back of my neck. I swatted hard. The bugs havenât changed, either. âNamâs still infested with them.
For sixty-three American dollars per night, we checked into a four-story, French colonial-style hotel called The Continental. It was located in the hub of the business and commercial district, adjacent to the famed Municipal Theatre. When we opened the door to the room, I was baffled again. Considering my previous accommodations, it was no wonder. The room was an old mansion style, with a beautiful city view, a nice double bed and a bathtub with overhead shower. As Bella unpacked, I skimmed through the hotelâs impressive list of amenities: air conditioning, gift shop, several restaurants, laundry service, car park, lounge bar, business center, fitness center, spa and sauna. âWow,â I muttered and got up from the bed to take in the view. There were two young prostitutes peddling their goods on the corner just below our window. I shook my head. From this perspective, it could have been 1968 all over again.
Bella took a nap to recuperate from the long flight, but â surprisingly â I was too wired to sleep. I flipped through some magazines and got caught up on my history:
Ho Chi Minh City, located on the right bank of the Saigon River, population 5,250,000. It is the largest city, the greatest port, and the
I looked up to find Bella smiling at me. Only she could give me the space I needed and still be right there by my side. Mentally and emotionally, I felt a little better about the trip, thinking, Iâm in good hands this time. Physically, however, I couldnât imagine anything but jagged knives causing the kind of pain that shot through my upper abdomen. I need to take some pain meds now , I thought, or I wonât even make it off this plane.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When we touched down at the Ho Chi Minh City Airport, Bella and I were met by several greeters who bowed in traditional Oriental greeting before us. It was unexpected and felt awkward. Where there were once rifles pointed at our heads, now weâre embraced? I turned to Bella and shrugged. Something deep inside felt very different and it didnât take long to figure it out. I was no longer filled with hate, an all-consuming feeling that had been fueled by my fear of losing my life in the war, as well as having to take the lives of others for a cause I didnât believe in, nor truly understood.
We gathered our bags and stepped outside of the airport terminal to hail a taxi. It hit me. The heat and humidity were downright oppressive, nearly unbearable, and I was reminded of the endurance it took to survive in this climate. Some things havenât changed, I thought.
As we drove through the city toward our hotel, though my heart remained in my throat, my eyes took in every detail.
Vietnam was an ancient land, struggling to catch up with the modern world. Even with their massive population, there was a significant lack of technology. There were more bicycles and mopeds on the road than cars. What struck me most, though, was that these people were happy; most of them smiling, others waving. A slight grin made its way into the corners of Bellaâs mouth, as she watched my reaction. She could tell I was dumbfounded.
Hundreds of people stood along the roadside; some even outside their homes, selling chickens, liters of gasoline, soda and cigarettes. âFor a non-capitalistic country, everyoneâs selling something,â I whispered to Bella.
âItâs the way of the world, I guess,â she replied.
The taxi driver jerked the car to a stop and jumped out to grab the bags from the trunk. As I opened the door for Bella, I felt something take a good bite out of the back of my neck. I swatted hard. The bugs havenât changed, either. âNamâs still infested with them.
For sixty-three American dollars per night, we checked into a four-story, French colonial-style hotel called The Continental. It was located in the hub of the business and commercial district, adjacent to the famed Municipal Theatre. When we opened the door to the room, I was baffled again. Considering my previous accommodations, it was no wonder. The room was an old mansion style, with a beautiful city view, a nice double bed and a bathtub with overhead shower. As Bella unpacked, I skimmed through the hotelâs impressive list of amenities: air conditioning, gift shop, several restaurants, laundry service, car park, lounge bar, business center, fitness center, spa and sauna. âWow,â I muttered and got up from the bed to take in the view. There were two young prostitutes peddling their goods on the corner just below our window. I shook my head. From this perspective, it could have been 1968 all over again.
Bella took a nap to recuperate from the long flight, but â surprisingly â I was too wired to sleep. I flipped through some magazines and got caught up on my history:
Ho Chi Minh City, located on the right bank of the Saigon River, population 5,250,000. It is the largest city, the greatest port, and the
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