Apocalypse Then

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam to Phnom Penh, Cambodia

This is the end.
My beautiful friend.
The end.

The Doors soundtrack from the movie Apocalypse Now played in my head. The night before we entered a bar in Saigon of the same name. There were guards at the door making it appear as a police station. Inside were movie posters, a surfboard that read, “Charlie don’t surf,” along with helicopter blade fans and other assorted war paraphernalia. Eerie was the only way to describe the feeling. Something just didn’t seem right about that establishment.

Early the next morning we left Saigon aboard a bus of Vietnamese, Germans, and French—all bound for the Mekong Delta.

At a small village, we were dropped off and boarded a typical Vietnamese longboat. Maybe 25 feet long with seating for 20 passengers, the longboat, with its propeller at the end of an eight-foot steel rod, steered us through the waters of the Mighty Mekong.

The silt, brought down from the deforested hills, makes the water a mocha brown color. We begin the tour when the river is only a 100 yards across. Tin shanties and dilapidated dwellings line each side on stilts secured somewhere down in the murky waters so they don’t float away when the river rises in the rainy season. The longboat stopped at a village where we were shown how the locals made popped rice, coconut candy, and rice paper. The children from the village asked for chewing gum and pens. Had I known, I would have brought some. Back on the river, we entered a wider section, maybe a mile or so across. Other longboats passed by carrying fruits and vegetables to the floating market.

The river narrowed to where only two or three boats could float at once. Then narrowed even further as we exited down a small tributary. After docking the boat, we were led to someone’s house that was also a restaurant. They fed us rice, pork, and soup with pineapple and lychee for dessert.

Son, our guide, allowed us some free time before we hit the road, well, the water. There were five hammocks in a bamboo gazebo, so Brad and I, along with the two German guys we befriended, took a relaxing nap.

That pretty much concluded the Mekong River portion of Day One of the tour. The next several hours were by bus. Along the way, we passed small towns where locals were in the rice paddies with their conical hats, or fixing motorcycles, eating, or just sitting around. There seemed to be a lot of people just watching the busses go by. There was no sense of urgency among the people. They were just—living.

Choc Dou was our final destination for the evening. We pulled in just after dark to the hotel that was included in our inexpensive tour package. An hour after arrival, we were led down the streets to a restaurant. It was no coincidence that another tour group was eating there. More rice and pork. Again, we dined with the Germans, who were down in Vietnam for a holiday from Shanghai, China, where they both worked.

Our conversation deepened when we exchanged our thoughts and feelings about the Americans in the Vietnam War and the Germans in World War II. They said they were brought up to feel a little guilty for the atrocities of a past generation. For me, it has just been an enlightening experience to learn about Vietnam, the war and the country, through the eyes of the opposition.

The conversation lightened when we found out one of the guys went to college for a year in the same town where Brad and I grew up. Again, proving what a small world this is.

Day Two began with an uneasy stomach that could be attributed to any of the plethora of foreign food eaten the day before. The problem was resolved with a small white pill. Once again on the Mekong, the upper portion this time, we were ferried in smaller longboats that had the capacity for four including the lady standing on the back rowing us. She took us through a neighborhood of floating houses and businesses. It was very peaceful and quiet floating without the aid of a motor. A young French couple and I were navigated on the smooth waters to a small village that handmade fabric with a foot-powered contraption. Again, we were asked for gum and pens, but couldn’t oblige.

It was at this village where we had to say goodbye to our German friends, who were returning to Saigon, and joined two French couples who were also going to Cambodia.

If it has been several days before I get the chance to write about my travels, they become a bit listy and in my haste to catch up, I tend to just write what happened without much description. Which is what the preceding was. I would love to spend more time writing and editing, but I would rather just take in as much as I can and let the writing follow. When I actually get the opportunity to write as an event is taking place, it becomes more real and interesting. With that said…

Okay, right now (at the time I wrote in my notebook) I’m in the longboat with 15 others and we are slowly floating toward the Cambodian border on a small section of the Muddy Mekong. Sticks, leaves, aquatic plants, the occasional bottle or can, litter the river. A moment ago the boat had to slow down because several water buffalos were crossing in front of us with their child riders.

Dwellings line each side of the bank. They are made mostly of bamboo. Some have corrugated tin roofs. Others have thatched leaves. All are on stilts with staircases or planks leading to them due to the swelling of the river. They have just one room that is about a 15 foot square and all have a Buddhist shrine inside. Some people are visible taking a swim, washing their boat or themselves, or just taking a nap in their hammock. The children always wave when we go by and seem to be in a constant jovial mood. The journey is supposed to be three hours long. I think maybe we’re halfway into it. The French guy from the rowboat sits next to me catching a nap and a few rays of sun as I scribble in this journal.

Before I left home, I watched Apocalypse Now. It gave a sense of what war can do to a person’s psyche. I believe Captain Williard was heading in the same direction as we are, maybe even on the same stretch of river.

Buffalo Springfield sings…Paranoia runs deep. Into your lives it will creep. At least it did for the soldiers as they were aware that at any time they could be ambushed.

My mission is not to seek Colonel Kurtz. But my imagination runs untethered as I float the Mekong.

This is the end.
My friend.