Every now and then the elephant driver would appear to get a little frustrated with the beast beneath him. He was sitting on the elephant's neck, one leg on each side with his knees cocked behind the pachyderm's huge ears. When it slowed down or stopped, the driver would bounce on its neck and nudge it behind the ears while repeating some words of "encouragement".
I was with my mother and my daughter on the elephant. We sat in a relatively comfortable howdah with an umbrella to protect us from the sun. I was not worried about this journey even though I didn't know where we were going and how long exactly we would be gone. The other two passengers were far less sanguine. We traveled down a road through a lakeside village, in Vietnam's central highlands, and then entered the lake down a steep "ramp". Occasionally, the water was up to the elephant's shoulders which left our feet just above the water line.
We wore life jackets in case of an accident, and I'll admit there were a couple of times when I thought we might be having an unplanned swim. After roughly half an hour we finished our ride and climbed down on to solid ground, connected to it by the security of our own feet.
It required an element of faith for us to ride this mighty creature. We had to believe that it would behave itself, and if it didn't, that the driver would be able to control it. Being a visitor in an overseas nation, and being able to enjoy that experience also requires some faith. Control ebbs away under the direction of locals who, despite some language obstacles, we trust. In our case, my wife was in complete control and what a champion she was. She did an amazing job of organizing things for us and protecting us from being ripped off. It was relatively easy to trust her. I mean I married her, so...
Nevertheless, there is a sense in which having to trust others makes us feel uncomfortable. Allowing others to make decisions for us, takes away our power, it violates our independence. For some people, the land of interdependence is a foreign country they have never visited- nor do they wish to. Taking risks with their safety based solely on the assurances of others is anathema to them.
How much is lost to a person who allows fear and/or a desire to stay in control rule their lives?
My experience of Vietnamese people, both in Australia and in Vietnam, is that they are extraordinarily hospitable. As it is across Asia, it's all about the food. There's always a fine selection of food when you sit to eat at someone's home. Pho (beef noodle soup) may be a quintessential Vietnamese food, but we only had it outside of the home, in any number of ubiquitous little restaurants. Home meals, family meals, comprise a table full of plates and bowls filled with salads, meats, sauces and noodles.
It's wonderful to look at, and participate in, such a amazing spread, even if many of the food items are unidentifiable, and some even unpleasant looking. Exotic? Nailed it.
One night, at the home of my father-in-law, I had another one of these great meals, and finished it well satisfied. I was relaxing with a cigarette after dinner when I was summoned next door to my new uncle's home...for dinner. I groaned a little inwardly.
I joined my father and law and uncle, and a hard rock loving friend of my uncle's whom I had met earlier that day. I joined them on the floor where another no less impressive array of food lay awaiting our enjoyment. Also, on this "table" was a large bottle of home made whiskey which was mounted on a little stand so as to make pouring easy.
And so began more culinary exploration, interspersed with drinking whiskey from small glasses ( a little larger than a shot glass). Before we drank we toasted, each time. Evidently if you take a sip, you must invite everyone else to drink with you. When we had finished eating, and of course I only picked at the food because I was not hungry at all, I stood to go outside for a smoke. My father in law insisted I stay, and so we smoked together on the floor of my uncle's living room, then stubbed out our butts in the food scraps.
Following the meal, we began to watch music videos and the aformentioned hard rock loving friend of my uncle and I worked our way through a fine collection of hair metal bands, mostly Bon Jovi. There was, quite naturally, singing and air guitars. Communication was very limited due to the language barrier, but we connected.
I don't drink whiskey. I never smoke inside. I prefer to sit at a table to eat, and I only ever have dinner once a night. Nevertheless, I had a really great time. When in Rome...right?
What is the appeal of this kind of activity? I think it's about building relationships. My wife was somewhat disproving of my involvement, but that was mainly due to the cigarettes. I was with her father and some other men in a family home. It was safe place, and I guess we were bonding. I wondered about the things we do to fit in, to gain acceptance, to not cause offence to others, to simply satisfy curiousity.
I've had some unsafe experiences in my life when my motives for involvement were far less pure than on this occasion, where my desire was simply to bond with the man whose daughter is now my wife. I've rarely encountered a better example of the intrinsic connection between food and relationships.
Towards the end of our Cu Chi (pronounced goo jee) Tunnel tour, as we headed back to the bus, I stopped to sign the visitor's book. Bich had pointed it out and asked me if I wanted to write something. I said yes- would a writer ever say no to an invitation to write something? As I kept writing, Bich asked me to hurry up because our fellow tourists were probably waiting for us. When I explained to her the danger of offering a pen and a blank page to a writer, she smiled and nodded.
That little event neatly highlights two things about my recent trip to Vietnam. Firstly, the continued blossoming of our new marriage relationship, and secondly, the difficulty of nutshellizing my holiday. It was so great - undoubtedly the best holiday I've ever had -that it's hard to know where to begin recounting all the wonderful experiences I had. Therefore, I am not going to do that. Instead, I will offer just a few snapshots.
Fifteen million people live in Ho Chi Minh City which most locals still refer to as Saigon. It's a crazy, crazy town with so much to see and do. It struck me one morning late in my second week, as we were en route to meet my mum and sister at the Ducati dealership, that I had never experienced a traffic jam in Saigon. Despite the huge volume of vehicles, mostly motorcycles, and their chaotic movement, it flows. Regardless of the near misses, swerving, and the use of handheld devices by many drivers and riders, I never saw an accident.
I know they happen - Bich had two minor accidents in one week prior to my arrival - but I was on the road for many hours, and I never saw any collisions. Even when observing from the footpaths, which are not at all people friendly (motorbikes use them, as do ubiquitous street vendors), or from the safety of one of Saigon's countless cafes and restaurants, I never saw anything go wrong on the roads.
It looks for all the world like a road system destined to perpetual choking, frequent accidents and road rage. But it works. With cars and motorbikes moving in all directions, not driving in lanes (because there usually aren't any) and right of way always taken, not given, Saigon's traffic should be a basket case...but it isn't.
This is only one amazing aspect of Vietnam: a country to which I am now perpetually bound courtesy of God giving me an angel from Saigon as my wife.
I was with my mother and my daughter on the elephant. We sat in a relatively comfortable howdah with an umbrella to protect us from the sun. I was not worried about this journey even though I didn't know where we were going and how long exactly we would be gone. The other two passengers were far less sanguine. We traveled down a road through a lakeside village, in Vietnam's central highlands, and then entered the lake down a steep "ramp". Occasionally, the water was up to the elephant's shoulders which left our feet just above the water line.
