Bird Attack
After almost two and a half weeks in Vietnam, I must admit that I was not in love with the country yet. I was in Hoi An, which is beautiful, but I was starting to get a little tired of being hassled the whole time, and constantly having to beware of being ripped off, whether for a room or for a pack of cigarettes. I was missing the Laos people. However, I felt an urge to get off the beaten track. I needed to check that there wasn’t more to the Vietnamese than the ones I’d come across so far in the relatively touristy parts of the country. I was desperate to get on a motorbike and head off into the Central highlands but I needed someone / some others to do this with. I quite desperately networked the Hoi An social scene each evening trying to find other travelers who’d be interested in doing the trip from Hoi An to Pleiku, to no avail. It turned out I was traveling against the flow… anyone motorbike friendly had already done the trip but in the opposite direction, or, they were on a budget, and couldn’t afford the extravagance.
Finally though, I met a dutch guy who told me about the ‘Easy Riders,’ a group of wise old Vietnamese men who take people off on excursions into the highlands on the back of their motorbikes, and guide them through tribal villages along the way. Well, I thought – fuck it… if no one will come with me, I’m going to do it on my own! I spent a morning investigating, to find a real Easy Rider (i.e. not one of the hundreds of men in the city who own a bike and pose as one). I found my man. He was called Mr Chau (pronounced Mr Chow), a 51 year old, skinny man with kind eyes and a face that creased up brilliantly when he smiled. I sat with him on the side of a road and I got a good vibe from him immediately. He spoke good English, and his character was gentle and witty. So the next afternoon, off we went; it was the best decision I made during my whole trip.
As we left the city of Hoi An and headed into the mountains, I felt an amazing sense of freedom… we drove into the night, into the unknown… I felt as free as a bird as we passed through stunning landscapes, and smelled the jungle that passed us by (occasionally I put on a bit of Leftfield on my i-pod to enhance the experience even more!). I get a real high off mystery; not knowing where you’re going and seizing every moment as yours and yours alone. Some could say I’m a little crazy to go heading off into the mountains with a Vietnamese man I’d only met the day before!… But hey, I’d been traveling for 2.5 months, and I felt my instincts by this time were trustworthy. They told me Mr Chau was a good man, and they were right.
At the beginning of our trip, I had the most extraordinary experience. Mr. Chau and I stopped at a road side cafe to get a bite to eat. As I entered the cafe, there was a flurrying at my feet. I looked down to see a bird flapping and hopping around. Well, my first thought was that the poor little creature must be crippled or blind but anyway it was in a panic and trying to get outside. So I stepped aside, but as I did so, I felt a sharp peck on the middle toe of my left foot. It then became apparent that the thing was intentionally going for me. After a few seconds of panicky squealing action, I looked up to find myself back on the pavement, and the bird perched at the back of the cafe on top of the wall (no ceiling) looking rather pleased with himself. It was about the size of a large sparrow, dark brown, with a white marking around its neck, and a large yellow beak. Mr Chau and the locals were laughing at me and ushering me back into the cafe, telling me it was ok, the bird is over there now.. all ok. I was bewildered. I couldn’t believe that the bird had actually just attacked me… I told myself, Jax, its a bird… not a dog, a bird. Don’t be so silly.. go back inside the cafe.. the bird has nothing against you.. Well, it turned out it did.
For each step I cautiously took back into the cafe, the bird took a hop from one table to another in my direction. And then, before I knew what was going on, my arms and legs were flailing (vụt, quật) in all sorts of directions… it was War. With my helmet in one hand, I frantically lashed out at the most evil creature I have ever come across in my life. I was ready to kill, and so was he it seemed. He had very fast wings that enabled him to hover like a helicopter above me and then take diving sweeps towards my vulnerable body and feet. I must have looked a real sight, kicking, squealing, spinning around, lashing out… a few seconds later I found myself back on the pavement again. Believe it or not, this happened once more before Mr Chau finally agreed it might be a good idea to go somewhere else to eat. I walked away feeling utterly defeated and totally bewildered… still am!
Mr Chau and I sped through lush green mountains along the Ho Chi Min trail and he taught me about the war and what happened in various places that we visited along the way. It was really haunting, but amazing at the same time. Mr Chau explained to me that most of the villages that we visited didn’t exist during the war; the various tribes we came across would have been tucked away in the mountains at that time, only moving inland and taking advantage of the new road, the Ho Chi Min trail, in the mid 70’s.
We visited several villages each day where – finally – people wanted nothing from me but a wave or a smile. Mr Chau taught me enough Vietnamese for me to be able to introduce myself and engage on a basic level. Their faces lit up as soon as I said hello, I am from England, I am 26… One woman gave me a bracelet as a gift followed by a big smile and a hug. She didn’t want anything in return, which was very rewarding indeed considering how corrupted by tourism most of the Vietnam I’d seen so far was. I had many magical moments, whether sipping rice wine with chiefs or eating pineapple from a farm lady’s back yard.
One encounter though was not quite so peaceful. As I tentatively approached one village, that flanked a large river and was surrounded by green fields, an old man came rushing up to me out of nowhere. As he got closer I saw that he was missing a hand. He hailed himself into a dramatic sign language explanation of how the war had lost him his hand, all the while accusingly pointing at me and asking,
“You?… America?”
“Neung Ang! Neung Ang!” I replied in my best Vietnamese, “I’m from England!” And I must say I’ve never been quite so glad to be able to say that in my life! He angrily pointed to the sky and then enacted bombs falling from planes. Then he’d point at his stubbed arm, at the ground, and then enact the bombs exploding, shouting America… America! He also did gun shots, getting hit, and falling to the ground. I wasn’t sure by which means he’d lost his hand until Mr Chau appeared after about 25 minutes and was able to translate. He’d walked into a left over land mine in 1980.
Vietnam has forgiven America for the atrocities it caused, and for the most part, the people there are looking into their exciting future rather than dwelling on their tragic past. However, that afternoon resentment towards America and the effect that she had had on this man’s homeland was right there, staring me in the face. In the markets of Hoi An I had felt it; the older men and women wouldn’t look you in the eye, but here in the highlands, where tourists didn’t make anyone wealthier, where there was no beneficial reason to keep your mouth shut, feelings and expressions were honest. Just as every smile was real, so was this man’s sorrow.
Link: