One for the Road: Good morning, Vietnam!

As my brain booted up, dreams receding, reality returning, the first fragments of consciousness that coalesced into something coherent came to me in the voice of Robin Williams: ‘Gooooooood morning, Vietnam!’

I wrote that line during my first night in this lovely country, not long after the sun had set over Saigon.

Since then, I have come a long way, both geographically and psychologically.

To the first point, I have travelled hundreds of miles.

In fact, as I write this column, I am lying supine, advancing yet further north on what is known here as a ‘sleeper bus’, which is basically a Translink wagon that has been kitted out with loads of bunkbeds.

It’s sort of like a mobile hotel/prison, depending on the body odour of your neighbouring commuters.

Anyway, it is on this bus that I will be banged up for the next 12 hours, so, to pass the time, and to fulfil my weekly obligation to the ‘Herald, I will, from my relatively comfortable confinement, inform you of the foolish fallacy for which I have fallen while in this beautiful country, with the purpose of helping you avoid making the same mistake if and when you venture abroad yourself.

Right, so there are, officially speaking, 195 nations in the world, most of which the average Irishman knows almost – or, in my own case, absolutely – nothing about.

A few of these obscure countries, I imagine, are quiet, perhaps even dreary, domains, unassuming and inconspicuous, perhaps even bland and boring.

More, though, are probably vibrant, violent, beautiful, exciting, eccentric, and all that other stuff that we think should bring a place and its people to our attention. But nevertheless, for reasons that are themselves mysterious, they remain, to the likes of me, and probably you as well, complete nonentities.

But the irony I have discovered since being in Vietnam is this: Rather than being an affliction, ignorance is actually an asset. The less you know, the more you stand to learn.

As we know, thanks to the Vietnam War (referred to here as the American War), and perhaps more importantly the coverage it received and the pop culture tsunami that followed it, we westerners all think we know something – and, it is fair to say, really do know something – about this country.

The mere mention of its name alone provokes a veritable flood of associations. Suffice to say, it is not like other South East Asian nations; It looms large in the collective consciousness of the west.

Well, earlier this week, as I walked around Saigon, my head full of half-understandings, I found myself arrogantly trying to explain every encounter I had, every sight I seen, as some long-term consequence of the war.

Every time I received a cold reception from somebody at the till, a bit of side eye on the street, or an ignorant grunt in response to my cheerful hello, I found myself saying: “That’s interesting. I suppose after a thousand years of Chinese rule, a century of French colonial occupation, and ten years of American terror, you can’t expect them to welcome every foreigner with open arms.”

Then, completely nonsensically, when somebody would greet me with a smile, hold open a door, or go out of their way to say a few friendly words, I’d think: “That’s interesting. I suppose after a thousand years of Chinese rule, a century of French colonial occupation, and ten years of American terror, they have become experts in the art of moving on and letting go.”

It got so ludicrous to the point that I was even using the same theory to explain the traffic problems in the capital city.

As I stood trying to cross the road in Ho Chi Minh, watching a million scooters and cars competing for inches of space, beeping incessantly, revving, weaving and jostling away, I tried to workout what rules were preventing everyone from crashing into each other.

Then it dawned on me: “Of course! There are no rules. It’s just pure chaos, and doesn’t that make perfect sense.

After all, after 1000 years of Chinese rule, 100 years of French occupation, and 10 years of war with the Americans, they’re bound to be comfortable with chaos.”

Thankfully, I have since come to my senses and realised that, no matter where in the world you are, some people are friendly, some people are dour, and some places have more severe traffic congestion problems than others.

So, the moral of the story? Ditch the assumptions, preconceptions and half-understandings. Instead, let people, places, and traffic jams speak for themselves.

Anyway, I am away to sleep. Hopefully when I wake up nobody has stolen my belongings. Bye!