Great Expectations

Hanoi, Vietnam
10 January 2003

A man scrubs his pots by a canal in Hoi An, Vietnam.


Women on a Hanoi street selling shoes - and not many of them. Photos by Michael Seto.


I expected a lot from Vietnam, after so many friends raved about its wonders. I come away disappointed. I looked forward to a idyllic, verdant, and exotic land; and I got a noisy, grimy, and smelly place.

Maybe I am being a bit harsh here. I enjoyed Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) and Hanoi, but the areas in between, like an internet stock, did not live up to their billing.

Dalat, the central highland paradise; Nha Trang, the beach party spot, Hoi An, the charming old colonial port; and Hue, the historic Imperial City, all fell short of my anticipated splendor.

Instead, all struck me as typical Southeast Asian third world cities - grey, drab, uninspired, monotonous concrete blocks construction so prevalent as it's cheap and resists the rainy monsoon weather well. Filled with traffic and avaricious locals.

Paris but for Parisians

The only Vietnamese I met all wanted one thing, money, US Dollars, hard currency. The typical daily litany: "postcard...you buy postcard from me! Where you from? Moto Moto? Cyclo - where you go? Woohoo! One hour cheap cheap You want shoeshine? Why not? You buy book from me? Hello, hello Guidebook? You come in my store! You cannot walk ten feet without being pestered. AAAGGGHHHHH!!

Everyone you meet sees you as a walking ATM, dispensing Dong like some Johnny Appleseed!

You quickly develop a siege mentality. In the morning you manage a smile and a firm NO; you walk briskly. By noon you ignore them completely. By evening, you want to punch even the kids.

Cynicism sets in. You see a blind man led by a teenager begging for money - you dismiss this unfortunate person believing he probably rents himself out to beggars as a sympathy ploy. You begin to see every Vietnamese you meet as Egyptian camel drivers at Giza or Turkish carpet salesmen in Istanbul - a common breed of snake oil selling sub-humans. To be scorned and ignored, yet as inescapable as mosquitoes, as aggressive as Africanized bees, attacking in swarms.

Rain, rain, go away...

It rained incessantly, from the day I left Saigon to my arrival in Hanoi. So a lot of activities ended up curtailed and I spent lots of time just reading in my hotel room. Rain and gray skies cast a pall over everything, especially my mood. Also, it being the holidays, I felt alone, separated from family and friends and all things familiar.

So I did not play golf in Dalat as planned. I did not lie on the white beaches of Nha Trang. I did not cruise the Perfume river or ancient tombs of Hue or Hoi An. And I did not visit the DMZ battlefields of which I read so much about as a teenager.

My listlessness and inactivity no doubt reinforced the gray mood the overcast skies put me in. Compounded by some desire to save money, I skimped on those minor luxuries which may have thrown some light into the murk. I ate sparing meals, sans soft drinks or sweets; lived in cheap hostels, where peeling walls and dank bathrooms predominated. In retrospect, I did little to alter my self-reinforced gloom.

The Telltale Heart

I felt real guilty for not enjoying myself as I expected to here in Vietnam. I felt in some way like I let down those who enjoyed this country in such an enthusiastic way. I felt like someone at a pretentious NY dinner party of self-proclaimed cognoscenti who admits (gasp) to disliking the latest book/movie/restaurant that everyone raved about. An outcast.

We are raised with others' expectations imprinted on us; by parents, siblings, teachers, friends, coworkers, TV, etc. Shedding those expectations does not come easily like a snake shedding its skin.

As Thoreau said:

"But, wherever a man goes, men will pursue and paw him with their dirty institutions, and if they can, constrain him to belong to their desperate odd-fellow society."

Beginner's Mind

I also wondered if my earlier extensive travels jaded me, like a person accustomed to fine wine, suddenly imbibing a rancid vintage.

Need I compare everything before me with the best and find it necessarily wanting? Its a matter of course that every waterfall pales when measured to Angel, Iguassu and Victoria. That all temples look small compared to the pyramids of Giza, that all mosques pale in comparison to the Blue Mosque.

I lost the magic.

Somewhere in Vietnam, I lost the wonderment that travel brings me. I finally realized it's not the external as perceived by my jaded eye; but rather a jaundiced eye which did the mis-perceiving.

I lost what Zen practitioners call the 'beginner's mind, the ability to set aside preconceived notions and judgements and prejudices and open to the purity of feelings and emotions as they arise.

Tomorrow, tomorrow

The sun shone on Hanoi as my overnight train pulled in. Sleeping to the sound of pitter patter, I awoke to just the clack of the train and tracks. The diffuse late afternoon light reminded my of Washington DC in the Fall, with bare tree branches along the Mall.

My mood changed abruptly. I ran into a old travel friend whom I first met in Turkey, and she shared a similar tale of mild disappointment with Vietnam. I felt vindicated. See, I'm not the only one! I realized at once that I had not been too tough on this country, but rather on myself, and this reflected itself outwardly.

Rather than just observing my emotions, analogous to observing, without controlling, the prevailing weather; I sought to condemn my own feelings, as one curses unfavorable winds. That by denying and denigrating, I hoped to affect some change. It turned out that only by accepting things as they are, we allow change come on its own, at its own pace.

I walked the streets of Hanoi's old quarter, around picturesque Hoan Kiem Lake. The sights, sounds, and smells reminded me of Hong Kong and Chinatowns the world over, filled with lush smells and vivid colors. The hustle and bustle no longer bothered me. I relished the horns and traffic like someone seeing Times Square for the first time. The locals selling trinkets were now eager entrepreneurs, not interlopers.

I rediscovered the beginner's mind.