Hodgepodge 69/365 - Vietnam

Yesterday I played with one of those interactive maps where you can show all the countries you've visited, thinking I'd post it here—but it looked crappy, so I ditched the idea.

Tonight, though, I found an easier one, so here are my results. I've got to color in more of Africa and South America! Israel is coming right up in the Middle East. Maybe . . . the Pantanal (Brazil) next? That would make for a nice big addition to this map.


Yesterday while I was ticking off countries, I had to pause at a few: like Cape Verde, where we refueled en route from New York to Harare, Zimbabwe; and Vietnam. Because although I set foot on the soil (or tarmac, anyway) of those countries, I can't really say I've been there. Ditto for Fiji and Aden, where in 1957–58 my family stopped while sailing on the SS Oronsay and Himalaya: Fiji from California to Australia, and Aden from Australia to Lisbon, Portugal. I was two and three. I remember not a thing. And so I didn't include Portugal on my list, either. We may have spent time there, but . . . no memory!

This is what I imagined would happen
whether I was on the plane or off it.

Vietnam, however: it was 1965, January or February; I was ten. The war was in full swing. We landed in Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) to refuel, and what I recall is that someone said something about the airport having been attacked in a firefight the week before. (Now I think that must be wrong. Pleiku air base was attacked on February 7, but that's not the civilian airport.) I was settling deep into my window seat, not about to get off that plane—when every single last passenger, including my parents!, stood up and filed down the stairs onto the hot, humid airstrip. Hunkered there all alone, I had a quick change of heart and scurried after.

Or maybe this is what I remember?
(found on Pinterest)

I remember sitting outside a shack—maybe it was the terminal, but it was nothing fancy—under camouflage netting, at picnic tables. (In this account, "remember" must be in quotes. As I examine these memories, I'm finding them to be quite faulty.) It was muggy; bright tropical light. Someone brought us Cokes: with Coca-Cola written in Vietnamese. Again, this is what I remember; but in fact Vietnamese is written with Latin characters, and what I remember is simple ideograms. In any case, the glass bottle was cold and sweating. I held it to my forehead, appreciating the soothing wetness. I savored the familiar taste. The place was quiet: no hint of war. Not even any planes taxiing or landing. The passengers chatted softly, biding their time. After half an hour or an hour, we were bade back on the plane and continued on to, was it Taiwan? I think so.

Disaster averted.

Memory. So fickle.

But that was my Vietnam experience.

I would very much like to return to Vietnam and explore it. I hear it's a beautiful place, with friendly people, culturally and geographically rich. It's somewhere on my list.

Mongolia in the distance

And finally, I'd just like to point out that I flew very near to Mongolia and spent several days mushroom hunting in neighboring Tuva, which is a heck of a lot more Mongolian than it is Russian—think throat singing. So that at least warrants a light blue for Mongolia on the above map. Right?