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After spending 30 years living in the land of opulence and enjoying the spoils of Government assistance, my parents, sister, recently inducted brother-in-law and I decided to return to the motherland. In Vietnam, many things have changed since it saw the end of the Vietnam war. I could never imagine what I would see returning home or what wonders fate would present to me there. Of these, I would like to recount with particular fondness, my experiences of finding a working toilet that didn’t require an 18 gallon bucket of water to be carried up 3 flights of stairs.

My family had left one week prior to Vietnam, while I was to meet up in Saigon on my own. I flew out on an early Friday morning before the sun had risen, ready and eager for the 24 hour journey.

While I was stuffed in the plane, I spent the precious hours learning key phrases. It is always a benefit to learn the language of the locals before destroying their habitat, and then taking photos of the destruction in the process.

Going on vacation with your parents leaves for two unfortunate consequences: 1) No binge drinking and 2) no random hooking up with live-in house servants. Though aside from my perfunctory duties as a morally righteous and law-abiding son, I have had opportunity to enjoy a secret beer or two, while winking at the occasional toothless sweetheart.

My parents will insist and swear that the intention of bringing me to Vietnam was not to find me a bride (or even a not-so-distant-cousin that couldn’t find a suitable husband), but in fact, for me to witness the site of my birth. I have yet to find evidence to the contrary. No sooner had I landed in the jungles of ‘Nam that my aunts and uncles were arranging a meet-n-greet with the neighbour’s daughter which they would be more than willing to part for no less than one ox, two dozen chickens and a papaya.

I was not amused by this arrangement, and sought refuge in the kitchen, where I found the kitchen staff preparing dinner. One in particular, a cute Cambodian girl, was busy washing fruit and scrubbing her feet at the same time. I offered to help, to which she looked up at me with an expression I can only describe as chagrin and disdain all at once. I suppose being ridiculed by the help does not inspire heroes’ songs, but for some reason, it fueled my chase.

I barely slept that night, wondering what could possibly go wrong, if I were to sneak off into the maid’s chamber and steal a midnight kiss. Would I be disowned? Or worse, force-fed Hepatitis-carrying ice cubes! I resisted the urge, but stayed awake nonetheless, in case she had the same thoughts and came through those doors either snuggle-ready or ready to serve me tea and crumpets. I surely wasn’t one to turn away crumpets.

My pursuit ended shortly after a few days as we were to continue our journey to my birth site. I left, bade farewell to the help, and made off like gallant Odysseus, on just another ordinary day, on my way to Ithaca. The prospective brides trailed behind hoping to catch me on an off day, when I would be weakest and accept their offer to marry them and bring them to the promise land. Luckily, we were in a mini-van so they gave up chase after a few short miles.

Of things to note, the value of vacationing in an impoverished or third-world country does have its due merits. For one, the price of a beer (like Heineken) is 20,000 VND which translates to about $1.25 CAD. Oh the irony, that I would be in a country where beer was pennies a glass, and yet I could not have a single drop. A bowl of Pho is about 7,000 to 10,000 VND which is about 0.50¢ to 0.75¢. The cost of contracting Typhoid or Hepatitis, however, cannot be measured in any currency — but 0.50 cents a bowl! Obviously, I was willing to take my chances.

Pho is generally eaten in the morning for breakfast. Yes, pho for breakfast! In my early college days, I had always considered myself brilliant for discovering that pho tastes better in the morning after a night of drinking and debauchery, however, it is now clear to me that I must attribute that to my genes; somehow, I always knew when the right time was to eat pho.

The village where I was born is called Gia Ria — a sparsely populated town without the facilities or amenities of which we take for granted. These people have never seen a computer before, so imagine how difficult it was to explain what I do for a living. No, I don’t go fishing at 3 in the morning; no, I don’t sell housewares or dried cuttle fish on the side of the road; yes, I really do brush my teeth every day. What amazes me is the level of sanitation that they can go without.

The streets were narrow and cobble-stoned. There was definitely a lack of any improvements in the town’s infrastructure. I’d always imagined my hometown to be more like Harlem or the Bronx, which would then explain my hard-knock life, but it wasn’t much more than a modest fishing town. The shops and houses lined up against an eroding riverbank where fishing boats would coast up and down to the yawning sea out of the Mekong delta. I was glad to have seen it, but I found I was more emotionally moved when I had gone back to Barrie recently to see the house I grew up in, then to see the house that I was born in.

We left without much fanfare, much the same way that we left 30 years ago, only this time in a mini-van.

With the few remaining days in Vietnam, we spent them touring the South-East coast of Vietnam, ending up at the resort town called Mui Ne in the province of Binh Thuan province. This province is known for its mountain range of sand dunes — white and red sand — throughout the land. Its a beautiful province, and the coastal scenery is breathtaking. Virgin beaches stretch for miles, while an unimaginable oasis called White Lake appears a few miles inland. This area is not known very well at all, and so there is very little tourism here. It is most likely, Vietnam’s best kept secret.

I found out many things about the history of Vietnam and the people that live there. I know the sacrafice my parents made to get us here to Canada, and for that I will forever be indebted to them.