You Can't Go Home Again

In the 1970's, author Andrew X. Pham and his family escaped from Vietnam in a leaky boat.  They nearly died on the water, but were rescued and taken to a refugee camp in Indonesia, ultimately making their way to California by way of Louisiana.  The story of his family and their lives since emigrating is both typical and anything but.  It comes with a lot of unresolved issues, emotions, and the constant struggle for identity in a new world that forces you to redefine who and what you are.  I picked up Catfish and Mandala looking for a story about a journey through a country I was fascinated in.  I got that physical journey and so much more.

Pham relates the story of his childhood in Vietnam and his upbringing in the US as he bikes through Vietnam as an adult.  He has traveled there to find himself--not in a hokey New Age way, but in a genuine attempt to understand the struggles of his family as refugees living in the United States. His family has reached something of a crisis point and he wonders if they had stayed would things have been different or were they always destined to be as they were. 

His welcome to his homeland is anything but warm.  Viet-kieu, or those who left Vietnam during the war,  are not well thought of by many.  Many assume is Korean or Japanese because his is clearly not Vietnamese.  He is insulted often and nearly physically attacked several times when they realize he is Viet-kieu.  At the same time, however, many offer him generous hospitality and quiz him endlessly about life in America. The journey itself becomes a test of endurance, almost a physical punishment.  He rides over 1000 miles through difficult conditions and his own illnesses.  He visits his old home, major cities, and tourist attractions and views them all from a very unique perspective.  He sees the scams, the hustles, the opportunistic entrepreneurship of the people and their poverty and is able to understand it all.  It is both foreign and natural. This was his home but it is unrecognizable to him. Still, Pham finds a better  understanding of his family, his parents, and of himself as he re-discovers his homeland.  He is asked what he will do when he returns to America.  "Be a better American." he replies. 

The journey Pham takes (both physical and spiritual) sounds extremely unpleasant but it was incredibly uplifting and revealing. Vietnam itself, as described in the book, is much the same.  It is a place that might sound unappealing given the arduous journey, food borne illnesses and abuse that Pham endured, but I came away more fascinated by the country than ever. His perspective provided amazing insight into the land and its people.  Is the journey to Vietnam one I will ever take?  I don't know.  But I do know I am very glad that I took the journey along with Pham.

The Sands of Time

Does travel literature ever become outdated?   That was the thought running through my mind as I started Baghdad Without a Map by Tony Horwitz.  It is an account of his time living in and reporting from the Middle East.  This is a region of the world that has changed so dramatically in the past year so I naturally wondered if the 1980's vignettes in this book would be relevant or sadly outdated.  Like all great travel literature, however, this is an outstanding portrait of a place and time period that makes for entertaining reading no matter when you happen to be turning the pages.

The book is a series of chapters that detail his experiences in various countries as he worked as a freelance reporter based in Cairo. Some chapters focus on the ordinary lives of everyday people.  He chews qat with men in Yemen, he visits a strip club in Cairo, crosses the river of Jordan, and flies the incredibly dangerous airlines that serve the region.  (His tale of getting out of Khartoum, Sudan via Air Egypt is truly frightening.)  Other chapters are of his experiences covering big events.  He and a number of other journalists travel to Libya at the request of the government to "verify" that the country is peaceful and happy.  Libya in "The Colonel's Big Con" reminded me of the stories of life in North Korea that I read in Nothing to Envy.  The amount of self delusion that life under a dictator requires is utterly heartbreaking.  Similar images come from his visits to Baghdad under Saddam, during the Iran-Iraq war, and later, just before the first Gulf war.  Baghdad, however, brings much more menace as Horwitz is taken into custody and interrogated by officials after a paid informant reports him for being a journalist.

This was risky business, freelancing in the Middle East, but Horwitz finds humor in it all and makes even Khartoum (possibly hell on earth) entertaining reading.  But he reminds us that the risks he takes are nothing compared to the daily lives of residents.  One story, "To Beirut:  jusqu'au Boutiste" is the tale of a ferry ride in the dead of night to the besieged city.  Many on the boat are returning to their home despite the near constant shelling (and shelling directed at their ferry), because it is just that: home. 

So now, 20 years later, peace has come to some areas, war to others.  Dictators have fallen, new regimes have arisen and some struggles stay exactly the same despite endless conflict.  In this region the past is always the present, making this a very timely read indeed.