The very common communist propaganda billboards that dot the countryside and cities of Vietnam.
As with any advertisement, they portray a more idealistic scene than presently exists: a nepotistic, corrupt government lurching its way into the 21st century (begrudgingly) and using capitalism to its benefit; headily mixing it with its old authoritarian ways, of course.
I awoke with a stretch in my gut. I could barely sleep the night before. I had less money than I thought. Much less. About 100,000 Vietnamese Dong in total.
I'd learned to fear and prepare for these situations. I had and I had. But it was over a stale beer and cigarette late the night before that I fumbled for reasons as to why I should be in this goddamn forsaken ( as I was calling it; actually a nice place though..) town with $5 to my name. You do not leave big cities with no money in your pocket. You don't. My crumpled bills added up to exactly the price of the hotel room. My bike was on empty. As usual, I had no idea where I
was-- 150 kilometers from Kon Tum-- but where the hell was that?
That morning the only ATM screen in town was dead black and looked as though it had never vomited up an ounce of cash to anyone. I thought of selling my only book ( The Burning Plain and Other Stories by Juan Rulfo-- a great fucking book by the way) for at least $5 worth of gas to make it into the next town. There were a few foreigners around here; I'd spotted them the day before with their guides. But luck was fading and I was also thinking of darker scenarios: selling the bike for dirt cheap, catching a bus into the next town defeated, journey over, mission not accomplished.
A local told me the power was out.... could be a few days at least. Dejected, I scoured the town hopelessly looking for avid readers, literary enthusiasts, douchebags like me. A man invited me for a cup of coffee and, making sure he was picking up the tab, I accepted. Another 'Easy Rider' motorcycle guide, and he readily offered to lend me money until I made it into the next town. ( Class act. We later met and had beers into the night. This man saved my ass.)
I'll never forget the ride to Kon Tum. The journey would not and could not be stopped, I didn't care what kind of clusterfuck I got myself into. You're never free until you feel like you're trapped. I laughed into the rain, re-energized by my good luck in meeting the generous motorcycle guide. Finally, reaching another nameless mountain pas, the sun shone down on me. I basked in its rays and ripped my layers of jackets off, stuffing them under the bungee cord that held my bag; Later, at a roadside shack, I gobbled down Pho soup like I had never eaten before and laughed with all of those that laughed at me, climbing off my bike with bag-wrapped shoes and muddy pants. Goddamn was it good to be there.
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