Friday, March 30, 2001
I arrived at the commuter terminal at Lindbergh field on time and ready to begin my big adventure; alone, unescorted to a foreign country I had never visited before. When I was 19 years old, Vietnam was the last place on Earth I wanted to be, but now I was going there voluntarily and very excited about the trip.
The commuter flight to Los Angeles was 35 minutes late leaving San Diego. I remember thinking "What's so goddam hard about getting a twin-engine bug-smasher to LA on time?" I had an opportuniity to take an earlier flight which had seats available, but had already checked-in my small suitcase and was afraid they would lose it if I changed anything. The flight finally arrived in LA well in time to meet the departing Asiana Airlines flight to Seoul, Korea.
The transfer from the commuter terminal to the Tom Bradley International Terminal was a pain-in-the-ass. We took a shuttle from the American Eagle commuter terminal to Terminal 4, then walked around in the open air to the Bradley terminal. Once inside, we waited at the gate for our flight to be boarded. But, surprise, there was no airplane there. Instead, we took yet another shuttle bus to a "Terminal Bungalow" way the hell out in the middle of nowhere. The building was completely detached from the terminal complex, and consisted only of a ramp to the second floor tube leading to the Boeing 747-400.
The flight itself was 12 hours, 45 minutes long. We watched 2 movies, an endless array of CNN financial new programs and some local Korean news programs (available in Korean language only, of course). The passengers consisted mostly of Koreans and Americans, with a few Japanese sprinkled-in for flavor.
We arrived at the brand-new Incheon International Airport on time. The airport itself had opened only 3 days earlier and was absolutely beautiful. It was, however, WAAAY too big. It took us 15 minutes to taxi to the gate after landing. And, after a flight of nearly 13 hours, those last 15 minutes were excruciating. I felt envious of the flight crew, who were all returning home and would sleep in their own beds tonight.
After a wait of nearly 2 hours, we boarded the Boeing 767 bound for Ho Chi Minh City. The passengers now were almost exclusively Vietnamese. I looked around and found very few white faces. I felt very comfortable with the Vietnamese people, who were always friendly and gracious. Five hours later, we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City.
I had been warned by my Vietnamese friends in San Diego that the authorities in Vietnam were very corrupt and intimidating. I expected them to interrogate me and pick throught my baggage, sock by sock, and question me about every little thing. "What's this?" "Where are you going?" "What do you want here?" "Come with us"... I got none of that. Clearing immigration only took a few minutes, mostly standing in line to wait my turn. The handsome young uniformed officer took my passport and visa, stamped them, handed them back to me and said "Thank you, Sir." I returned his politeness with a "Thank you, Sir." of my own and proceeded to Customs. Here, I expected the strip-search. But, the officer asked for my "Nothing to Declare" paper, and let me go. He didn't even ask me to open my bag. Very easy.
Then, the reality hit me. Here I was, in Saigon, at 12:00 midnight. I suddenly hoped to God that my friend and pen pal Khiem would meet me as he had promised. I stepped out into the muggy night air of Ho Chi Minh City to a throng of young Vietnamese faces waiting behind a small barricade. Then I heard "Jim, Jim, come this way..." It was Khiem. He was exactly where he was supposed to be. And, he was even more handsome than his photograph. My anxiety vanished as I followed him around the barricade to the taxi area. He explained that he was on his motorbike and would follow the taxi to the hotel.
We
arrived at the hotel at 1:00 a.m. The place was locked up with a roll-down
security door (like a garage door). Khiem knocked on the door and 2 handsome
young Vietnamese boys rolled up the door and proceeded to check me in.
