G.I. Jordan

For some reason that I can not clearly define, the Vietnamese would not shave my head. This was disconcerting and annoying. I am now left with a bad semi-military inspired haircut that is by no means complimentary to my facial structure. This episode all began when I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly known as Saigon (pronounced Sigh Gone for anyone begging a pronunciation guide). I subcontracted a taxi driver and he left me in the downtown area without a place to stay. So, I started walking around and stopped in a few places to inquire about room prices. All were full or expensive. I wasn't too worried though, so I continued to wander aimlessly through the streets. I decided that I needed a confidence booster, so I stopped in a hair parlor. This enterprising business doubled as a pedicure local (the Vietnamese are famous for their pedicure expertise). So, I assumed that one of these beautiful Vietming would cut my hair, but to my chagrin they called a young lad from the back who performed the hair cut. It was strange and very awkward because this guy was cutting my hair and there were 5 girls in matching blue dresses sitting on a couch staring at us. I requested that the lad buzz my head so that I would resemble a G.I., he proceeded to give me the worst hair cut of my life. I looked like a Saved by the Bell reject extra in a scene at the Max. I left the saloon with little confidence intact, for the small fee of $2.

I finally found a place to rest my head. I was settled in and ventured out to find a computer and notify my parents of my safe arrival. I entered a park where the locals were courting on their bicycles, no lack of public affection. It was late at night and trepidation began to run through my body. I crossed a street where I noticed a large hotel that undoubtedly housed an email facility. As I was crossing, a very pretty Vietcong girl pulled up on her moped. She was dressed nice and I was startled at first, 1) because she almost hit me with her moped and 2) she obviously was a woman of the night. Her English was broken, but she basically told me to get on the back of her moped and that she would take me somewhere and then bring me back. I looked at her incredulously, my eyes indicating my loathing of her abominable suggestion. She persisted and like Joseph of old, I ran. I raced across the street and to my astonishment, she flipped a bi--- and continued after me. I stopped, turned to her, and shook my head. she finally got the point and drove off. I succeeded in emailing my family and went home, but not before one other strange thing happened. I was shocked when in the market a lady endeavored to sell me some gum and cigs. Abruptly, a uniformed cop walked by and ripped the items out of her hand leaving her staring after him. I was grateful that I had not purchased anything from her incessant nagging.

The next day I went on a tour of Vietcong caves and was bombarded (much like this area that had been peppered with American bombs) with anti-American sentiment and propaganda. Understandable, but part of the tour included a documetnarty that denounced "evil Washington D.C. and their bomb dropping". The facts were hard to stomach of the killing (3 million Vietnamese) that happened during that time. I was the only American in the tour group and sunk a little lower in my chair as the movie progressed. The caves were cool though and the tour guide asked for any young and strong people to volunteer . I raised my hand and said, "I am young, and I am strong." He beckoned me to crawl100 meters underground in the underground tunnel. I accepted his challenge. I was followed by a young Korean boy who is in the accompanying picture. We couldn't see anything when we went down the steep stairs so I got out my camera for light to lead us through the dark until we came across some other lights. Later, the Korean lad, a mere 14 years of age (13 American, they start age the year they are born as 1 already) indicated to me that he had just followed me and was a bit nervous. I had been nervous myself when I undertook the journey.

We left the tunnels and got back to Saigon. I exited the bus and walked down the street and entered another hair cutting saloon. I decided to give it another go. Yet again I was greeted by an attractive young Vietnamese girl and she called a young man from the back to cut my hair. I told the guy I wanted my hair buzzed and even indicated it, with sound effects and all, but to no avail. I was in for another standard haircut in Vietnam. At least it was shorter this time. So, that is how I got 2 haircuts in as many days in Nam, and now I look like a G.I.