Reflecting

Back from Saigon! It's a great place to visit, especially on a budget. The overwhelming impression of the city is that it is exploding with life; this is clear even from the air, as the verdant fields spread out away from the great Mekong River, and everything seems to be caught up in the process of growing. But the city is also bursting with activity, and on the streets, one cannot but run into opportunities to interact with the locals. Whether it is to buy a snack, ask for directions or to try to engage in a deeper conversation, the people are generally helpful and eager to try out their English, making one feel welcome through the sheer effort that they exert, even if complete understanding remains beyond one's reach.

The Saigon streetscape is something altogether remarkable. There are many layers of history here, and it is intriguing to detect traces of foreign influence amidst the local culture. From the colonial-style balconies on the tall, narrow shophouses to the facsimile of the Parisian Hotel de Ville that has become the People's Committee Hall, it is intriguing to observe which parts of foreign influence have been assimilated because they are useful to Vietnamese or Saigonese society, and which parts have faded from importance. So, we have long, pinpoint-straight avenues lined with stately, tall trees, with asphalt and new construction sandwiching the green French legacy between encroaching layers of new development. So, we have manicured parks with paths laid out geometrically filled with early-morning tai-chi practitioners. So, we have the Cong Xa Paris, the Vietnamese term for a boulevard sideswiping the colonial linguistic relic.

The traffic conditions also undoubtedly add spice to Saigon street life, with motorbikes ruling the road in terms of being both the most numerous and most nimble form of transport. Many small roads don't even have markings on th asphalt; though all the same, motorbikes largely ignore road markings even where they exist. So it is that bikes zip through intersections from every direction, and right of way is won by speed rather than being provided by the highway code. Crossing a road is a matter of faith rather than maneouvrability, for, instead of darting from gap to gap within the ceaseless flow of vehicles, one should simply commit to crossing, step off the kerb and walk in a straight line and at a constant speed, trusting the other road users to avoid one.

Add to this the peddlers, refreshment sellers and hawkers, and the street is a fully interactive experience. The very kerbside becomes an acceptable economic arena rather than a barrier keeping two types of road users apart. The street is porous almost in all directions, and it invites one to interact fully with all of its components, by crossing paths, communicating or commerce. There is no such thing as separation on the street: every horizontal or paved surface is fair game for street users. It gives the average Saigon street an incessant buzz created by roadside trade, engines and a liberal cacophony of horns. It also ensures that one must be quite conscious when walking along the streets, and there is no space or time for the luxury of being bored or in a daze. Streets in Saigon keep you on your toes.

And it turns out that travelling with my two old classmates worked out better than expected. The social element did interfere somewhat with the ability to commit fully to discovery and exploration, but having people around that you can rely on does make a big difference. One is emboldened to try things that one would otherwise not consider; one simply feels safer with them around. Without them, I would probably have had more time to reflect and to write, but I would have been deprived of the piercing and insightful conversations that we would have after a hard day's exploring of the city. These are the kinds of conversations that become landmarks in a relationship; this is the stuff from which lasting memories are made. So, it has been shown that travelling in a group can work out too; it is a different way to travel, rather than a superior or inferior way. It certainly warrants further experimenting in the future - this is a kind of experience whose potential has yet to be fully tapped, I think.

Anyway, I delayed writing this entry because I couldn't really find a way to summarise the experience here. Even now, this entry only captures a few of the many interlocking aspects of the trip. To read about it doesn't even come close to the experience of actually being there. And how can one choose a single picture to represent such a complex experience? The truth is that a large proportion of the experience will not be related here; that will remain safe in my journals, awaiting a more suitable time for rediscovery and proper portrayal. Nevertheless, the best the photos I took can be seen here, here and here, and hopefully the taster that they provide will engender a need to go there and see for yourself.

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Yesterday, also took the chance to go back to my old Army unit, because my men were putting up their ORD parade, which marks a moment that they've been waiting for since the first batch of sergeants ended their NS commitment; hell, probably since they walked into camp as new enlistees, even.

Coming into camp again with J, an old fellow commander, it felt like no time had passed. Sure, the buildings had gotten a new coat of paint, but the procedures for entering the camp and the physical layout of the place had remained the same for the last nine months. And when we saw the men from our company again, the familiar faces took me back right away to the days when we had worked together, eked out a meaning from amidst the mindlessness and tedium, and even enjoyed life together.

This was a good unit, as I have always said, filled with people who could work well together, who could appreciate the larger perspective and thus knew where their priorities should lie at any time. It was a unit that made sense of all that I had gone through in 2006, that made me put my skills and abilities, both new and old, to good use; that made me do all this even though I was convinced that trying to make something out of NS was futile, and therefore subconsciously tried to obstruct useful growth in NS, just so I could feel self-righteously justified. This unit showed this disbelieving, skeptical solider how life in the Army can work out for the better.

And I struggle here to express my astonishment and gratitude at how things have worked out, because I find myself compelled to use phrases that are cliched, that carry derogatory connotations because people may read them skeptically, even condescendingly. But how else can one describe the sense of belonging, of family, of brotherhood, even, that was present in that unit? I was amazed at the myriad abilities and characters that the men put at my disposal, at the disposal of the whole unit; I was humbled by their determination to thrive in their time in the Army in their own ways, and the creativity they demonstrated in achieving this. Indeed, they taught me a lot, even when I was unwilling to learn. On the other hand, I must have had very little to offer them beyond my professional training in command school, and I can only hope that I have fulfilled that responsibility adequately.

I still call them my men, even though technically, I no longer have authority or bear responsibility for them; that mantle now belongs to another officer, someone that I think is more capable than me to bring out the potential of the unit. I call them my men despite the fact that it is highly unlikely that we will be part of the same unit again during reservist training. But I do so not to try to usurp ownership from those who rightfully hold it. Rather, it is out of a lingering sense of belonging, of a sort of paternal care, even (though I may be being pretentious by saying this). Watching the company flags being handed back to the commanding officer of the battalion, in a ceremony understood to mean the dissolution, or "standing down" of the unit, I remarked to J that I had not expected myself to care so much. But the truth was that it hurt to see that flag being handed over. The flag was only a symbol, but what it symbolised was a form of synergy and cooperation among men that I had seen form in front of my incredulous eyes. And I found, to my own surprise, that I cared that this unit was being broken up.

And so, I saw all this with a heart made heavy by both the memory of what we had gone through to produce the unit we saw in front of us, and by the acute awareness that this synergy, this unity was about to be dissolved. Going around congratulating my men after the parade, it was saddening to contemplate that prospect of ending an era, even though the ending of the existence of Delta Company means that the lives of all its men can move on to greater things. At that particular moment, I felt that the rarity of the togetherness of that unit warranted its continued existence, even at the cost of more time being dedicated to that unit by its members.

But all things move on, and now, it is time for the men of Delta to go on into the world from this unit. This is the way that things should be, and anyone who tries to change that is not thinking of the individual interests of the men. But what we can hope for, what I think is also equally how things should be, is that the men come away from this experience with as many good memories and experiences as I have. What we had here was something rare and special, and it should not be forgotten. No, it will not be forgotten.