Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, April 1, 1995 TAG: 9504030012
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-3 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: ROB SHEA
DATELINE: HANOI LENGTH: Medium
It may have been the sound of car and mortgage payments, heard in the distance, that sent us down Interstate 81 toward an unpaved road to Vietnam. Or it could have been those New York City rents.
At a time when many of our friends were exchanging their wild oats for something a bit more substantial, my two best friends and I, all locally grown in Blacksburg, decided to leave our jobs and sell our battered cars for airfare to Southeast Asia.
Three years of working in the Big Apple and D.C. had brought home the fact that our travel urges, long suppressed, were not going to be satisfied by a standard, two-week vacation.
So we devoured information on the world's most happenin' region. We ate Kraft dinners to save cash and placed a hold on calling long distance.
Then we broke the good news to our parents, who experienced symptoms similar to those of a heart attack.
Each of us can vividly recall the scene of a quiet Sunday night, where at some point between the start of "60 Minutes" and the end of "The Simpsons," our respective sets of parents called for their weekly conference on life in the big cities.
It's not that our folks aren't used to a surprise now and again: 90 collective years of parenting experience among them has given them the patience of saints and senses of humor that could bring Pee-Wee Herman back in favor.
But that Sunday, we pushed it a little.
"Yeah, work is fine, just fine. Oh, and by the way, Mom and Dad, me and Iron Dukes and Bird Dog are thinking about moving to Vietnam in November."
Words like that had the folks longing for days of broken curfews and bent fenders.
But they recovered. They had to. They're parents.
Our departure day arrived with shocking haste. The three of us, pockets bulging with dimes saved by the grace of mac n' cheese, were escorted to the Roanoke airport by our families. It seemed that before we could say our goodbyes and promise to write, we were standing in the 90-degree heat and smothering smog of Bangkok.
We quickly found out this was the "cold" season.
Four months have whizzed by and we three amigos have crackerjacked it through the river-jungles of northern Laos, the marshes of eastern Thailand, and the mud-bogged stretches of central Vietnam. We've sung songs with Thai students, matched Laotian boat captains drink-for-drink, and had emotional discussions with Vietnamese who fought with and against American soldiers 20 and 30 years ago.
And now there are two of us, here in Hanoi, looking for a place to hang our hats. Bird Dog, along with his better-half, continues to heed the road's call.
Andrew Rosenberg and I remain here to teach, to learn, and maybe send a few dispatches such as this to the paper back home.
With the phone rates so high, it's as good a way as any to keep in touch with our mothers.
Rob Shea, 25, of Blacksburg, is teaching at the English language center in Hanoi and working for the Vietnam News.
by CNB