MullerHitchhiking Vietnam
Page 29

 
The Director pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper and began a long, itemized list. One hundred dollars for the flimsy permission that had my name at the top and a stamp at the bottom. Forty dollars to encourage happiness among the officials along the way. Fifty dollars to the Youth Group Headquarters for having shared tea with me. Thirty dollars for medical insurance that I didn't need. Twenty dollars for a second-hand bicycle pump - enough to buy a whole new bicycle out in the provinces. One hundred dollars salary for the two fine young men that were to accompany me. Ten dollars per day for food, gifts to the villagers and miscellaneous needs, principally cigarettes and beer for my guides. And, of course, the Tip.

I haggled over the medical insurance, knowing that all the fees were manufactured and not wanting to capitulate too completely. They eventually deleted it, provided I agree to carry enough Western medicine for all of us.

I sat back with a sigh of relief. I was satisfied. They were not. More tea was poured.

An older man took over the floor, pacing back and forth with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. He had close-cropped hair and the intense, forward inclination of a drill sergeant. They were all very concerned, he announced, that I be comfortable on the journey. Could I sleep in a hammock? Did I know how to ride a bike? Would my skin shrivel under the intense sun of the Mekong? Everyone knew Americans drove their cars everywhere. Could my legs manage more than a few hundred meters without turning to jelly? Would I eat food, even low-class, local food, rather than shame my guides? My head bobbed up and down while Tam kept up a running supportive commentary. And the final and pre-eminent question, Did I Know How To Make My Guides Happy? Yes, I had that figured out by now as well.

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