A journey into the dark

When asked about my experience of ninety minutes of blindness at the Dialogmuseum in Frankfurt, the word ‘eye-opening’ tumbled out of my mouth before I could realise its obvious inappropriateness. Searching for a more suitable alternative, I still found myself using terms such as ‘illuminating’ and ‘revealing’ – little better than my initial faux pas. Yet the fact that sight even governs the way in which we describe particular situations confirms the prevailing sentiment I felt during my visit to the museum: the ability to see is one of the most relied-upon and taken-for-granted gifts possessed by the majority of us.

It’s an obvious point, I know. But until you’ve been stripped of that fundamental function, it’s hard to appreciate the extent to which we depend upon our vision. As I entered the blackness, I suddenly felt incredibly isolated and helpless, even though I could hear – and very often feel, by prodding various body parts of my unsuspecting comrades – that there was always someone close by. The fear that I would suddenly encounter an obstacle, or walk into a wall, or become estranged from the rest of the group, never left me. There were ten of us in total; we came from all over the world and had never met previously, but I have never felt more grateful towards a stranger for checking my progress and helping me along.

Over the course of ninety minutes, I found myself becoming increasingly close to the rest of the group; admittedly, I did develop an embarrassing habit of grabbing people in inappropriate places, but above all I found myself continually concerned that we remained together as a unit – be it helping retrieve a stray wanderer, or calling out for help when I had gone adrift, I wanted us to get through it together.

In a world in which appearance can dictate a person’s success, in which friendships – even relationships – have a certain degree of superficial grounding, and in which facial expressions can make or break situations, it was liberating to enter an environment in which looks could play no role. At the end of the tour we never got to see our guide, who had been blind since the age of ten – and I’m glad it was that way. I appreciated him for the care and attention he paid to us on our tentative journey through what seemed like an abyss, for his positivity when we panicked that we had become separated, and for his self-effacing attitude towards a condition which, if my hour-and-a-half experience of blindness is anything to go by, must be hugely limiting. Would my precious memories really be enhanced by adding a visual supplement? I don’t think so. Maybe there’s something to be learned from shutting out the superficial; in doing so, we might connect more closely to the heart of the matter.

Cu Chi and Che

There will be pictures when I can upload them!

My second day in Saigon was spent with Felix and Tom, who made a brief stop here as part of their Gap Yah adventures (of which I am exceedingly jealous). We were up at the crack of dawn to visit the Cu Chi Tunnels, with the obligatory stop en-route at a craft workshop selling all manner of vases, cushion covers, coasters and every other nick-nack under the sun. We managed to resist the desire to buy a pair of 20-foot-tall vases (although I was convinced Mum would be thrilled with them for Christmas) and boarded the minibus again to take us to the tunnels. We were all just about able to squeeze ourselves into the holes in which soldiers hid themselves, although the actual tunnels, which have been made two to three times larger to accommodate tourists, were still a tight squeeze. Perhaps the endless rice and fried spring rolls are starting to show after all...

We were shown a variety of horrific traps that would shoot spears through unsuspecting soldiers in all different directions, before being told that many are still to be discovered. We remained firmly on the designated path...

The feeling of war still remaining in the background was reinforced by the constant background noise of guns being shot - for a mere 27,000 dong per bullet you could quite literally have a blast. We didn't try it, but the ear-splitting noise that formed an unending soundtrack to our trip suggested that many other people did.

We also got to try the tapioca that the guerillas ate. Once we got over the fact that it looked just like a parsnip, it was actually rather tasty!

We came back and continued the war theme by visiting the War Remnants Museum, which I had been warned would be a fairly harrowing experience. The images of war-time destruction were of course shocking, but what I found most upsetting were the portraits of Agent Orange victims, which are still being born with horrific deformities to this day - living reminders of a war which the people of Vietnam will never forget.

We sweetened the bitter taste left by these images with another visit to the Ben Thanh market stalls to try che, a sweet drink containing beans, corn, tapioca pearls, jelly and goodness knows what else, topped with coconut milk, condensed milk and ice, then mixed up to make a sweet soup-like concoction. It looked like frogspawn, but tasted surprisingly good. Looking back at the photos, however, it's hard to believe we actually enjoyed drinking what looked like dirty pond water!

In the evening I went for a massage at the Blind Institute. I'd heard very mixed reviews of people's experiences there - some raved about it, others hated it - and unfortunately my experience fell in the latter category. Bizarrely, my masseuse kept stopping to answer her phone, or shout across to her colleagues, so I wasn't able to relax as much as I'd hoped. However, there are endless spas here offering bargain treatments, so I suppose I'll just have to force myself to find better elsewhere. It's a tough life.