Several of us gathered for a last supper together for those departing or en routing to another Indochina territory. Asked what was the high and low while traveling through Vietnam, everyone has various views about the country.

For me, my low for the entire trip was September 11-12th and my high was also September 12th. The shock and the aftermath on the attack on WTC, I have no clue how I should response. I have under appreciated the high quality of life that I was living in a civilized country, with information at my fingertip, high-speed connection and TV audio at a click away in all languages. I have to scramble while in Hue, walked for miles under the steamy scorching sun to a local post office for Internet connection, or a phone call. I have to put up with limited information and no access to English newspapers of any kind. With throbbing headache from Hell, tummy cramps that resembles times up to labor but instead bleeding me dry, with Western medication that can't cure my food poisoning for days and bottled water that I even fear of drinking. It makes me think that I truly lead an expensive high-end life fit for the royalty. I came out of the Vietnam War memorial museum in Saigon, all dismay and desolated. My eyes still sting from tears that I have relentlessly shed while going through the exhibition for three hours. What kind of beast does that? And I equate that with the current attack, a possible retaliation and usage of chemical biological weapons response from the Afghan terrorists. My imagination just runs wild, sending chills down my spine, weakening my knees at the very moment. I have no conclusion and I don't know what to make out of it.

By the same token, the very same morning of September 12th (September 11th in the US), I hired a motor bike driver to take me into the village. The journey was exhilarating, breathtaking scenic drive with wide green rice fields, meandering round heaps of harvested wheat amidst a field of conical hat-villagers. The smiles of the children, the twinkle in their big innocent eyes and their cheeky voice shouting: "Hello! Hello! Hello!" endlessly as they see any foreigners along. It was like a completely different world - serene, calm and simplicity was the very charm that enchanted me. The local guide tells stories around him that make the journey truly unforgettable. His memories of sleeping with American soldiers, the reason why kids shout "Hello! Hello!" when they see any foreigners, the sand bunkers and the bomb shelters that the Americans fired across the Mekong River against the Viet Congs. And the many machine guns bullet holes on the walls - it's all so real. My visits to the Maharaja Buddhist monastery opens my mind. My father used to preach on and on about Buddha's teaching and the religion and I have never bothered to listen to him at all. For the first time, I felt the same peace and serenity that I have not felt for a long time. I immense myself into the local guide's understanding of the Buddha's teachings, intriguing and inviting. I wish I could be here for a long time. Nothing was more appealing than a simple harvest for the day, listening to children's laughter, the beating of the wheat harvesting, the rustling of the shady trees, smacked in the back country of a simple village life with enlightenment from the monastery. It was a drastic contrast, like heaven and hell, like day and night; and peace and war. The timing could not have been more appropriate.