DAY 418: "I really feel guilty being here," said fellow American Dara at the border crossing into Vietnam. "I gave my form [to the customs officer] and he read it and said, 'American' and just gave me this look."

Exit formalities on the Lao side of the new, three-month-old Nong Haet crossing from northern Laos into northern Vietnam was easy, but it didn't go so smoothly on the Vietnamese side. I was behind the three Thai tourists at the entrance, who got in with a smile. The officer let me follow right behind them (I look Thai, remember?) until he saw the blue cover of my passport. American.

He seized my passport and instructed me to go with the other foreigners down the road to the separate customs office to fill out some paperwork. I got mine stamped after some time and went back with the others to get our passports stamped.

There was a stack of foreign passports on the desk awaiting our paperwork: five British and EU ones with three blue American ones underneath. One by one the passports data was recorded by hand into a log book. Most processed hassle-free until the first blue one: Dara took her glasses off for a better match with her photo. She was stamped and granted entry into Vietnam.

"Congratulations," I said.

Her new husband Jim and I both had special passports -- mine with the page extension in it -- and it took a while for us to process. There were extra codes to record and things like that, plus my Vietnamese visa was hard to find in my messy passport full of stamps from around the world, all while everyone else was waiting on the bus for us. It took some time, but Jim and I finally got our entry stamps. We had officially entered the country and got back on the bus for the rest of the journey.

VIETNAM. It is not just the name of a country, it has become synonymous with a troubled time in world history. The very mention of the name conjures up many emotions, particularly to Americans, as it is often referred to as one of biggest military and political blunders in American history. In short, the Vietnam War, known in Vietnam as "The American War," was the cold war gone hot: Soviet-supported North Vietnam and U.S.-supported South Vietnam duked it out after President Lyndon Johnson sent troops into the segregated southeast Asian nation. The end result was many casualties and injuries, many of them emotional scars for life.

Thirty years later, a unified Communist Vietnam is still on the rebound, with tourism as a big way to develop the war torn nation. Although tourism is still in its infancy, it has become increasingly lucrative as many backpackers flock to its colonial cities and its picturesque beaches. Tourism is one way to continue the mending process and re-establish the better relations with America, which really started to happen after economic sanctions were re-established in 1995 and President Bill Clinton's 2000 visit (the first of any U.S. president since Vietnam was reunified). Shortly after, the U.S. opened an embassy in Hanoi.

I can't blame the Vietnamese for still holding any kind of grudges towards Americans. Unlike former military powers Germany and Japan, who have both focused their energies in business and technology rather than weapons, America hasn't really changed, what with the army muscling its way with force into Iraq in recent history. True, I shared some of the guilt that Dara was having; I hadn't felt that guilt since wandering around Hiroshima in Japan.

THE ROAD FROM THE BORDER TO THE CITY OF VINH was a long one. Actually, it wasn't much of a road; most of it was still under construction. We must have passed by a dozen cranes, bulldozers and steamrollers as we drove on the mountainous dirt road. The ride was pretty crazy, causing my people to get motion sickness and throw up in plastic bags. Thankfully there was a mid-way break for a while, for Vietnamese pho noodle soup.

It was a full day of riding through the Vietnamese countryside -- rivers, villages, mountains (picture above) and fields of grain. I spent most of the time just writing and trying to keep myself from getting too nauseous.

Night had fallen by the time we arrived in Vinh, the central Vietnamese city where Communist leader Ho Chi Minh was born. The bus left me and a handful of backpackers stranded in a quiet bus station parking lot with no decent amount of local currency or a place to stay. We regrouped to collect our bearings and tried to figure out a plan of attack. Each of us wanted to make headway to Hanoi as soon as possible, but the night bus would get there at the undesirable time of two in the morning. The better option would be to spend a night in Vinh and go first thing in the morning.

The necessity at hand was money. "Can I leave this [bag] here?" I asked Dara.

"Yeah, I'll stand guard if someone stays with me."

"I'll stay," volunteered Brit Sarah.

Jim and I left our newly-established base and went on a reconnaissance mission to locate an ATM. I asked a nearby hotel concierge for one and in broken English he directed me two blocks away, across the street and left. Or so I thought. After walking the two blocks -- two long blocks I may add -- we found nothing and head back.

"WE HAVE A PLACE TO STAY and a bus in the morning," Dara said when Jim and I reported back to base.

"We have no money," I said.

"They can exchange money too."

While standing guard, Dara and the others had been approached by a guy named Hai who represented a hotel and travel agency recommended by Lonely Planet. He seemed to be the only guy that could speak decent English and so we decided to go with him; there were no better options anyway.

"You can walk or I can call you a taxi," Hai said. "[The hotel] is two kilometers that way."

"Two kilometers?" said one of the Swedes in the group. "We can walk."

LIKE SOLDIERS IN A PLATOON, we walked down the main city road under the nighttime sky. Each of us was carrying gear on his/her back, and one of us, Paul, even had a rifle -- a spear gun he would use when going diving off the shore at a later date. In the platoon, there was Kristoph and Anna from Sweden, Paul and Lisa from England, and Americans Dara and Jim from D.C. We marched through the Vietnamese city not knowing what to expect. At one point a huge sewer rat crossed our path but scurried away.

Hai, our new Vietnamese ally led us to the Dong Do Hotel, a decent mid-range place with private bathrooms and HBO. More importantly there were blankets for the cold night, but I failed to know they were in the armoires and pretty much froze my ass off that night.

My platoon regrouped at the restaurant downstairs for beers and our first real meal in Vietnam, a family-style dinner of vegetables, soup, and squid. Hai provided complimentary Vietnamese rice whiskey and we toasted around the table with our shot glasses.

"Welcome to Vietnam," I toasted the troops.

After a confusing arrival into the country, we finally found refuge for the night. It was a much needed night of rest for we would be deployed into Hanoi the next day.

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