Mui Ne: The Backpack Archipelago

We are relaxing in Mui Ne, a coastal town about three hours north of Saigon. Nicole and I have a tradition of ending every trip with a stay at a resort for a few days. This one, "The Beach" is like any you've ever seen: beaches and pools, cabanas, and German and Russian men sunning themselves in bikini bottoms. Since there's nothing interesting here, we'll take up a different topic.

Mark Twain once said something like the following. A person may naturally be a great bore, but he will never reach his true potential until he travels. How many of you have seen a pair of travelers come back from a 'round the world' tour, world-wearily heave their backpacks into their living rooms, and proceed to tell everyone who can't run fast enough all about the eye-opening trip they've taken to Thailand and beyond? They must be brave, foolhardy, or just plain nuts.

In reality, exotic travel is amazingly easy today. The reason is an institution we've nicknamed the Archipelago. It's a network of interlinked budget hotels, restaurants and travel agencies that stretch out like friendly islands across the developing world.

How does it work? Let's imagine that you're in Thailand and want to go see Angkor Wat. Don't have a visa? No worries, it can be arranged either at your hotel or at the travel agency next door. Need a plane ticket? No problem. Hotel room? Let us know what you want to pay per night. Not sure what to do there? They'll arrange a tour. When you arrive, the Archipelago is there to feed you, house you, do your laundry, and send you on your way to the next stop. A child could do it, maybe even a dumb child.

Oddly enough, the Archipelago makes the most visible symbol of the adventurous traveler, the backpack, an unnecessary affectation. The modern travelers' backpack has become an evolved monstrosity, capable of carrying more than any normal suitcase. It is designed not for serious travelers, but for well-heeled 20-somethings who want to look fabulous in far flung destinations. We abandoned ours years ago in favor of much smaller rolling suitcases that can double as backpacks in a pinch. In five years of travel, we've used them as backpacks once. That was in Copacabana, Bolivia, and it was only because we went the wrong way.

The Bible of the Archipelago is The Lonely Planet, that maddeningly uneven but unavoidable travel guide. In addition to providing valuable transportation information and dreadful restaurant tips, the Planet also gives the Archipelago its moral backbone. In sanctimonious and claptrap-filled asides, it urges you to be a sensitive traveler. According to it, that means not feeding Bolivian peasants candy, picking up after yourself if you're in the wilderness, pondering the adverse psychological effects of Chinese children growing up without brothers and sisters, and avoiding plane travel if possible (this, from a travel guide!). The LP's hold is so pervasive though, I challenge anyone to travel the length of Bolivia without having at least one conversation in which an earnest backpacker warns you not to feed the proud peasants sweets. As if it would have occurred to you to do so otherwise!

The Archipelago has both advantages and disadvantages. On the one hand, it has made travel to anywhere convenient and pleasurable. You can see great sights without undue effort. Wherever you are in the world, you can find a lounge with natural wood chairs, tapestries on the walls, and a menu that features hamburgers, fried eggs, pancakes, and coffee. (That's right, the anti-American backpacker universe has brought Denny's with it everywhere). You can listen to old rock and roll in a setting that feels exotic and authentic. It's fun, and easy to meet people.

On the other hand, the Archipelago has also MacDonaldized travel to a great deal. We may find the faux-Tiki lounges exotic, but that doesn't mean they have anything to do with native culture. Americans often deck out their backyards in a similar style. We have whole chains of stores like Cost Plus and Pier One that sell the same crap that is supposed to be so authentic in Hoi An. When the Third World goes upscale, it likes bright paint, marble, tile floors, clean walls, crystal chandeliers, and gold leaf—not wicker chairs and bamboo roofs.

It also insulates us to a great degree. Travel is supposed to be about confronting other cultures and learning about them. The Archipelago is much more about other cultures anticipating what you'd like to see in them and delivering it to you. If you want to find a country spiritual, they'll find a monk or a medicine man for you to study under. If you want to feel adventurous, they'll bring you a mountain to climb. Whatever need you have, whatever itch you want to scratch, the Archipelago can supply it. Of course, most people simply want to drink beer, see sights, and party in a "Third World" environment. And that's what the Archipelago is best at.

One of the best parts of our trip, and most difficult, was that we decided to avoid the Archipelago in China. Instead, we made separate arrangements outside the sainted Lonely Planet. This made travel much more cumbersome, but also more interesting. In Vietnam, this was impossible. There is only the backpacker's route…the few Vietnamese who travel use it as well. So we dropped back in.