Goodnight, Saigon...

My final morning in Vietnam was neither eventful or special. Though it was warm. I rose as my leisure and reluctantly went for a morning run, this time employing the park-provided exercise equipment all of the senior citizens seem to utilize during the early morning hours. I believe there is a way to utilize muscle groups when on these machines, but what I've witnessed looks more like flipping about that engaging one's octogenarian core.

The morning was still cool and I went to get some fresh fruit and croissant before heading back to Budget Hostel 2 to properly bathe and prepare for the long journey ahead of me. Knowing my flight was at the crack of dawn on the 13th, I had not bothered to book accommodation for the night of the 12th, and planned on crashing at the Saigon airport - something that, for anyone who knows how I travel, comes a no surprise. Cheap and resourceful - that's me!

Hair washed and braided, new psychedelic leggings purchased in Hanoi painted on and I went out into the increasingly balmy sun for a manicure/pedicure that I told myself I would indulge in before returning to the states. Having last addressed my feet in 2013, I felt it was long overdue.

Receiving perhaps the best and most silently relaxing pedicure I have ever received I was feeling like a new woman. I stepped out on the street feeling clean and almost human. 30 feet down the road, however, I moved to put my phone on my camera bag and dinged a nail. In a haste to correct it, I only made the issue worse and had to face facts that my beautiful manicure was only meant to last a matter of moments. Any woman who has ever gone through the trouble and expense of this sort of attempt at beautification no doubt knows my frustration with this trivial detail.

Oh well. C'est la vie - a motto I find much more comfortable to abide by when not on my home turf. It was lunchtime and with this being my last day in Asia till lord knows when I was determined to eat well, and eat authentically. Pho 24 was just around the corner from the main market and the locals could be heard slurping down slimy noodles from around the block - so that's where I went.

A bowl of Pho Ga was ordered in Vietnamese for the fist time and, my chest puffed with pride at my daring and, I thought successful feat. The victory was short lived and chest almost immediately deflated almost as the polite woman taking my order responded in unimpressed English. Boo!

The chicken mixed fresh basil and spicy red peppers made this dish well worth the price tag and I have come to the conclusion that I could pretty much eat raw bean sprouts at every meal. Bright pink watermelon juice sat loyally by my bowl as I spooned up the broth a and attempted to have an international phone call with my Bestie.

Having spent the last three and a half weeks here I knew that the time that comes in every woman's life every 28 days or so was on it's way and it was only a matter of time before I was exhausted, hungry and on the verge of tears - though that does sound an awful lot like every day for me! 

Deciding to take the suggestion of a virtual stranger/new friend - something I only do on the rarest of occasions - I hired yet another motorbike driver and road 20 minutes out of the city center to Van Trahn, described as a Tourist Complex, but much more closely resembling a high-end suburban swim an racquet club. Not my speed, I will admit, but with my current state of exhaustion there were certainly things that sounded far worse than laying in the sun.

40,000 dong to take a dip and occupy a chair kept me 'busy' for the late afternoon hours, but before long it was time to take my now chlorine drenched body back to my belongings and make a plan - at least give plan-making my Pat Benetar best shot. Without any sign of a motorbike out in district lord knows where, I was forced to take a proper cab, during rush hour, allowing me the opportunity to see uniformed children exiting school for the day as well as begin to silently stew over all of the sadness that so easily rises to the surface of my deeply Irish psyche, like the curds of freshly turned milk, when in the 'real world.' I am not saying I have not had my good and bad moments while in Asia, but something about that quiet cab ride let me know that in a day's time I would be back in the cold, in more than one way.

Nevermind all of that business. Back in my 'hood' I was on the hunt for food, feeling weary from all of the over self analyzation and thinking about life in general. For some reason when I am on the hunt for food, there seems to be no prey to find. I picked up some Choco Pies at the circle K to take back home with me and share one of my travel traditions, of sampling a new cookie or candy from a foreign place with a dear friend. I ended up at restaurant 48 (not sure why all dining establishments are numbered here) , a very posh and very westernizwd establishment that not only gave me the silky smooth instrumentals stylings of Phil Collins - but Debbie Gibson - with lyrics! I mean - what else does a girl need?!?

Clay pot chicken and rice, which literally just means those ingredients are served in that device and in no way indicates it's cooking method, and 2 lime juices later, I had a pricey bill, a full tummy and only a couple hours to go before hitting the hay, and by hitting the hay I mean awkwardly sleeping on my backpack in a cold and abandoned airport. I am just hoping the Vietnamese authorities have no issues with my jammies.

Back at the hostel I packed my newly acquired Haribo and struck up a conversation with Paul, an English teacher living here by way of Liverpool and quite possibly a reoccurring character from 'The Young Ones,' a BBC classic and personal favorite. I had to give myself momentary credit for immediately picking up on the Liverpudlian accent, but I suppose that credit is really more appropriately attributed to 4 lads who made it big in America from around that way.

Paul mentioned he was going out and invited me along so, after booking and paying for my 11:30 pm taxi to the airport for my 5 am flight, I hopped on the back of Paul's motorbike, which he drove with Saigonian sensibility, and headed out to an open air barbecue spot that is clearly a local hangout, with only Vietnamese drinking buddies with wire-rimmed glasses and cocktail waitresses in micro mini Budweiser emblazoned dresses present. Well, that if if you don't count two Brits and an American trying her first local Saigon Bia. 

The boys, both Paul and his BFF Glen were jovial, sweet and generous. Paul commented on my 'bohemian style of dress' and I couldn't help but smile as, just a couple of weeks earlier, I had been called conservative. Perhaps I am the Sybil for the 21st Century. Though I suspect if I had accepted regret would have immediately have set in, an impromptu marriage proposal over a beer and stir fried vegetable is always a pleasant surprise and a great way to wind down a trip. Despite the repeated suggestion that I reschedule my cab, I stuck to the plan and was driven back to the hostel to meet my waiting taxi cab.

The night was warm and sultry, making the bronzed skin on my shoulders glisten in the neon lit night. The midnight streets of Saigon were empty, but not lonely and I believe I could have lived the rest of my life, happily perched upon the back of that bike. I tried my best to absorb every last moment of my time here in Vietnam knowing the sands were running through the hour glass of time at lightening speed. It was literally the perfect way to say Goodnight, Saigon.

Which leaves me here, homeless and draped upon my worldly possessions at the Saigon International Airport. Knowing well what I had in store for me when opting for airport accommodation for the evening, there is one variable that had not occurred to me - what if the airport seating is strictly outdoor? And outdoor it was! Wearing all possible layers of wardrobe tucked within my trusty rucksack, I am left here, chilly and waiting for hours while watching families, uncertain whether they are coming or going, doing their best impression of a documentary crew shooting a behind-the-scenes film for One Direction. I mean, seriously - I realize there is a language barrier but minutes upon minutes of video and stills were shot and from what I can surmise all that is taking place is banal conversation amongst friends and family either about to board or just having had arrived at SGN who all seem to think their entire existence is one big Hallmark moment. I had been told they don't fly much - but still. I mean, come on...

27 hours, several screaming children and many bags of candy later I arrived, safe and sound in New York, just having slid under the Polar Vortex radar and instead of being diverted to another airport, instead was just met with cold winds and white snow. With only my tan, a couple of pairs of earrings and a yet unedited card filled with photos to show for it, I can say with all of the confidence in the world my time spent in Vietnam was worth every tear, every moment and every penny.

Back Back, Forth and Forth

Thick, doughy pancakes and unripened pineapple has never tasted so sweet. Perhaps my move for free breakfast was ethically questionable, but with having used Sunflower as my continual home base and with Clarisse having offered me half of her private room after I had confirmed booking at another place, I felt moderately justified in my partaking in the buffet breakfast offered to guests.

Clarisse and I both fiddled with our respective electronics and then it was time for me to rent another bike and head to the beach, and time for her to pack her bags and catch a busy to Hue.

We parted with matched American hugs and Parisian kisses and said our goodbyes, with no false promise of keeping in touch, but knowing that we had thoroughly enjoyed our time together here, in Hoi An.

The folds in the full skirt of my bright orange dress flapped happily in the wind and I peddled my way back past the rice fields to An Bang beach. Passing up on a beach side meal this time, I simply laid in the shade an read the John Grisham novel I had acquired for free in Phu Quoc. As the old adage goes, beggars cannot be choosers and therefore I could not have chosen to have the last several pages of my novel missing- but I think I got the gist.

The highlight of the day at the beach was spotting an unearthly creature. A man of such beauty I simply stared in awe as he meandered over to what I could only assume was his girlfriend. My loins were a flame and just as quickly were quickly extinguished when said mythical beast started snapping #grownmanselfies. Nothing kills a hard on faster than vanity and foolishness - a deadly mix.

Back to Sunflower I changed into 20-hour bus ride appropriate clothes, which should have a hidden pocket to house cyanide, and went out to have what I was deeming my 'last meal,' as crackers and Haribo would likely get me through the next day or so.

It was while siting at this outdoor establishment, after ordering pizza - because nothing sounded good - that a handsome older man I had noticed the day prior, and who I was quite certain noticed me, walked by and we both gave a genial hello like we had actually ever spoken and not simply exchanged telling glances and flirtatious smiles.

He kept walking, turning around just enough to let me know that he was wrestling with the idea of joining me, but as his figure faded I dove back into my bootleg Nick Hornby, literally printed on stitched together and copy paper. The Asians really do seem to love their knock offs, even when it comes to literature.

Evidently his wrestling match ended with him opting to return to the restaurant and before long we were dining together, having a great conversation, exchanging playful barbs. All with 90 minutes until my bus departed on the first leg of my journey back home to the good ole US of A. As he stated himself - 'the clock was ticking.'

After dinner he escorted me to snack acquisition and sat with me at the hostel to wait for the bus. Transportation has been far from punctual here, yet neither of us knew it would be nearly 3 hours of waiting. But no bother, in fact, when the double-decker sleeper bus arrived, in a flurry of chaos and hurry I was irked that I had to go. My new English friend chivalrously brought my ever-expanding backpack to the bus and we hugged and bid adieu - but not before I suggested he fly to Saigon - knowing full well they are no flights this week, or I would likely be on one.

This encounter was not dissimilar from the German in Da Nang with the minor exception of interest and attraction. I do hope to hear from him again, but if nothing else maybe he can simply function as a beacon of hope in a world of douche bags.

The bus being 3 hours late was actually the most enjoyable part of the journey as the first half was spent freezing my nicely tanned ass off and being attacked by bugs of unknown origin. The seats were recliners, so preferable to the train, but with only one stop to literally piss into a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere the first 12 hours, it looked like this was going to be a bumpy ride - in more ways than one.

Continual stops in the middle of nowhere seemed to only act as assurance we would not be arriving in Saigon at 5 pm the following afternoon as promised. After being forced to get off of the bus at a station in Nha Trang with little to no information I could barely believe the horror stories a Mexican fellow rider was sharing with me- until we got back on what seemed to be the exact same bus but with Adolph Ho Chi Minh at the wheel.

At the risk of sounding like a spoiled white girl, I was literally moved to the back of the bus, Rosa Parks style with no explanation given. I was simply and angrily waved to the back. I was dismissed. Evidently the front seats are saved for locals despite the fact that tourist pricing structure ensured I paid at least 3 times as much as them for the exact same accommodation, I was seen as a second class citizen. I realize I should see this as justice, or a learning experience - but really all I see it as is fucked up.

An attempt to discuss the possibility of bladder relief was of little use and when the attendant handed out waters to everyone except the white people on the bus I was partially enraged, partially amused. I felt like I was in the documentary from the 50s where little kids are divided by the brown eyes and the blue eyes and chaos and prejudice ensues. I have never felt more brown eyed.

I realize racism exists in present-day America, but at least we have the decency to mask it. This blatant affront to tourists was my first experience with it. And I hope it to be the last.

All of this in addition to people literally siting in the aisle coughing on you, leaning on you, and eating their odoriferous native fruit a little too provocatively and loudly for my liking was wearing me down. A friend of mine back in California, who shall remain partially nameless (Sean) would literally go apoplectic if confronted with this situation. Luckily my adventurous spirit and travel tenure at least makes is bearable - though respite in the food and toilet break was eagerly welcomed, if only for the opportunity to not have cockroaches and people alike invading my personal space.

An estimated arrival time of 5 pm soon turned into midnight with Morgan Freeman at the wheel and Jessica Tandy riding shotgun.

Exhausted by the time we arrived at the bus station I chose Evil Kinevel of motorbike taxi drivers and we negotiated an inflated fare for what was the first time I have been legitimately frightened on one of these contraptions since arriving. Racing through the warm Saigon night I felt a sense of comfort and familiarity as I had been in this city just 3 short weeks ago.

I had booked a bed at Budget Hostel 2 again, knowing the price couldn't be beat and the location was central. I requested a bottom bunk and was able to actually obtain one for the first time since my arrival. After a quick ice cold shower I climbed into the pod that I paid $4.50 a night for not inches from 2 complete strangers and fell fast asleep knowing the next two days would almost be just killing time until my return to New York and it's foreboding Polar Vortex.

Unable to properly sleep in like the teenagers and young people surrounding me after a night of cheap beer and cheaper liquor, I rose at 8 am to that old familiar rooster crowing its miniature lungs out just across the way.

I went down to the lobby in my bra-less pajama ensemble, having long ago given up worrying about things such as appearances in public, and took care of some real life stuff before properly changing and heading out in search of breakfast nearby - as my grumbling belt wouldn't wait long.

Allez Boo - clearly foreigner friendly - was just across the park and a banana pancake and mixed fruit juice sacrificed to the gods of my intestines in minutes flat. This may seem like a safe enough breakfast order but each and every time I order something along these lines they are unexpectedly different - for example - this pancake featured some sort of liquidy center - like a cherry cordial which I don't believe anyone actually likes. I ate around it and enjoyed the view of clogged streets further clogging lungs and utilized the free wifi for some Skyping with Boston before heading back to the hostel to retrieve my 4th book on this journey and wander.

I wandered for a good hour or so in the opposite direction of all of the sights to see that I had been aware of and found just what I was looking for - no white faces and no places that charged entrance fees. In their places were bike shops wrapped in brightly colored cellophane, making new tires look like unwrapped Christmas presents. Dress stores with dummies vaguely resembling the Kardashians before they hit it big and BeBe was considered designer and lots of odd looks from the locals as if I had lost my way - but I walked with purpose - like any good New Yorker and eventually found myself at the Mecca of all things requiring and promoting good taste- Burger King.

Some sort of cheesy nostalgia often leads me to the red and yellow doors of this establishment when traveling abroad. It feels like a very serious joke I have with myself and when ordering a meal the woman received my instructions better than most in the US as how I'd like my sandwich to be prepared. Unfortunately this did not ensure this petite portion would satisfy my taste buds as the chicken had skin and gristle, free of charge - but, on a positive note, it is the first time I have had decent ketchup anywhere in Asia. I felt as though it checked something off of my travel to do list - so all in all, I was a satisfied customer.

More waking and more solicitations for motorbike rides ensued. When I politely declined their offers, the same - 'where are you going question' followed to which I could not answer, in every sense.

Hours later I wandered back into familiar territory I stopped at the cafe at which I had eaten weeks ago, this time ordering Combination Vegetable with Rice. When it came out with octopus and beef I was disappointed, when I relayed this to the waiter, he was irritated. Clearly just having scraped the protein pieces off the plate I ate my cabbage and carrots floating in bits of beef. I literally have no idea how a vegetarian would survive here.

A couple hours of reading in the hazy sun and my book was near finished do I got up, to head back toward what I believe was District 1. My sense of direction is fairly good and I knew I was heading in the right general direction. Unlike my past days in the city, this one brought me through the posh part of town where I can only imagine Europeans come to spend their well earned Euro at Gucci and Prada for mere dongs. The night was sticky and the city alive.

When I arrived back at the market I was not only minorly relieved, but so very proud of myself for taking a fairly succinct route back to my humble abode. The shops were all closing, but that was OK by me, as I have spent more than my share to 'help the economy' over here. The fear buried deep within as to my fluid spending habits the past few weeks will only really be addresses once I am back on domestic land, as I feel it would be pointless to deal with that sort of malarkey now.

Just when I thought I could not shove any more food in my face - I saw Tutti Fruitti. Much like the shops sweeping New York City, TF was a self-serve yogurt shop that had brightly painted walls, annoying up beat music, and rainbow sprinkles! Though I am a sucker for the self-serve craze and can rarely resist, I have to give credit where credit is due and say that Madison Station Cafe, located in Carmichael, California is not only my first place of legal employment, but also the best frozen yogurt on the face of the planet. There just simply is no contest. Sorry, Saigon.

With tomorrow being a sort of weird long day, where I plan on sleeping at the airport to cut down on travel time and expenses, I went back to the Budget Hostel to pack my bag as efficiently as possible, make sure I seemed to still be in possession at least of the things that really matter - and write this piece.

Notice I didn't say shower.

I am disgusting.

Pho Real

Locating the Starbucks of the East has been my God-send. This is what I did last night, staring into the abyss of rush hour in Saigon as small children forged major traffic jams as if it was a daily occurrence - as it clearly is. Wifi and pineapple juice got me through the better part of the evening before navigating my way 'home' with the help of some very nice ladies who drew me perhaps the least detailed map I have ever seen. Regardless, it worked, and I made a left at the KFC (which had live chickens wandering around outside ) and landed back at Budget Hostel 2, located in the back of a cafe, seeming to produce a maximum of 3 handmade sandwiches a day.

Having had a long day, I thought to myself, Ill just lie down and close my eyes for a minute. When they opened the sun was long gone and my room was now 18 full, as opposed to just me and the occasional straggler back to charge their phone or change their footwear. A restful sleep for the second night in a row fully dressed, including jewelry, I was only awakened every hour or so to hear my roommate climb down from her top bunk, vomit for a few minutes in the communal bathroom, and then turn on the shower to hose down whatever mess she had made, and make her ascension once again. I was partly irritated, partly concerned. When there was no denying that it was, in fact, morning at about 5 am I was up and ready to go, and she was up and eager to discover the source of her night-long affliction.

Being up before the sun, and the consequential heat I decided to throw on my running shoes and head out for a standard in my travel regime, a morning run. With a park just across the road I figured that was the safest place, and I was not the only one as this seems to be one of the most physically active cities I have visited. There were morning Tai Chi classes, outdoor park equipment being utilized and some Asian version of Zumba in the center of the park that I was tempted to join. I took a couple laps and then it was back to shower, wifi, and gorge on my daily allowance of both natural and processed carbs, as today's gratis hostel breakfast was white bread and a banana. Never one to pass up a free meal, I shoved all things beige in my face and hit the road.

This day was just me and the open road. Thesweet front desk girl, who literally seems to live here (behind the desk, not in a room of any sort) circled some go-tos for me on a map, acting as the perfect companion for my day as a tourist. After traversing one of the many congested round abouts it was off to a Buddhist temple where I was quick to grab some shots and offend all of those there to worship by walking all over the temple Converse-clad. Once it was brought to my attention I quickly remedied the issue and apologized profusely, but essentially felt like a horse's ass. A big white horse's ass. 

It didn't take long to get to the Ben Thanh Market filled with gutted fish, snapping crabs and everything you could possibly imagine 'authentically' embroidered with the words Viet Nam on it. Meandering the stalls I realized I was moving at a suburban pace, perhaps leaving the frenetic pace of New York behind, despite the fact that I was now in a city that put New York to shame in terms of chaos and noise. A couple trinkets were purchased and I was off, to Duc Ba Church. Vietnam is largely Buddhist, however, there is a significant Catholic population and this particular cathedral adorns it's fair share of postcards and key chains so I figured it must be noteworthy. So noteworthy, in fact the doors were closed and it seemed as though it's only purpose was to act as a back drop to young couples and faux models taking endless amounts of selfies up against the red brick facade.

Having not had a real meal since leaving New York, which seemed like years ago, I located another sunny spot with wifi and vegetarian pho. Hot noodle soup in warm weather may seem counter intuitive, but the DIY peppers and sprouts made for a delicious meal and enjoyable entry into Vietnamese cuisine in the motherland.

Next it was off to the Unification Palace which held no interest for me, yet I purchased a ticket and entered its wrought-iron gates to gaze at late 60's decor at it's best in a palace that looks far more like a state-run facility than the home to the former head of state. Regardless, it offered the opportunity to purchase some glossy postcards and head to the Ho Chi Minh City Post Office, also marked as a landmark here in the city. Once entering you can see why with its arched ceilings and vast interior.

A quick peek into the Saigon Opera House and a lengthy walk back to the hostel by way of the riverside and I was ready for bed, yet ready to eat. I dropped my purchases, put on a jacket and quickly headed out after dark searching for sustenance. First, however, I stumbled across a community party on the grounds of a beautiful church where everyone seemed to know one another and all brought their home made goods to be sold and enjoyed. Being the ONLY white person on the premises they were bound to know which one of these things did not belong, but affectionately paid me little mind as I snapped some shots and headed out before overstaying my welcome.

Not quite knowing what 'this place will not make you ill' looks like written in Vietnamese, I went into a restaurant just a couple of blocks from my lodging in search of noodles and egg rolls, which is exactly what I ordered. Moments later the waiter who did not speak English informed me they did not have that. It seemed that everything I pointed to on the menu had just gone missing from the pantry, so I took whatever it was he wanted to give me, ate it greedily whilst reading John Steinbeck and called it a night before more Dong were spent and calories consumed.

In an attempt to take advantage of being in the South, I had booked a day trip to the Mekong Delta and knew well and good that my entire day would be devoted to just that. So devoted in fact, I brought my sunscreen, bug repellent and Dramamine along with me for the voyage (none of which were needed).

Up and showered before hostel breakfast was served I headed out and this time, when an old man clearly suffering from cataracts with a touch of dementia asked if I would like to hop on the back of his motorbike to get me to the Saigon Opera House in moments flat, I happily agreed. A shit-show for sure, there is something serene about actually being on one of the bikes, especially when located on the back and totally void of any control.

After reaching my destination and being overcharged I waited for the 8 am bus to Mekong. My guide was a sweet girl by the name of Queenie who was 25 but still under the reigns of her father to such a degree, she far more closely resembled a teenager. The 90-minute bus ride was flanked by lush green fields and farmers tending to their rice. The fields are littered with beautiful mausoleums because, as I am told, the ancestors are buried on the property to keep the souls close to their family. Evidently a family will stay in a small home and fore go any extravagances to build bigger and better graves for their ancestors. Perhaps this fun fact stuck with me because I cannot imagine Americans adopting the same notion, especially with all of the malls simply calling our names.

The tour was a boat ride along the Mekong River with a couple of stops to sample local flavor. The first of which was to nosh on some tropical fruit while listening to some traditional music. One of the fruits, only available during the new year, was described as tasting like mother's milk. It was in spit of this description that we all took a bite while trying to erase that visual from our heads. We then bore witness to coconut candy being made and, lastly feasted on a lunch of all things fishy and fried. Trying to be a good sport I gave my best effort to eat along with my Aussie and British travel mates for the day who seemed to think everything was simply delicious, but I gave mine to the local stray dog instead. Ever the grown up. 

A tuk tuk ride to a kayak and then back on solid ground.

Sadly, a 2 hour ride home (with traffic) gave me time to think - always a dangerous prospect for me. Why is it as I sit on a bus staring out at the beauty the world has to offer I don't think to myself how lucky I am to bare witness to this, but how sad I am for the lack of beauty in my own life? Biology, attitude or simply circumstance - I cannot tell.

So here I sit, back at the corner of Pham Ngu Lao and Nguyen Thai Hoc during rush hour, almost being lulled by the level of ear pollution and thinking of tomorrow. Tonight is my last night in Saigon/HCMC , and Ill admit I like it here and will be sad to go, but tomorrow I am off for 5 days on the Phu Quoc Islands, and even though this is the coldest winter they have had in 20 years - there is a beach somewhere in this country - and it has my name on it!