Rainy Days and The Sterilization of Be Heard

Rain rain go away come again some other day, like when I'm back in America!

Rain when in a tropical paradise is a bummer, but I suppose if we love those lush green picturesque postcards we have to deal with a little rain.

With rainy season having only ended a number of days ago, and the Bananas Bungalow opening it's doors just this month a little rain is bound to fall and, when it does it is absolutely going to effect one's trip.

It seemed that the mornings were safest and with drizzle on the horizon, literally, I decided after a breakfast of pancake, banana and honey (quickly becoming my new fave) that I would rent one of the relics in the driveway known as a bicycle and take a spin around town to take some photos and clear my mind. This loner excursion quickly became a couples activity as my dorm-mate by way of Germany, who reminds me of someone from my past, and no that is not a compliment, invited herself along.

When someone says - you're going for a bike ride? I am going to come along. Is that ok? - what are your options, really? So off we went on wobbly wheels and rusted frames. Speaking of frames, home girl managed to make we way into 90% of mine, photographically speaking, not through any fault of her own, but with not standing behind me and not understanding the concept of a wide angle lens, you may see a very pale woman with short shorts and surgically enhanced pectorals in some of my shots. There was just no way around it.

I sort of just wanted to wander the winding roads.

The grass is so green, the cows so brown, the dirt so red that it appears as if a box of crayolas have spilled out onto the hills, grown damp and smeared a kaleidoscope of colors along the countryside.

Clearly I was after a poetic experience but Fräulein short shorts was a bit more regimented and was determined to get us to the lounging Buddha about 15 kilometers from our humble abode. However, on a bike that is unsafe for both your joints and your reproductive system, and the narrow seat is rearranging my remaining eggs, 15k seems like forever.

We rode for about 2 hours before giving up or merely choosing to head back in the direction from which we came. I made a quick stop at a local restaurant for a pineapple/watermelon shake and some empassioned business calls back home and, much like the day before, the bulk of my day's activities were done before 2 and I was left to shower and hide from the rain utilizing both my laptop and the few books I brought along to keep me occupied.

After several hours of paying bills online and alternating between books Klaus, the patriarch to the German family staying here (there are a lot of Germans here) suggested a field trip to the local Tesco, almost an hour away. He needed supplies for his girls and wanted to save on cab fare so he somehow managed to get 8 other people on board who didn't really need to do anything in town bu,t who had cabin fever and were eager for an adventure of any sort.

We loaded into an open sided bus for an hour long cab ride and, just to prove how familial this hostel had become in the rain, or simply how much I've given up, I didn't even bother putting on a bra to go shopping.

Shopping proved fruitless as all of the books were in Thai and all of the food stuffs were indistinguishable, but the Target adjacent superstore layout was fascinating.

Perusing the latest fashions while smelling the district smell of fish, and lots of it just inches away which, next to it had colorful octopus cookies kitty corner from dozens of dead lifeless fish bodies was an experience to say the least.

A small package of cookies at one of the kiosks was all I could muster the energy to buy and most of us left empty handed as we headed home for dinner, a spicy shrimp curry tonight that left the crowd pleased with mouths on fire.

Being lazy is almost as exhausting as being left alone with your thoughts so I put scrubs on early and after some text chatting with my big sis, I was out like a light.

My alarm was set for 5 am the following morning and by 5:15 I was on the back of a bike with Klaus at the helm and we were determined to climb the Tiger Cave Temples' infamous 1300 steps to the top. We wanted to beat the heat and he wanted to get back before his family woke so they could all start their day together leaving us with no choice but to get on the road before the sun rose.

We hadill  fitting helmets and a shoddy map to help decipher the appropriate road to the temple. Perhaps it was these two factors that led us in the opposite direction and attempting to climb any stairs we could find. We did end up at the lounging Buddha near the state park I had attempted to locate the day prior. We hadn't thought that one out clearly and after a couple quick shots of the gilted god we hopped back on the scooter and headed through Krabi to the Tiger Cave Temple.

Needing to inquire as to the appropriate direction on more than one occasion we finally made it and it was still early and cool.

1300 steps didn't sound so tough to me seeing as I became a triathlete in the not so distant past, but trust me, when stairs were built in BC they are as high as your knee and you will quickly discover what an American fat ass you are.

Klaus was kind and patient as he hopped along like this was some school yard game. We made it to the top in under 30 minutes and man was it worth it.

A 360 degree view of the vibrantly green surroundings, a random dog guarding the top and a lot of monkeys I was pretty sure wanted to be my friend were to be found.

I had never really encountered monkeys in the wild and I quickly became an excitable school girl at her first One Direction concert. If the monkeys and dog hadn't had beef and the master monkey in charge didn't look like he could tear my flesh from bone I for sure would have bonded with the primates.

It soon became clear that the dog was here to protect us and that my love for animals transcends language, as the black and white pup followed us all 1300 steps down and cut any potential monkey encounter off at the pass, like the protective older brother I always wanted but never had, it was frustrating but sweet.

After our extended experience and second day of vehicular sterilization in a row, my crotch needed a break and we had to get back to the hostel for Klaus to meet his family and me to wash the mountain funk from my increasingly freckled face.

Seeing as I had the motorbike rented for the whole day I thought, why not face my fear and ignore my lady part pain and actually drive one of these bad boys - and that is exactly what I did. After a quick change and a quick tutorial on gas and break, I was off. First to get gas which required the help of a local and the off to Ao Nang.

As I've stated before when I am traveling is likely the only time I am at ease and the fact that somewhere along the way I seem to have missed the turn off to Ao Nang didn't bother me a bit. I took the added time on the road to get comfortable with speed and take in the sights.

There were small villages who's children came rushing out to say good morning, in English, as they don't see many folks like me in these parts and there were many, many stray dogs, some of whom seem to have been Aronofsky fans as they were fully ass to ass.

I even got picked up on while in movement on the highway by a man who turned  his bike around to talk to me yet didn't talk to me at all, as he didn't speak or understand a single syllable of English. Thank you strange man for making me feel like I still internationally got it!
It was a lovely experience and though I didn't have a destination per se, after lots of back and forth I ended up in Krabi Town which looks very different during the day.

I stopped in for some lunch, ordering whatever the waiter recommended and, in turn, having my first green curry.  It had chicken and a vegetable I couldn't pick out in a lineup - nonetheless it was delicious.

A long ride back with the 'Begin Again' soundtrack in my ear was when I really hit my stride on the bike and the sun came out in appreciation.

With my first chance for vitamin D in days, once I returned, I dropped trow and headed to the pier for some reading and relaxation before the storm inevitably set in again.

Family dinner was bland but the little girls here have really warmed up to me and when playing with children I don't actually think the language barrier poses much of a problem. Or I am learning German through osmosis.

Every so often, waiting out the rain reaps rewards and when I woke this morning the skies were clear and the sun was calling, beckoning me to the sandy shores and tempting me with promises of bronzed skin and pre-cancerous melanoma.

The Bananas has directions to two local beaches in it's lobby and feeling as though I should take advantage of the sun as long as I had it I was off with laminated instructions in hand to find either the Coconut Beach and the Secret Beach. When faced with those two options I think the choice is pretty clear.

Secret Beach was more descriptive than clever because as I walked for about an hour in the increasing morning heat, schlepping my two bags I couldn't find the bastard. I walked down each and every 'dirt path' I could find and mostly they just led to nowhere.

Defeated and more than a tad annoyed I headed back 'home' to consult the trusty Lonely Planet that I have barely cracked on this voyage but that I always like to tote around for good measure.

Just as I began to leaf through the newsprint pages Andrew, a volunteer here at the hostel by way of the UK, offered to drive me there on his motorbike - my prince in shining tank top.

As I was led down the road, up a hill and through the forest to grandmother's house it became quite clear that there is no way I could have navigated this path on my own and, after some sneaky barbed wired scaling and descending from the side of a mountain - there were were. At high tide.

11 am is high tide and that leaves about 6 inches of beach to enjoy. Andrew was kind enough to go exploring for rocks and shells as I took some photos of the orange and lavender speckled rocks and bathed myself in the Adaman Sea. After an hour or so he offered to drop me at Coconut, which he insisted I should be able to locate myself from the road side, on his way back to work.

Usually possessing a keen sense of direction, this place is bonkers with people literally gesturing in a general direction as an aid in times of navigatory trouble.

I did find a beach, nestled behind an outdoor bar and as I laid in the sun and enjoyed the breeze for several hours I had nothing but sad music and happy crabs to keep me company. It was quiet and serene and beautiful and, just like all good things. It came to an end. An end by way of torrential rainstorm that set in almost the moment I stepped off the beach to walk the several miles back to my hostel.

I took cover next to a couple of beautiful peacocks, all of us ready to bolt at the first sign of clear sky and, after 30 minutes or so I decided to just go for it - put my clothes in a bag, wrapped myself in the Thai fabric I had brought as a beach towel and, doing my best Gaugin impression, looking more like a native Thaitian woman wandering down the roads in thongs and a colorful wrap, long brown locks hanging low in the rain.

With the kindness of a local bus driver I was deposited back at Bananas in time to shower, put on my MJ sweatshirt and get ready for some grub. With only one day left in Krabi, and having fallen a bit in love with the place, I feel confident saying that this is on my 'may return someday' list.

Thoughts Are Physical and My Pants Are Too Tight

They say you don't know what you got till it's gone, but I'm not sure that is always the case.

I've always know California is a great place from which to come. I've been confident that my best friend is one of the greatest people to ever walk the planet. And I was certain, with every ounce of my being that my father was as special as he was loved. Sure, I may have questioned some of his decision making skills, as we all do with those we love - but my confidence in him as a dad and as a person never wavered and I felt blessed each and every time I was able to make him chuckle on the other end of the phone.

I think it is when we lose those things; the things we cherished when we had them, that it hurts the most.

It was with this heavy heart and swirling mind that I began my first day alone in Thailand. When the distraction of a travel companion is taken out of the equation that you only have your thoughts, memories, and feelings to keep you company it can be dangerous. Being terribly charming and endlessly amusing this is usually not a problem for me, but this particular morning was rough.

With sugar as the only substance upon which I rely in times of trouble, or in times of waking hours, I selected for the healthier option to clear my mind and went for another morning run to Santichaiprakarn Park, my new favorite not only for its proximity to my pad but for the tai chi and Zumba participants doing their best to mimic actual physical activity when really they are just shaking their groove thing to Rhianna on their headphones in sweatpants.

Relinquishing any fantasy that I will remain clean for more than 5 minutes at a time, tops, whilst in Thailand I postponed the shower and set up shop in the outdoor lobby of my hostel to get some tech time and catch up on emails, work, and personal business. Also, to make a couple calls home and hear some familiar voices.

After a shower and a switch from a double in room B 32 to a single in room B 31 for a reasonable 330 baht a night I felt that familiar pang - of hunger.

Though Chomp had not proven itself useful in terms of a yoga destination the previous day I decided to head to the Brit run establishment for their famous burgers. A massively huge chicken sandwich was evidence that it was Western run and the spotty WiFi proved it was still in the third world. The lack of modern distraction allowed me to sink into the book I recently purchased at The Strand for this adventure. 'Hector and the Search for Happiness' seemed appropriate and had colorful cover art so I was sold.

An hour or two of Hector's trials, tribulations and triumphs throughout the world searching for what makes people across the globe happy was not terribly enlightening, but it was sweet, and entertaining and that was enough for today.

With some time before I had to set out to visit Laura in Sayala I luxuriated in the form of a midday nap. Not a terribly exciting day, but sometimes the simple things are the sweetest.

Thinking I'd give myself some time to let higher education rub off on me at Mahidol University, the name of which had been emailed to me phonetically, before Laura got out of class, I hailed a cab, negotiated a price and was soon on my way. My driver absolutely did not speak English so when he turned down some unsavory alleyways outside of town literally swerving to avoid sleeping or dead vagrants mid- road I was a bit suspicious. Turned out he had better things to do and just wanted to swap out and have his son drive me the rest of the way.

After some help from the international student center staff I located Population and Social Research building and began to wait, observing the throngs of uniformed students on bikes traversing the campus thinking - I am pretty sure I wore pajamas to class, i.e. I'm so very American.

Laura soon emerged from class with her fellow graduate students emitting curiosity and cultural intelligence from their pores.

I had been informed there was a local yoga class for 10 baht. Turns out local was on campus where a staff member hosted weekly classes in a back room that was part storage, part studio. The next two hours involved a lot of sweat, a lot of stretching, and a lot of touching tiny strange Asian women.

The first hour was essentially Bikram, followed by couples yoga where I got to link sweaty body parts with a woman 1/3 my size, and all in the name of wellness.

Excited to show me her new home, Laura took me to the outdoor strip of market that faces the university and behind which her apartment is tucked.

We feasted on noodles and coconut ice cream and caught up. Tears and laughter were shared in equal parts and I was glad to be in the presence of my friend who I had not seen in so long.

A couple of hours were spent in the cozy student apartment that she shares with her incredibly kind and generous boyfriend trying to figure out the rest of my trip and where, along the road, she would meet up with me. After endless circles I had to call it a day and felt calm when crossing Rama Vill Bridge knowing I was close to my home for the evening.

Waking in a heat induced stupor I saw messages from a fellow traveler on my phone inviting me along to a ping pong show shortly after I had fallen asleep and I was devastated. How will I ever truly understand the female reproductive system if I do not see small plastics balls shoot out of them on command? I am at a loss.

A lengthy breakfast at a local 'French' cafe and some stressful dealings with back in the states and I was a mess.

Not only had chosen to wear one of the shelf bras I had purchased at MBK, leaving my naturally large breasts with tiny tit torpedoes, ready to take an eye out, pointing off the ends making me look like some sort of Doris Day reject, but I also didn't know what to do next. Both literally and figuratively.

I, like many people, often react emotionally and have been trying my very best to limit that behavior so I did my best impersonation of a sane person, not stressed to the point of Alopecia, and packed up my bags, checked them at the front desk and caught the 53 bus to Hualumphong train station where I used my deductive skills and blind faith in the exchange with a woman who my money in exchange for a train and bus ticket, a 15 hour journey, down south to Krabi. Krabi, where rain was expected and bugs would absolutely eat me alive, but where I was hoping to find peace, in mind and soul and if my cellulite turned a shade or two darker Id be ok with that too.

Back on the 53 wood-floored bus and I am listening to the Dixie Chicks while crawling down the streets of Bangkok. It may not seem congruent with my personality, as well as the environment and it may not be cool or hip or timely, but who the hell cares. Their lyrics are beautiful and Natalie Maine's voice conveys the beautiful pain housed in my heart - and isn't that the point of great art?

The public bus offers you a unique tour of the city,  The bumper to bumper traffic by the flower market was a highlight, and as I pass Chinatown I realize there is so much this particular city has to offer that I will never I uncover.

Usually one to respect cultural traditions after two attempts to make it only the Grand Palace and two rejections, the most recent of which was literally 'lady, you are wrong,' I have thrown in the towel on that majestic center of beauty and Buddhism.

I mean come on, I'm covered head to toe in sweltering heat yet I have to have the exact attire you deem fit at this particular destination? No wonder the homeless hippie chic/lesbian aunt ensembles is so popular amongst the 'travelers' here, because otherwise you will directly and aggressively be told that you are wrong.

If I have to dress like a middle-aged art teacher to join your illustrious club, I don't want to be a member anyway! I happen to think it would be against God's plan to hide this bodacious booty, clearly the staff at the RP disagree.

In my indignation I decided to walk home and quickly realized a) I knew my way and b) that my suspicions were correct and the cab Sharlene and I took the other day took us on an awfully circuitous route to get back. Ah, the perils of wing white.

I passed a couple of places filled with westerners and, when a delightfully green establishment just next door was filled with locals I wondered why on earth they wouldn't give it a go.

So I did.

The menu had one dish on it that, to the best of my understanding offered a selection of pork products all in on bowl. Usually not one to dig on swine, while in Rome...

The broth was full of onion and the meat palatable. Just like in my sex life, if something feels suspicious in my mouth I just try to ignore it and swallow (sorry, Mom). For a fraction of the cost of all meals previous I was satisfied and only mildly disgusted by the man making slurpy food sex noises.

A little window shopping and a stop at the photo shop where a cheerful older man took my picture for a potential Burma Visa and directed me as to attire, amount of teeth displayed and posture very specifically. I figured I should cover my bases while possible.

So I am packed. Packed and ready to head to the next city, as I have spent more than enough time in and around this one.

Hopefully there will be fun. Hopefully there will be sun. Hopefully there will be Wifi.

Till then...

beheard x soa x vietnam

Always happy to contribute to SOA Life, today they are running a brief write up on the cuisine I experienced while in Vietnam. Check it out!

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.