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!

Saigon, Soldiers and Billy Joel

Twenty+ hours on a plane can teach you a lot. It can teach you how much room your body really needs to maintain appropriate circulation, it can teach you just how physically close you are willing to get to another strange human being, and it can allow you to get in touch with your roots. Functioning much like an infant, eager to shove your face full of whatever sustenance it is the ladies who have the privilege of standing in the aircraft distribute between turns of napping and using the loo.

Much like an infant, being on a plane for an entire day gives you nothing to do but eat, sleep and shit.

As sexy as the beginning of my first Asian adventure may sound, don't worry - if my last evening spent perched upon the pillow-less third tier bunk atop 2 friendly, if dim Brits is any indication of the how romantic an alluring my interaction with the far East will be, just sit tight because this is bound for the steamy pages of Cosmo.

Having boarded a plane Newark airport in my own special brand of homeless/90's gym attire chic I have to admit, I made note of the fact that I was one of the few caucasians hopping on this Ho Chi Minh, by way of Hong Kong, bound flight. For those who know me, my admitting to the fact that I am, in fact, Caucasian is a huge step, as I am fairly delusional and when flying to Africa or Latin America I feel right at home - as I am amongst my people. I almost don't know what to do when I am on a plane that is NOT filled with a dozen or so portly women clutching their  rosaries and praying to Guadalupe aloud. Needless to say, a plane filled with people of Asian decent made me notice just how white I am.

This flight had no prayers. No veiled Catholic allusions. It just had a couple of crying babies, barefoot elderly who felt it appropriate to put their unpedicured feet upon my seat, and hours of movies and snacks, both enough to make one ill.

I have been to the Eiffel Tower, the Roman Collesium; I have hiked Macchu Picchu, but for whatever reason, when deboarding in Hong Kong International Airport (the only point of contact had in China) all I could think was 'I am in fucking CHINA!' Sure, it looked just like SFO and sure there were books for purchase in English, but there was a moment when it was crystal clear that I was on the other side of the world. Alone.

After a brief layover and some wifi access I boarded my 2 hour flight to Vietnam, admittedly nervous about what lay before me. What lay immediately before me was another nap, as my body no longer had any clue as to what time zone it inhabited. Once at the airport there are the standard bells and whistles of entering a new country through immigration, though I have never before had to acquire a 'landing visa.' In my typical 'free spirit' fashion I had not only been remiss in obtaining a small photo of myself to accompany my paper work, but I also somehow made my visa single entrance, so unless something extraordinary happens, I believe Cambodia is out of the question for this journey. Bummer.

Full of firsts, I allowed a taxi driver to solicit me and put my safety, trust, and money in his hands hoping he could deliver me to Budget Hostel 2, and deliver he did. So honest was he that when I offered to pay upon arrival at my destination he politely reminded me that I already had and commented on how tired I must be. I have said this before, and I will say it again, I do believe the world is largely filled with good people.

A couple of restless sleep atop said third bunk which I had been banished to after the intoxicated lads from London came back late night to discover an American Goldie Locks who had mistakingly seen their bed as a vacant one, and I am up for Internet and breakfast before the sun rises an the streets fill with noise and exhaust.

A benefit of staying in a youth hostel, despite the fact that mine is ever waning, is that it allows one the opportunity to meet fellow travelers, as I did over bread and bananas this morning.

Maria and Paola, two devastanginly beautiful 20-somethings from Argentina suggested I tag along with them to visit the Cu-Chi tunnels, essentially the former playground of the Viet Cong. I accepted and paid the 100,000 dong (coochie and dong - my maturity is certainly being put to the test here) and hopped on what I soon discovered was a 2 hour bumpy bus rode out into war country.

Here is where I become a bit maudlin. Passing fields of uniformly lined rubber trees I could not help but think of my uncle and the boy he must have been before he went to war. It was a visceral realization that these fields were the battle ground for such a tragic war, both for Vietnam and America. When at the site of the tunnels our gregarious guide, Lan, spoke at length about killing the 'enemy' while showing the various contraptions used to booby trap a generation of men, resulting in their ultimate demise. As interesting as these archaic and what I can only imagine incredibly useful traps were, something about murder traps just doesn't sit well with me.

I do not purport to be some sort of patriot and I am still too young to recall any war of that magnitude in any real way, yet I felt guilty, as though I were betraying my uncle Danny and the friends he lost in the war by being a member of the fanny packed throng anxious to crawl into these infamous tunnels to get a feel for combat when, there is no way to even begin to estimate the terror and loss of war. I had not intended on doing war-related activities and this outing proved to me just why. 

Though I did crawl through a tunnel and merely listened to the Aussies shoot off AK-47s, which was an additional cost to the tour, I felt connected to a piece of my family, my history and my country by seeing such a thing, first hand.

The ride home was no less comforting and I attempted some Lamaze breathing to keep from retching all over my Argentianian seat mate (jet lag and motion sickness are a wicked cocktail). The bus did not return is to our start point and as I parted ways with Maria and Paola, I realized I was on my own to navigate the dusky, chaotic streets of Saigon. Stuck in my head all day, all I can hope is Billy Joel would be proud.

happy (belated) new year...

saying goodbye to another year.
and hello to a new one!

cheers, to the holiday season...

this unassuming young man was backstage at rock the bells this past summer and once i saw his version of solo cup, i had to grab a snap.

he happily obliged. gotta love the way they roll in the bay...

beheardphotography

2013