I Love Your Tets

My last morning at Mushroom proved uneventful, as the pre-Tet celebration had left all guests and staff fast asleep well past the time of my departure.

I flagged a taxi and took a quick ride to the Phu Quoc airport, sad to leave the sun and sand. My sadness was only partially assuaged by perhaps the cutest little boy I have seen here thus far, sporting suspenders and so excited to be at the airport that he was literally doing the dance of joy. Both my heart and ovaries ached.

The flight up to Hanoi is a mere 90 minutes, but feel so very far away. Having left the tropical warmth held in the Gulf of Thailand I flew to the North of this long and narrow country to it's Capitol, with a climate much more similar to my native San Francisco and who's city environment, though mellow, it most certainly not the beach.

With no visible option for public transportation from the airport in Hanoi, and my Lonely Planet long since misplaced, I hopped in yet another cab, for what seemed like an eternity and with a cost that felt like a fortune. It took 45 minutes or so to arrive at 85 Hang Bac Lane where a hotel, travel agency, hostel and restaurant can all be located in an easy one stop shop. Navigating the language barrier was challenging, but once sorted out I hopped on yet another top bunk in room 402 and immediately booked a day in Ha Long Bay in 2 days time. It had been suggested to me to take more time in this most famous, picturesque location in Vietnam, but being stubborn and cheap has it's draw backs and I felt one day was sufficient. I don't leave until morning, so I will have to let you know how that worked out at a later time.

The nice man at reception suggested my first stop in the city be Hoan Kiem Lake, located just a stones throw from my temporary abode and extra beautiful with all of the final touches being put on the Lunar New Year celebration decorations. Massive floral displays, ornate lighting design and balloons floating high in the sky set the perfect back drop for a lovely day, and for a city clearly obsessed with selfies and amateur photo shoots. Literally any husband with a handheld has a model on his hands - its surreal. I managed to get some good photos myself, while weaving between women of all ages striking a pose against anything that seemed an appropriate background and took a seat by an elderly man quietly painting as I enjoyed an ice cream of indeterminate flavor while ready a John Grisham novel left behind at my last hostel and written in English. Free and in my native tongue - all the requirements met for appropriate reading material.

More meandering, a couple souvenir purchases for the boys back home and I went into what ended up being perhaps the whitest restaurant in the city. Though the staff was local and amiable, the place soon filled up with tourists of European descent and their family members while I feasted on honey baked chicken, sauteed vegetables and sticky rice. Lets pretend, for a moment this meal was at all authentic and I will sleep better knowing I both enjoyed Vietnamese cuisine in addition to feeling properly nourished, a possible first on this journey. Luckily, it was also incredibly expensive, so the guilt can persist regardless.

Being New Year's eve the city was a buzz with excitement and I made my way back down to the lake to get a front row seat to the impending fireworks show as families gathered and vendors sold fresh sausages and pineapples on the street. I found a spot, posted up and waited. The time read 9:22pm. Sure, it was chilly, but I was ok, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, right? Tet in Vietnam. I waited. I waited for what felt like a very long time before glancing back at my phone. The time read 9:37pm. Then I thought to myself. I am here alone, I have nothing to prove, and I do not want to be out on the cold. I figured I had slept through one New Year's Eve this year so far, why not make it two for two? Back in my pajamas and cozy in my bed my roommates did give me a mild amount of ribbing for not going out and enjoying the festivities, but I thought to myself, this is part of the beauty of getting older - I honestly don't give a shit if these 20 year-olds think I am cool or not. I am reading my book and going to bed. And that is just what I did.

The good thing about going to bed early (though I have not slept through an entire night since arriving in Vietnam, as I have had multiple noisy roomies since this trip's inception) is you get up early - naturally and feeling ready for the day. Have you ever noticed that when you are on holiday you can get up and 6 am and feel fantastic, but when you are at home and the alarm goes off at 6:15 you feel like homicidal maniac? I wonder why that is. Nonetheless, I dressed and went downstairs to go for a run around the lake, but was detoured for nearly an hour by one of the sweet New Zealanders with a beanie seemingly stitched to his head and a Mangum P.I. mustache charmingly draped across his very young face. Once we were met by another traveler in the form of a VERY young, VERY excitable and VERY gregarious young lady I made my exit and circled the lake with a breeze in the air and sun on my shoulders.

By the time I returned it was shower hour at the hostel and my room of 8 took turns showering and meeting, some while still lying in bed. The bunk next to mine, I would soon discover, housed two Dutch brothers, one of whom had had a pink strawberry blazer made in Thailand for Tet and had it proudly hanging from his bed. Having been passed along to some incredibly generous and helpful Vietnamese compadres through friends, I was the one with the inside track on where to go during Tet, when most everything is closed down, and quickly offered my assistance, and company to the brothers, only to be additionally joined by the girl from New Zealand and two Nordic ladies who were welcomed with their fair beauty. Setting out as a posse of 6 was overwhelming for me and though I felt a bit trapped but I decided to embrace the company and the adventure it would provide. First stop was the Temple of Jade Mountain where I felt lucky to have ended up in Hanoi during Tet, as the Vietnamese families were out in droves with offerings of fruit and money. The temple was bustling, rich with the aroma of incense and children, once again were breathtaking.

Making our way across town to the One Pilar pagoda, the troops grew weary so we ducked into a local cafe where beverages were ordered repeatedly and never arrived quite right - a theme in this country. The two brothers, Jerome and Tim were charming in that sort of obnoxious but I can't help but like you sort of way and half way through the day I found my cheeks literally in pain from smiling so much. I cannot say I remember the last time that happened. Being neurotic beyond compare, I immediately thought of the wrinkles that must be forming on my ever slackening face.

The pagoda to which we were headed happened to be right next to the Ho Chi Minh mausoleum, that closes early, but has guards in their dress whites posted outside at all times. Tim tried to get one to take a photo with me, as I felt it the perfect 2014 Christmas card, but they were having none of it, despite the fact that they too were taking selfies. Ridiculous!

The accompanying museum was uninspiring but the pagoda was gorgeous and full of life. Food was the next on the agenda but we needed a ride. We found one in the form of a nice older man driving a 40 year-old military vehicle who would not allow us to pay him and to whom my dear Dutch friend introduced me as Canadian - not my finest moment - but I did not protest. I had heard admitting my Americaness in this city could prove troublesome, but I am sort of bad ass, so I didn't worry.

Dinner was uninspiring, confusing and lengthy but I'll admit a bit of flirting with a 25 year-old is fun from time to time, especially when he so clearly reminds you of the boy you were in love with in college. There was an instant ease and I was grateful for his presence in this Breakfast Club we'd created.

There was a quick stop back at the hostel, replete with a serenade from Mr. Notorious B.I.G. just for me. According to the Kristoff brothers since I am 'from the Bronx' and shoot hip hop I am gangster and since there are no gangsters in Holland I am their resident expert. If only they knew...

With the rest of the group going out to drink I figured I was game, but when they ended up at an essential frat party at a hostel bar, fraught with wasted English girls and chanting teenagers away from home for the first time I thought - maybe Danny Glover was right - and I am, in fact - getting too old for this shit. Then I thought back to 24 year-old Briana - she didn't like this sort of activity either. Feeling satisfied that my ever advancing age was not the problem, but my general discomfort with parties and plebians made it a lot easier to walk away and wander the flag-lines streets of Hanoi back to 85 Hang Bac, where I can enjoy some ice cream, some Wifi and some Bob Dylan on the juke box.

Tomorrow morning it is my day trip to Halong Bay. At least nature doesn't close during New Years.

I Love the Smell of Semen in the Morning

It may seem like this story is about to be sexy. Trust me, it's not.

So... after last we spoke, I took the hour long walk back to my hostel, the stars, beautiful, blah blah

I was fast asleep in what I would soon notice was the boys dorm when some moaning from down under began. Then my bed started to shake and it became incredibly obvious that my once unassuming Danish bunk-mate was in some state of euphoria saved for private moments, and not those shared with 3 other strangers from around the globe.

As the moans intensified and distinctive squishing sounds ensured I panicked. I searched the dark room for some sign that English Joe or Dutch Klass were there in the room with me to, if nothing else, offer some comfort that I was not in this alone.

With no ally in sight I laid low, squeezing my ample thighs together as best I could, as I dare not wake the sleeping, jerking off bear while he thrashes about in ecstasy to relieve myself of liter of liquid long ago consumed.

Each time I thought this nightmare was over, it began all over again. Each time the noises grew louder, the movement more intense, and the goal closer to accomplished - if you catch my drift. This went on for hours.

When dawn broke I did as well, straight for the freedom of outside and the fresh air, void of the undeniable stench of foreign and unwanted spunky air.

Klass had employed ear plugs and Joe thought he was simply having a bad dream - all night long! Neither of the daft blokes were forced to experience the rocking and rolling of the wooden structure on which I was perched, trapped in the dungeon of terror for a fortnight.

With such a traumatic evening and restless night I opted for a plain and simple beach day, making my way up and down Long Beach, stopping every so often to set up camp, read a book I could simply not put down, take a dip and move on. It was a lovely, quiet, solitary day topped off with the authentic Vietnamese evening ritual of pizza and ice cream and another long, poorly lit walk home.

There was some nice conversation, and in turn ribbing from my international roommates into the nighttime hours before we all retired and kept our fingers crossed the Dirty Dane would keep his pants closed.

English Joe had mentioned taking his motorbike to the Southern end of the island and I, in true American style invited myself. Turns out Joe's misses is from Citrus Heights in Sacramento, California - a town over from my Alma Mater (go cougars!) proving further what a small and strange world we live in.

The ride took about 90 minutes down gravely roads, dirt paths, a partially constructed 2 lane highway. The island is on the precipice of gentrification and full blown tourism, as made abundantly clear on our journey with varied and seemingly forgotten stages of development sprinkled throughout the region. Also made clear, people in the small villages, though not unfriendly, are unable or unwilling to assist with directions, even while utilizing a map. This did provide me with the opportunity to meet David Lo Pan from 'Big Trouble in Little China' (look it up) getting a shape at the local barbershop and ended up delivering us to the port before arriving at Bai Sao, touted as the most beautiful beach on the island- possibly in all of Vietnam.

Joe and I had a lovely time soaking up some rays, splashing about in the turquoise surf and dining on some fried rice before the motorbike ride home, equal in good times and scenic views as the way there with the exception of the left side of my body almost erupting in flames from the late afternoon sun straddling a bike.

Having sort of bailed on Carole to hike for the day, I made sure to contact her and head directly to the beach to catch the sunset on my final night on the island. She met me and once the sun touched the horizon we hoped on her bicycle and for the second time I was riding on the back of a two wheel vehicle with someone else at the reigns, though this time it was human powered and far less steady.

A quick meal, some heavy conversation and obligatory tears over vegetable stir-fry and she was headed North as I was heading South. Here we said our goodbyes, both glad to have met one another and both aware that the chances of our crossing paths again are slim to none.

Walk. Stars. Dark. Shower. Scrubs and sunburn, pretty much in that order.

Tomorrow - Hanoi.

Third Day, Third World (Saigon Doesn't Count)

Sitting in my un-aircoditioned, un-polished hostel listening to some faux hippie play 'Blackbird' in the courtyard on their acoustic guitar and I cannot help but smile.

I've spent the past 3 days in the third world. Phu Quoc Island seems to be much like any not yet terribly tainted tropical paradise replete with insects, inconveniences, and peace.

Landing here just a few days ago I had no idea what to expect, as is the case with most if not all of this trip. It had been recommended to me from some Vietnamese women and I figured what the hell, knowing full well that sun and beach was really what I was after with this whole excursion anyway.

But allow me to start at the beginning.

Boarding at Ho Chi Minh airport was chaotic to say the least, however with the help of a nice German woman named Carole it was more easily navigable. We began chatting and ended up becoming flight buddies and exchanging information with promises to connect once on the island.

I was promptly deposited at Mushroom Backpackers on the South end of the island, a hostel that resembles a project either in construction or mid-demolition far more than a completed place for lodging - but nevertheless I was here and it was inexpensive. Posted up in room #1, I quickly unloaded and headed to the nearest beach.

Opting for sustenance en route I ordered noodles and vegetables at a restaurant just before the turn off to Long Beach and was served a plate of flat noodles, oil, and greens. It would soon come to my attention that 'vegetables' in Vietnamese means lettuce. This travel-induced vegetarian thing was going to be rough going if wilted lettuce was all upon which I could feast.

Long beach was touristy but did the trick - allowing me to listen to the waves only intermittently interrupted by Motown wafting through the toasty breeze and the muffled offerings of a masked Asian woman with fresh fruit.

Next stop - the night market. The night market is THE spot to which all visitors are drawn for it's inexpensive eats and authentic atmosphere. I seemingly went so I could wait 90 minutes for corn and lettuce stir-fried to unperfection. Luckily, the consolation prize was meeting a nice couple seated nearby who were warm and open travel masters. And American - the first of those I have stumbled across. They said they were designers, but the definition was very vague, it just seemed to me like they were a fabulous older gay couple living the life!

Having walked the almost hour down the single unlit road that runs through the island to my unsatisfactory dinner I cheated a bit an caught a cab half way home for 40,000 dong - about 2 dollars.

A fitful night atop by single layer Styrofoam mattress and I was again up early and ready to face the ever warming day. My airplane buddy, Carole and I had made plans to rendezvous and, after a quick run she came by my hostel to 'pick me up.'

What was supposed to be a pick up soon became an hour or two of lounging at the hostel's outdoor communal space chatting with some kids traveling the world and John-O, the English proprietor of said hostel. It was a pleasant morning of fresh fruit and easy conversation and wicker furniture. Having eaten little more than a pack of Top Ramen for days I was ill prepared for the journey upon which I was about to embark, as Carole suggested I rent a bike, as she had, and we ride up to the recommended beaches on the North side of the island.

Over the river and through the woods, and in the market, and over the bridge and down the runway and we still were not at our destination. I think it's safe to say it took us a good 2 hours to arrive at a mellow white sand beach close to Mango Resort, still a dozen kilometers or so off from our original destination, yet totally sufficient for my red shoulders and sore ass.

Nothing feels quite as good as the ocean on your feet and the sun on your face. In danger of approaching Oprah wellness bullshit, there is something in the calm of the ocean and the glow of the sun that is almost, dare I say it, restorative.

With the sun low in the sky we decided to head back, but not without me locating some white people food, as I had had enough of pretending I could survive on rice and noodles for 3 weeks. All I have to say is, if you ever find yourself in Vietnam, don't order a chicken burger. Not only will it be covered in some indecipherable liquid, chances are the German at the next table will add insult to injury by calling you out on ordering white people food whilst abroad.

The sunset was electric on our ride back and, after parting ways with Carole (with whom I had had a lovely day, save for the fact that she inquired as to whether my relationship with my father was a bit Oedipal- stating it as though it would be normal if it were) at the ever odoriferous town market I enjoyed a dark, relaxing ride home, punctuated with a stop for ice cream at Bud's, which I felt well deserved after feeling the burn in my thighs for the better part of the day.

Having booked a trip to dive the following morning, I felt it prudent to crash early in my room of now entirely aromatic gentlemen from the EU to be fresh as a grown woman daisy.

Neil, proprietor of Flipper Diving company, was at Mushroom by 7:45am and, as we picked up fellow travelers, we picked up speed heading for the harbor.

I had paid for 2 dives and was allotted my own personal dive master, Lauren who, in her youthful naivete was flabbergasted that I was all of 32, delighting me to no end. The first hour-long decent was uncomfortable and made me realize just why the Great Barrier Reef, which I had visited this time last year, was worthy of it's name. Perhaps starting with the best only leaves room for disappointment further down the line. Man, I hope that is not true in life. The second dive, at Turtle Island, totally devoid of turtles, was half the time and twice as enjoyable, as I spotted an octopus changing colors and paying me little mind as I hovered above it. Lauren commented on how good I was underwater and encouraged me to go for my certification - even suggesting underwater photography, something that had never before crossed my mind and sounds just unexpected enough to be amazing.

After de-boarding and bidding adieu to my new homies Jeff and Fran from Maryland, happily unmarried for nearly 30 years, I was back to the hostel for what was supposed to be a quick drop off, but ended up being more of a lengthy hangout once my Danish roommate asked to utilize some of the technology I had brought along (I was told only posh backpackers have Macs).

Spending the twilight hours talking travel and music and life with young, passionate people brings me a melancholic joy as I both admire and envy their youth and wonder. I often think perhaps I was never as Kevin Arnold as I should have been.

With the sun kissing the horizon, I made it here, to Phuong Binh restaurant,  directly on the beach, just paces from the lapping waves, to eat overpriced westerner friendly food, drink too much pineapple juice and watch the sun set on another day, in the third world.