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.

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!