It's Bohemian

I spent some time off from writing about my travel experiences, mostly wrestling with myself as I tried to find my place in Vietnam. Leaving America two months ago was easy - I had a lot of time to prepare, and knew what to expect, for the most part - white, sandy beaches and clear, deep blue waters, pleanty of sun, and smiles. Sure, I didn't get this initially when I arrived in Bangkok, but I had just left so much, embarking on a new adventure, and everything seemed wonderful in that context. After spending nearly a month on the beach, going back to a city was received by all my senses as unwelcome. I refused to continue being a tourist, but I forced to admit that I was, confronted by offers for tours at every turn, or to buy a souvenier as I tried to stroll the streets in peace. I was not allowed to feel at home, and I didn't like the reality of it - that this was not my home, and that there was good reason for no one to want me to ever claim it as such.

As I sat at a Cafe, drinking Ca Phe Sua Da (coffee with milk and ice) I began to accept that I would always be a tourist in Vietnam. As I allowed it to sink in, I also realized (spend a month on the beach and some realizations seem to take a while to hit you) that there was a reason I did not feel as relaxed...I was in a city! What city is not aggressive? What city is not a machine of parts each struggling to not be the first to break? What city is not filled with people who have piled in for the purpose of making a living, and are all in a race to make a living from the limited resources that exist within it, the greatest resource being us...being me...the tourist.

I settled down, stopped being harsh on myself for not being able to find my place in Vietnam, and stopped being harsh on the country for not allowing me the place I desired. I drank my Vietnamese coffee - strong black coffee that many drink with condensed mile and ice - a wonderful jolt of caffeine that people drink twice a day - a drink I found myself drinking two or three times before noon. I allowed myself to watch the machine that was Hanoi, and I began to see it's beauty.

Saigon - a city of 10 million people. If you go there, spend one day touring the city, but then get out of there on one of the super cheap tours and go see the tunnels from the Vietnam War (the one with America). Go further south and see the Makong Delta as well. This is the beauty of southern Vietnam.

Mui Ne - when you get there, just start taking kite surfing lessons. You're missing out if you don't, and not at the right beach if you intend to do anything different.

Delat - jump on the back of a motorbike with the easy riders for $20 for the day and take the tour to the silk factory, the Elephant Waterfall, Happy Buddha, and the countryside. If you're there for several days, and trust your ability to ride, get a motorbike of your own and just ride.

If you have the money, I recommend having th Easy Riders take you to Nha Trang, and to take as many days as you can afford. I regret not being able to say "you won't regret it" from first hand experience.

Hoi An - get some clothes made at Hugo - don't waste your time elsewhere. We saw clothes from a few other places, and they aren't bad, but the tailor at Hugo is wonderful. And if you want a nice and cheap place to stay, go to Bong Khanh which is directly across the street. Rent a motorbike to get to Marble Mountain, and give yourself about three hours before it gets dark. Once it's dark, it's too dark to enjoy or see anything. And take a small (a few snacks) picnic. The beach at Hoi An was wonderful, and you could get to it on bikes.

Hue is not a bad city, but the Citadel is not that impressive. It's being renovated, so it might be good in a year. The beauty is in getting out of the city and seeing the tombs. We got a motorbike and went out wondering with no idea where we were or what we were going to do, and stumbled upon one accidentally. It's amazingly beautiful.

Hanoi - enjoy the coffee, go to a movie, eat a lot of pho and if you can, some pigeon, and allow yourself to witness Vietnam.

I know this sounded more like a tour book than anything, but like I said, in Vietnam, you're a tourist, and with good reason. Don't try to be anything else, and you'll enjoy it more. You can be a tourist and get a lot out of it, so long as you don't spend your time fighting the desire to fit in.

Vietnam is a beautiful country - harsh in many ways - in need of time to find it's own way - but wonderful in it's own way.

I have three journal entries that are half finished about different towns in Vietnam, and I have had a difficult time painting the picture of my experiences. I came to realize that it is hard to capture the complexity of Vietnam in words the way it's difficult expressing the smell of curry in words. There is something very "Vietnam" about every moment, and I guess that can be said about any country.

We rented motorbikes yesterday for the first time in Vietnam and went to Marble Mountain, across the road from China Beach, near Hoi An. When you rent motorbikes (in Thailand or in Vietnam) you want to go until the tank is empty. This is how you get it, and you don't feel like you got the most out of it until you're either exhausted or the tank is empty, the latter taking precedence. I think they siphon the gas for their own use and give you the bikes empty otherwise. When we got back at the end of the night, Jess and I decided to ride as fast as we could (with safety in mind) to rid ourselves of an overflow of energy and to empty our tanks. We crossed a bridge near our hotel and immediately came to a stop as we saw a large chunk of concrete fly through the air, lobbed across the street by a guy holding a wooden bat, the projectile disappearing into the opening of a restaurant; seconds later a large grey mass was returned, projected out of the hollow that was the restaurant at the guy with the bat; two on one side, one on the other, we had entered a street fight of the kind I had never encountered before. Someone at that restaurant had done something to offend the other; more blocks of concrete went flying back and forth though the air; some aimed into the restaurant, some at the sign of the place, some back at the guys across the street - they seemed extremely drunk - the rage in their eyes was intense. I thought to myself "I hope the guy in the restaurant takes a second to call the cops" and then realized I had not seen a cop in the city since I arrived. I had not seen a single member of the law; the city was lawless and it seemed that order was maintained the way you would expect in a small village, and this "city" was not much different than a small village that was being transformed and modernized by tourism. You are constantly reminded that you're in a third world country when you order food and have it returned with at least one questionable object - a piece of hair or a shard of bone is not uncommon but not a big deal - you ask yourself "what kind of meat is this?" - you make sure to order bottled water and swat flies off your food as you eat - the food smells great but drafts from the market pass by from time to time carrying with it a mixture of fish and meat and molding greens and oil and grease and sweat. And then it's times like these that you realize there is life here outside the world that we have created for ourselves; life outside of tourism; and that this IS the third world and not just your third world experience. You realize you're not at one of the parks within Disney World, although you often wonder if their purpose for maintaining whatever forms of history it could is for the sole purpose of tourism. The fight continued and we were too close; we went zooming off to see the countryside, leaving that little "experience" behind us, and I thought "if this was happening in my own country (wherever that is) I would not just get out of here and zoom into the countryside to see what else I could see. I would do something about it. But here, I'm a tourist.

Sitting at a restaurant today we saw a girl no older than six walk up to a group of Australian women at another table and try to sell them trinkets. Wooden dragonflies that balanced on their nose when you placed them at the tip of your finger. "She's a trained hustler" said Jess, and it occurred to me that this was part of what I was missing. Child labor? Was this some huge chocolate corporation running kids around the street to provide us with the things we crave? No. This girl was being brought up to survive, possibly as a slave in a gang, possibly as the little daughter of a women sitting at another corner selling soup or trinkets herself, her husband out on a motorbike posing as a taxi, trying to make some money, or by directing "us" to his sisters or mothers or daughters tailor shop (everyone has a family member who owns a tailor shop in Hoi An); their son running around doing the same….this town revolved around "us," the tourists, and we were molding Vietnam because we are it's ability to survive; we are it's ability to shelter a family, to find food for the day, to make it by…to live. And it's a sad thought, to hear a certain amount of desperation in the voice of another when they ask you to buy; when they all seem to sell Pringles as well as bicycles, as well as tour and motorbikes, as well as custom tailored clothes and postcards, as well as a massage. A desperate plea that "no one has bought from me today, will you, please, I give you good price, please, you buy…" as you start ignoring them, tired of saying "no, no thank you, no, no I have one, no thank you, no, I only have a little room in my bag, no, I'm sorry."

While watching that girl at the restaurant a boy who should have been approaching manhood came to our table and tried to sell us postcards. We said we were not interested, to which he replied "I have not sold today; you help me; buy is good luck for me." This is a common notion; the first customer of the morning is likely to get the best deal because if they let you leave without a sale, you may set the luck for the day against their favor; if you buy, you swing luck in their favor. He had no sold anything all day, which could mean anything from he wasn't actually selling anything earlier because he was doing something else to he didn't sell anything because he was down on his luck. "We bought these at the beach. Maybe 12 of them" I replied. He wanted to know how much I paid, and I honestly didn't remember because we purchased them out of guilt for a women who looked 70 and had sat by us for about 10 minutes asking us to buy in the me guilty plea; her eyes looked moist as if she were blind; as she sat there I wondered how many nights she lay awake as "my country fought to guarantee my freedom," and I felt that now I had to pay to guarantee her a meal. He then tried to sell me Tiger Balm and I told him we had one already; we had bought one in Thailand thinking it would help our heat rash. Ours is a bigger pack and he said the smaller ones are better, using the "you help me, bring me luck" line a couple more times. When I said "no, thank you" for the 10th time (at least, no exaggeration) he said "this is not fair" and walked away. Not fair…the words echoed through my mind as we ate. "Why is that my problem" was one of the responses in my head. "Okay, I'll buy one" was the other. We constantly struggle with "well, it's only fifty cents - what's fifty cents to us?" and he fact that we too are unemployed. I think about a lot of this as an alms, or as a tax I have to pay for turning their lives into an object of my experience if not my amusement. But I wonder why I should have to pay this price. And I wonder why it is that I want this place (this region) to remain cheap so I can afford to be here - as if wanting them to remain in poverty so that I can find a room with AC for cheap.

I am beginning to understand Vietnam. Not so much it's history, but the present as a result of both history and a difficult trek into the future. I am beginning to understand that the things that annoy me (hello you buy) are their least aggressive form of survival in the midst of the only income they can rely on - ours. The street fight I witnessed was a more aggressive form of survival (most likely) - gang warfare over a corner, not around drugs but around silk or wood carvings or a pho stand. Who's dipping their hands in my ability to get some money from these tourists…

They see us for what we are…we are people walking around their land, looking at their lives as if it were entertainment. We are curious, but the things that we are taking pictures of are 4 year old girls in rags sitting in mud playing with a plastic bag and straw that contained a drink that one of "us" finished earlier; men sitting in a hybrid bicycle and wheelchair, both legs missing either because of a mine we placed there years ago or some other ailment, trying to sell me something I don't need but feel obligated to buy - something I would probably throw away or just give back, making it the same charity we are asked not to perform; an old man who looks 60 or more pulling a cart full of hay or bricks or coal, not thinking that this man is just doing another day's work except he doesn't get to sit at his desk under air condition and doesn't have labor laws protecting him. Our tourism - the things we marvel at - this is their lives. We come in looking for an AC and wifi and hot water; we come looking for good food and cold bottled water; we come looking for all of this luxury that only exists because we can afford to pay for it as we marvel at their poverty, and we want it cheap. Sure, there is a sign at the hotel that reads "Vietnamese Price - Foreigner Price" and our price is nearly double theirs for the same single room, but I doubt the Vietnamese guest is taking pictures of the old woman hunched under the weight of fruit or coal balanced on her shoulder as she walks the street without bottled water in the same heat we complain about.

I am having a hard time writing about Vietnam because I am lost in my own tourism, and not sure where. I have seen so many beautiful things, in Delat, in Hoi An, here in Hue - I have seen the Tomb of Minh Mang, and of his son, the last emperor; I have seen the elephant waterfall, trekking down the slippery and jagged rock face to the foot of the fall and stood in the mist and marveled; I have seen silk being made and was offered a silk worm to eat; I have stood in front of the Happy Buddha in Delat and walked though the gardens of the Pagoda; I have been taught about the ways of Buddhism at the Dragon Pagoda, the oldest is Delat; I have seen en elephant sitting in the back of a truck zoom by us on the road in the city; I have seen beautiful misty mountain tops and an expanse of green that's almost overwhelming in it's magnificence; I have eaten well, eaten poorly, eaten questionably, all wonderfully; I have experienced more in the last few weeks than many do in months or years or lifetimes, and yet…all I have experienced is life…someone else's simple, impoverished life - the backdrop to their desire to survive.

Chill and just enjoy it? No...

We have finally reached a city that we feel comfortable at in Vietnam. The road to get here was a bumpy and wild one, but like everything else, we've survived it and found the humor in the mishaps that are common in third world countries. I guess it doesn't help to compare everything to Thailand where the beaches were magnificent, the bungalows were cheap, and the islands were calm. Here in Hoi An, Vietnam the cities are buzzing, the beach is a lingering bike ride away, and the food is often questionable. We are enjoying this place much more then our previous couple of destinations in Vietnam, but nothing compares to the friendliness and contentment we felt in Thailand.

However, I do have to rave about the land in Vietnam! Away from the bustling cities, the countryside provides breathtaking landscapes. While driving down a curvy road, to your left you will witness a steep wall of powerful, staggering rocks of orange hues, a second later there will be unruly vines climbing their way up towering lime green trees. A look to your right, as your turn the corner on the edge of a mountain, you will observe lush, plentiful lands as far as you can see with misty mountain tops peeking over the topography of hilly farmland. Tiny Vietnamese women in pointy, oversized bamboo hats will be hacking away at fields of hay and tying them into bundles, which later will be used to feed the cattle, which in turn, serve to provide fuel for the livestock to cultivate the land.

The dynamic of family plays a huge part in Vietnamese culture. I adore it. I idolize how a small, rundown shanty of a house will contain a pair of happily wrinkled grandparents, who take care of the house, prepare meals, or tend to the land all day while their sons' or daughters' will be out trying to make a living for the rest of the family. The grandchildren will be running around town barefoot, caked in mud, or taking care of the babies whom look up to their big siblings. Three or four generations of family will be joyfully living under one small roof, all taking care of each other. The children have such respect for their elders here as well…something that has grown uncommon in the American lifestyle. I envy how at 80 years old, shrunken, petite women will walk up and down the sandy beach in socks and flip flops hauling loads of trinkets, and hustle you until you cave in and buy them. It seems that the Vietnamese people have such a strong will, and always look decades younger than they really are.

There are many extravagant pagodas here in Vietnam, which serve as sacred temples to the Buddhist.They have multiple tiers and lavish decor. Prior to Buddhism, there were four animals that the Vietnamese worshipped as containing the powers and forces of life. They were the dragon, lion, turtle, and the phenix. Our tour guide, Thrung Pagoda, also spoke of the three things that clash in Vietnam: culture, religion, and communism. Communism being against religion, religion trying to overcome the rules of man and impose a higher morality, and culture trying to preserve itself against outside influences. Then we learned a little about Buddha and what he created. Buddha is not a god he is a teacher. 'Buddha' was born an Indian prince about 3000 years ago. He renounced wealth and family to practice severe self-discipline and abstain from all forms of indulgence. After achieving enlightenment through meditation, he taught all who came to learn from him. Buddha said the purpose of life was to do good. Karma was described to us as the sum of a person's actions, in this and previous states of existence, and is viewed as deciding a person's fate in future existences. For example if you do bad things in the life your living now, you will come back as a beggar, a cockroach, or even a lower form of life. You will either get punished  or rewarded for the things you do. They don't necessarily manifest themselves in this life, but in your life after this one. So, Buddhism has no creator god, unlike many other religions, it just gives a central role to the doctrine of karma. Do good and good things will happen. In addition there are 'four noble truths' of Buddhism which says that all existence is suffering, that the cause of suffering is desire, that freedom from suffering is nirvana, and that this is attained through the path of ethical conduct, wisdom, and mental discipline. Here below is Happy Buddha (aka Laughing Buddha) He is BY FAR my favorate of all the depictions of the Buddha.

In my past I have pretty much denounced religion. I found it silly and unscientific. I still  doubt the presence of a superhuman existence, too much does not make sense. So I just followed my own moral code to set up boundaries for myself to live by, which indeed has been working for me. Since moving to Southeast Asia, and learning more about Buddhism, I feel it is much more in tune to my own personal philosophies, and urge everyone to dig a little deeper into this 'religion"…But enough about religion- This is usually a topic I try my hardest to stay away from.

One other thing I find fascinating about Vietnam is the lack of traffic signals. The streets are pure pandemonium. With a mix of bicycles, motorbikes, silos, cars, and big trucks, you'll be lucky to make it through alive. It's a big clutter of confusion, but hilarious nonetheless! I'll be sure to put up some video of that whole mess!

There are a couple things I can't wait to get away from here. The first is that I am constantly being viewed as a walking wallet. Most of the Vietnamese are after our money. We can't walk anywhere without people asking us to come eat at their restaurant, or get stuff made at their tailor shops, or buy cheap stuff at their market. It's all overwhelming!... They will say "Hello. You buy." And it's not even a question or a favor...it's more of a command- Some will just say, "Buy something from my shop!" Others will take the friendly approach and enquire, 'Where you from,' 'Where you going,' or 'Where you stay?' Most of the conversations end with us saying "NO" 13 times after being offered 'good quailty made vietnam'. But it's funny because as lively as the streets are during the day....as soon as it hits 9-10pm..The street vendors lock up and all the roads are dead. With the exception of a few bars for expats. It's a complete 180! It's crazy to see how quickly things change over. The Vietnamese retire for the night, an rise again with the sun trying to make a quick buck. I do have to say i enjoy the streets much more when they are quite and your not getting harassed to buy things every turn you take!....

The bus ride from Saigon to Mui Ne was quite different than the one from Mui Ne to Delat (De Lat). Laying down on bunk beds as we rode in the sleeper bus from Saigon through a never ending city, we realized that there were no gaps along the road that would help you distinguish where one city had ended and one city had begun. We caught up on some reading and I would laugh seeing Jess fly through chapters in a book she found while I still moved like a snail trying to figure out who John Galt was, once again.

Honk. The ride would have been peaceful were it not for that. Not so much the horns of other vehicles, but that of our own,; honk, every five or ten seconds; honk, as we bumped along on the (honk) road, laying (honk) on vinyl beds (honk) passing a bottle of water and fruit (honk) and wafers between us (honk) wondering when (honk) the bus would stop for a rest.

When we arrived in Mui Ne, the magnitude of it hit us (honk) as we sat trying to enjoy some fried shrimp rolls and (honk) fried noodles with meats. What kind? Who knows. Today I almost ordered "rice with over foods." I really wish they would make honking illegal. We would be laying in our bungalow or on the beach and…honk.

Mui Ne is a long beach front. We arrived on the day of a holiday, and feared high prices, but were fortunate to find accommodations for $10 USD a night right on the beach at Hong Di. I think the price is about $5 per person, because a group of three girls from Sweden were paying $16 for identical rooms, a couple bungalow further from the beach. The waters along Mui Ne are something I have never experienced in my life. The calm morning waters quickly turn into something you would see in a Japanese painting, where waves seem to crash in every direction and for as far as the eye can see. This was a kite surfers paradise. We watched them catch gusts of wind, speeding along the water, then catching air - ten, twenty feet - then coming back down and zipping away to catch the next.

Mui Ne is not a place to lounge and catch the sun; the wind (at least in late April) sends sand spraying along the beach, making it a prickly experience. I went for a walk toward the south end of the beach and saw a jellyfish washed ashore. I tried to pick it up with a stick, but those clear blobs are heavier than you would think. After staring at it for awhile, trying to find a brain or digestive system or any sign that the blob had parts, I gave up, tried to flip it into the water a few times, and then gave up on that as well. Cool, a jelly fish I thought; then I saw another. Then a third, a fourth…I told myself would stop counting, a fifth, okay, six, I'll stop at six; seven….I saw ten, or at least convinced myself that ten was the best number to stop counting at.

The beach has tons of shells. I collected a few, then saw one that seemed to still be alive. I contemplated the importance of the life of that sea creature; whether or not a mucous-like creature can have a soul or feelings, and decided to toss it back into the water. In the same motion I glanced back down at the sand in search of an alternative shell and screamed, almost stepping on some large creature with fangs and paws; a dead cat had washed up on shore. I tried to divert my thoughts back to jellyfish and shells. The water seems to claim so much, and yet so much finds it's way back to shore.

As you walk along the beach, you see small streams making their way from resorts toward the ocean. I stepped in one of these streams only to find that my foot smelled like an accident I had in the bathroom an hour ago, and quickly went to wash it in the ocean. Mui Ne is an awesome beach, but I would say mostly for those who love kite surfing.

The morning we tried to leave we realized she should have made arrangements the night before. The hotels (bungalows) ask for a passport from each person staying in the room and hold it until you check out. Although the word "passport" was understood, nothing else was. I tried to pay 18,000 Dong for the three bottles of water that I had drank and not paid for the day before, but they did not understand what I was trying to do as I handed them money. The lady kept trying to give me more bottles of water, the word "yesterday" not registering, and when that failed, she tried to give me ground coffee. We got a little nervous as the time for the busses arrival approached with no sign of our passports. Eventually a girl on a scooter arrived with them, the bus arriving moments later, the water still unpaid.

Careening? Barreling? I'm not sure what our bus was doing, but it was flying down the street far faster than it should have been with two wheels barely touching the ground on each curve it took. The ride was unforgettable. As we drove into the hillside, you could see the worn down shanties built into the burn orange sand dunes, and the ocean to our right, portraying hundreds of fishing boats, that had anchored for the day

The bus came to a sudden halt; Jess and I were both flung into the seats in front of us. We looked at each other wondering what was going on, then looked outside only to find a heard of cows walking in the middle of the road. The bus driver patiently waited for the herder to move his cattle aside, then we continued along, in awe of the Vietnam that we wanted to see all along.

The paved road slowly became not so paved as we continued to make our way into the countryside. The driver often used the opposite lane and even the shoulder to get around piles of rock or ditches as we crawled along the road into the mountains. POP! HISS!…We knew something was wrong?!… A minute later the bus pulled over…we needed to fix the flat. "No pictures!" said the driver after snapping a few shots. This is not the first time I have been told not to take pictures in Vietnam. Minutes later we were back on our way, door still open, the bus driver now yelling syllables into his cell phone and smoking a cigarette, while snaking our way through the tattered roads. It took us 2 hours to go 50 Kilometers. Then all of the sudden we got horrible whiffs of air….Jess looked at me, "D'you fart?" "NO!" I replied, "I've been backed up for days!…"

We were presented with scene after scene as we continued on our journey. We saw one magnificent thing after another. Farmers in traditional, pointy Vietnamese hats, tending to their fields; an ostrich, with its' head in a vase, just inside that gate of what looked like a temple; two water buffalo pulling a plow lead by tiny women; felids of dragon fruit; rolling hills with misty mountain tops; rock slides that had spilled into the road, the bus at the edge of a cliff as it struggled up the mountain.

The bus came to a stop in De Lat and before we even realized it had a girl hopped in the bus and said, "Good Morning, this last stop, Hotel here- Single $8, two person $10, free Wi-Fi, free breakfast." Since we never make prior reservations, this sounded perfect! When we got out of the bus, we were also approached by a gentleman who was very curious about where we are from…Our experience equipped us with the knowledge that he would be trying to sell us a tour. We answered with our customary, "We eat now, come back later." We've learned to simplify our English. We noticed that we are also loosing the ability to speak proper English, slowly forgetting normal words of our vernacular.

For some reason all of my clothes - my entire bag - smelled nasty. I couldn't identify the smell at first, but as I took the shells out of my bag I realized that I had infected my bag with the funk of 10,000 leagues.

After we settled into our room, we decide to go find some Pho. We walk along the street and saw a hole in the wall which looked like it would be cheap. After walking in and sitting down, we tried to communicate that we were there for food. If the place served food- we definitely were not able to get the point across that that's what we wanted. Rather than looking like stupid Americans we decided to order something and continue our search of food later. I said "2 cafe", thinking I was repeating what she had offered us when we first came in, she looked as confused as when i asked her for 2 menus. I pointed to a nearby table and threw up a peace sign to indicate we wanted whatever they were having. She came back with 2 Vietnamese coffees, also known as 'White Coffee' which are black and strong. This drink consists of very strong coffee, some condensed milk, and a cup of ice. I notice that in Thailand 'Milk' generally means soy milk, but in Vietnam, 'Milk' mean sweet, thick condensed milk. We finished our coffees and decided to go back out in search of pho.

At the first intersection we saw the same man who had asked us where we were from at the hotel; this time he was curious if we had eaten yet. I had the suspicion that he was following us, but we have come to find that you gain a lot by being polite and conversing with locals, even if it is their intent to sell you something. If you don't want it in the end, you don't buy it, but you benefit greatly from the conversations that are had. We asked him where we should eat and he recommended a place down the street and mentioned how he had not eaten yet either. A minute later, we arrived at the restaurant, another hole in the wall, and saw that he and a friend of his were waiting for us.

We ordered food, which was a lot easier now that we had an unofficial guide with us, and I got straight to business: "what tour do you recommend for us? We will be here only for two days." "After" he said. He knew what he as doing.

The food was okay; when I say okay, I really do mean it was pretty good. But with all the fuss about the food in Vietnam being so wonderful, I expect to be blown away with most every meal. We ate, and I got us back to business. He said "let's move to another table; I presume the one we were at was not for business since we had eaten at it, and we moved to the table behind us; an identical table; I wonder if this is a custom or possible some superstition about doing business at an eating table. I'll ask later today. He pulled out a journal - we had seen this done before by another guy on a motorcycle in Saigon. The journal contained praise from other tourists for what he was about to offer us. They are always eager to show us how others from our country thought it was wonderful, as if we would scoff at anything a German or an Australian would have to say about it. BOOM! Jess screamed. The crack of lighting thundered through the restaurant. We looked outside and it was raining fairly hard. BOOM! This time we were prepared, but it still shook the nerves. The hard rain seemed like a drizzle compared to what took place moments later. Sheets of water splashed against the side of the building, the windows slamming against their frames as the wind throw them forward and then pulled them back. Although we were sitting safely inside, we would get sprayed by water from time to time. This is the closest I have ever been to what seemed like a monsoon. We agreed on a tour as the building lit up with the flash of lightening; one of us would point up when we saw the flash, allowing us to prepare; one, two three, BOOM!

We looked outside and a motorcycle was halfway under water. Gon, one of the guides, told us that the house was probably flooded too. We decided to go downstairs and look out of the front door. The streets were flooded; cars rolling through with water halfway up their doors; scooters cutting through the river that was the main street only minutes before, leaving wakes behind them that would threaten to flood the restaurant.

As we stood waiting and taking pictures we noticed that so too were the locals. We were told that this was the first time that the streets had flooded like this - I am always reluctant when I am given information like this because you never know at which part of the inquiry something was lost in translation. As we stood there I noticed once again that Jess was towering over everyone by a full head and shoulder. The electricity was already cut off, something that was common when it rained, both in Thailand and now in Vietnam.

"In Saigon it funny. The streets flood like this. Rats and cats all swimming (he made the motion of dog paddle) in the street" said Gon, laughing. Remember how I was clogged for two days? The full impact of meals past struck me at once. "I'm not going to make it back to the hotel" I told Jess. I found the bathroom - a hole in the floor in a room that was similar to a closet, with no electricity. I used her iPhone to light the way. When you've lived as we have for the past month, you can make it through everything, but you never quite get used to squatting down; still unsure of my aim, my footing, or whether I have company or not in the bathroom. Rats, spiders, and mosquitos are what I fear.

When I came back out someone suggested that we take a cab back to the hotel. It was only a few blocks away and would have been cheap. But we decided that it would be more fun to walk it (Jess really made this decision). We got a plastic bag for our bag that contained out cameras and went into the streets. At the end of the block we stopped for a moment to observe the river that we had to cross. "Here I go" said Jess, and stepped right in. "Cold!" she screamed, one leg halfway up to her knee in mercy brown water. As she slid her feet along the floor as we crossed so as not to step into a hole, I said "these people probably think Godzilla is in town," commenting on her size compared to everyone else. She laughed out loud, I entered the street as well and felt the cold of the questionable water rushing by; it had a slight undertow. "Any idea what's in this water?" We didn't want to think about it. We rushed through the rain home, locals hiding behind doors and peeping through windows at Godzilla as she ran through the street.

We spent a couple hours in our hotel room. Jess washed clothes in a bucket and I went downstairs to fix their wifi. It started to get dark, the rain had stopped, and we were in need of food once again. "Okay, let's go find pho." We saw a store and thought "why don't we just get munchies for our room instead." We walked in, and as we roamed the isles a little lady followed us in close proximity. Every time we picked something off the shelf she would reach back and pull one from the back to place in the front. I'm not sure if that was her reason for following us, but it almost felt like she was keeping an eye on us. We heard an older guy near the register laughing and talking loudly and I saw him through the shelves, a boy in his arms. As he twirled and hollered and swing the little boy around, his laughter started to be accompanied by the boys cries. They were not related. He had stumbled into the store and decided in his drunken state that it would be fun to play with this boy. After knocking a few things over, he was guided out, grabbing Jess' arm at the last instant, still laughing; "MY NAME VICTOR!" were the last things we heard him say as he went flying out of the store.

We paid, and not being fully content it what was to become our dinner, decided to find a restaurant. We found one across the street that read "pho" on the sign and determined that this was the place. You would be surprised how difficult it has been for us to find the Vietnamese national (official or unofficial we do not know) dish out here. I have tried to ask for it in every possible intonation I could, asking for pho - blank stare - pha? - blank stare - phu? - they look at me as if I asked them to wax my bottom. I'm definitely doing something wrong.  He pointed at something behind a plastic window and got a plate of rice with what tasted like burgers wrapped in tofu. It was pretty good, but as we ate from our cold plate of food, we saw bowls of hot pho being served all around us. I guess it could have been worse. In Mui Ne I ordered a hamburger, and I must emphasize that I did from the "Burger" section of the menu, and was presented with a plate of beef chunks, onions, green peppers, and french fries. When you're listening to Christmas music in April, buses flying by (HONK!), and you're not sure why you have felt like you needed to go to the bathroom and yet have not been able to for days, you learn to accept quite a lot.

People keep looking at us and laughing; we're not sure if it's because of the way we hold our chopsticks or that we hold them at all. We know that they are watching us as much as we are them. There have been plenty of times when we point at a local in their daily routine, our eyes wide, smiles on our face, as if we're in an amusement park. We don't mean to be rude and are aware of this fact. Our reaction to things are caused by our true admiration at the world we are experiencing. Our true appreciation that we are where we are. So go ahead locals - laugh at us too. We know we're clumsy giants in your world, asking restaurants to wax our bottoms.

Back in our room we started writing this little tale. The electricity went out. It came back on and then went back out, back on again; the third blackout came and we decided to go to sleep. Tomorrow morning we go out on our tour with our two new friends. Easy Riders. They claim to have receive the name from Lonely Planet. The hotel sign outside of our window reads "Recommended by Lonely Planet * Nice and Cheap Rooms." Maybe one day the sign will read "where Godzilla and Antonio Banderas stayed." I've actually lost the "Antonio" since I cut my hair. I may grow it back out before we get to Japan in hopes to finding a part as an extra or lookalike. This is the last of the conversation I remember in the blackout as we fell asleep.

I came to Saigon and survived the streets. That's the best anyone can hope for in a city with 10 million people that at any given time seems to have half the population on scooters. Stand at an intersection and it's sometimes hard to know which direction has the green light. Jess and I sat at a park bench watching the traffic, and neither of us were able to count to two without hearing a horn go off somewhere, usually just on the street in front of us. "Every man for themselves" is our mantra here; we hate the idea of not sticking together, but it's just so much safer being in charge of your own safety and yours alone as you try to cross the street. I somehow feel that I could close my eyes and walk across with the same chances of survival, because to their credit, people on the streets are very aware. Aware of traffic; aware that the phone in their hand could get snatched at any time; aware that the strap on of their bag could get slashed by someone on a scooter. Horns don't mean "hey, what the hell do you think you're doing!" Horns mean "careful....coming through..."

No, I haven't written about Phuket yet. I originally thought it was writers block with no rhyme or reason other than that it comes on as a craving might. Nothing predicates it; it simply hits you. I have come to realize that the block was brought on by the lack of words to describe the experience that I had, similar to describing color to someone without sight. I am searching for the words to define moments without drowning you in every detail that seem to essential right now.

Jess just asked me to turn down the AC a little bit. After a month of living under a fan and waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and itching from bug bites, I have mixed feelings about the AC, the fridge, and the television that is (possibly ironically) playing Misery (by Stephen King) right now.

I asked someone today "so what do locals call this city" to which he answered "Saigon. Only in newspapers we call Ho Chi Minh City." He was in Phuket at the same time we were, although we didn't know it at the time. While eating a shrimp salad on a fluffy chip, and a fried rice in a lotus leaf with lotus flower nuts, he said "people in Thailand very friendly. Always smile." It was an odd thing for me to hear from a local, but it made sense. Ho Chi Minh City (I am going to use the names interchangably) is a City with a capitol "C." It's intense. It's aggressive. It's survival. But it's also Vietnam. That word holds so much that I don't know where to begin. The simplest way for me to describe it is to talk about ink.

I have a tattoo on the inside of my right arm that I drew on the back of a notebook that was already filled with doodles. It was my notepad that I took into meetings. If a meeting is not captivating, or if I feel it's more a facade than a meeting, then I both entertain myself and help myself focus on the meeting by distracting myself with doodles. That doodle made it's way to my arm on the same day Jess had the tattoo placed on the arch of her foot, and Steph got the fire tattoo on her hip. While traveling, I was intent on adding art from each culture to my tattoo. In Thailand, the art is distinctive. I know, at least in style, what it is from Thailand that I wish to add to my body. in Saigon, I could not find the style. I asked our friend today "what is the style of art that is distinct to Vietnam." He said "Vietnam has so many people come in it is not just art of Vietnam." The last century in the history of VIetnam, violence and forced influence was imposed on the country by France, Russian, China, America...what was lost was not their pride, but their cultural identity.

I say this knowing I may be simplifying things, not because I have penetrated the depths of the country and now have the authority to, but because I am more a tenderfoot here than I was in Thailand. But Vietnam seems to be a place that is defining itself once again.

*     *     *

Food - that is the highlight. I have a happy belly full of the best pho I have ever had. Jess is a pho anthropologist and doesn't agree it was the best, but "pretty good" is up there on her chart.

If you're going to eat here, dare to get sick and experience good food. Throw caution to the wind a bit because the food here is amazing. Yesterday I wanted to go to one of the best eats in town, so I went onto the Travel Channel and looked up Anthony Bourdain to see what he recommended. We walked, dodging scooters along the way, and zig-zagged from District 1 where we are staying at backpackers alley to District 3. I'm very disappointed to say that the food was sub par at this place that was recommended as the best in Saigon. Want to eat the best? Pull up a plastic stool at an aluminum table with your knees up at your chest and point to a piece of grilled meet behind a plastic window of the cart and enjoy the best of Saigon.

*     *     *

Tomorrow we're off to Hanoi. We have six open bus tickets, allowing us to visit five towns on the way; four along the coast and one a little inland. I'm looking forward to it. The city, once again, is not for us. It's for those who wish to make a living in this country just like any other country. The countryside is where we belong...that and the beach.

I don't want anyone to think that Ho Chi Minh City should be skipped. Sure, a police officer whistled at me and told me I was not allowed to take pictures of a governemt building, and then waved away by another not to walk through one of the parks, but there are many things that bring a smile to my face here. For example, watching a group of men playing a game similar to hackysac with a badminton-like birdie. Or seeing fifty women come out of nowhere in the park and start jazzersizing to music.

I will admit that this city has made me keep my head down. Made me ignore the hello's of pretty much everyone because a hello is not just a hello...it's a "hello you buy you buy" all in one breath. It hurts the heart a little to think that a greeting cannot be returned because it has lost it's meaning, but you can't blame Vietnam. Blame those who imposed their culture on it; blame those who tried to replace the art of the people with their own. What Vietnam needs is time, maybe time to itself. Sometimes I think that that is what it is asking for, and I feel that it has the right to. Facebook is blocked here, and I don't know if that's the right way to approach it, but I understand.

But hey...I still have three weeks in Vietnam, and look forward to experiencing its secret beauties, and finding its art and culture outside the city...tomorrow.