Flashbacks to ‘Nam
After a long trip from Nairobi, including a stop in Dubai, I landed in Ho Chi Minh City. I had already set up my Vietnam visa and paid extra for the expedited plan, which I highly recommend if going to the country. A representative was waiting for me with a sign when I came through customs. I gave him all of my paperwork and he went straight to the front of the line and did everything for me, probably knocking off half the time it would have taken had I done it alone. He was friendly and helpful and gave me a very positive first impression of the country.
After my easy transition at the airport, I flagged down a cab and headed to my hotel. I was immediately intrigued by the city. For the thirty minute ride I just stared out the window like a child. I think my mouth was actually hanging open at times. My first thought was, “I’m going to LOVE this place”! I kept seeing these great open-air restaurants and street food vendors. I couldn’t wait to drop my bags off and explore. It was unlike any place I had ever been and I only had three days to see as much as possible.
When I was in Africa, Tyson had told me to “just wait till you have to cross the street in Ho Chi Minh City”. It took me about five minutes to understand what he had meant. I will never again complain about Atlanta traffic. In fact, I don’t even think the word “traffic” does this situation any justice. It’s one of those times when you have to just rely on a picture, and even that probably won’t quite get it across…but I’ll try anyway.
By the time I got to my hotel it was late and I was tired…and hungry. I decided exploration could wait till the next day and I walked a few doors down to a little Korean BBQ place. I also – surprise, surprise – wanted a glass of wine before bed. Well, I learned something that night. I wouldn’t be drinking much wine in Vietnam. I ordered a type of blackish/red rice wine. I didn’t expect a Cabernet, but I figured it would taste something like sake.
It did not.
Throughout my entire meal, I might have gotten down three full sips. They let me take it with me when I left so I did, determined not to waste money or wine. I’m not sure which is a worse sin in my book.
Spoil alert. I wasted both. In the four nights I was in Vietnam, I think I might have gotten down two more sips of the stuff.
I woke up the next morning with a very loose plan for the day.
1 – Explore on foot.
2 – Find yummy Vietnamese food.
3 – Eat somewhere with WiFi so that I could book some tours.
I walked, mostly aimlessly, with the goals of seeing the city and finding food. Every restaurant I walked by didn’t look like they’d have WiFi so I just kept wondering, enjoying the sites. I finally found a two-story place with a great view. It looked like a pretty substantial restaurant so I figured I’d give it a shot. The waitress brought me a menu and I knew I was in trouble. Normally, when I’m in a foreign country and know nothing of the language, I can still figure out food. Most menus have pictures to point at and, if not, I can usually make out some words, like “Chicken”. This would not be the case in Vietnam.
There were a few pictures but I couldn’t even figure them out. Most of the meals looked like some sort of seafood – which I love – but even I am a little nervous about ordering an “unknown seafood dish” in Vietnam. I started off by trying to order water. I couldn’t even point or do charades to get “water” across. This was going to be a fun, and potentially dehydrating, few days.
I pride myself in not being a typical “ignorant American”. I try very hard, when I’m in other countries, to at least try to speak their language. I don’t get frustrated at them for not being able to speak to me. I’m the foreign one, after all. I’ve noticed a huge difference in the way I’ve been treated in other countries when I try…even if I sound ridiculous! Making an effort really does seem to go a long way. Here, I was failing miserably.
At this point, I not only didn’t know how or what to order I also knew there was no way I could ask about WiFi. I said my best nonverbal “sorry” to the nice waitress and continued my quest. I was so hungry, hot and frustrated that I was THISCLOSE to going to KFC. I refused. I may be the dumb American who had to leave a restaurant because I couldn’t order water but I would sure as crap not be the dumb American who went to Vietnam and ate at KFC.
I made my way back to the street my hotel was on and found, wait for it, another Korean BBQ place. Even though I wanted authentic Vietnamese, this place had WiFi, pictures that were easy to make out and a few staff members who spoke a little English. Not only that, they had an All-You-Can-Eat lunch. Have I mentioned yet how All-You-Can-Eat restaurants are quite possibly one of my favorite things in life? Well, they are. I take great pride in my ability to make well over my money’s worth. These poor people had no idea what hit them.
While I was eating that restaurant out of their livelihood, I logged onto Viator and spent the next couple hours booking tours – a dinner cruise for that night, a day trip to the Chu Chi tunnels with a Ho Chi Minh City tour the following day and a day trip to the Mekong Delta for the day after.
After lunch I went back to the hotel, rested a bit and got ready to go to the pier for my dinner cruise. Unfortunately, I had booked the cruise too late to get a hotel pick-up but the voucher had the pier’s address, so I figured it would be pretty simple to get a cab and just go there myself.
Simple, it was not.
Forty-five minutes after I got in the cab (and after he tried to drop me off at a random restaurant nowhere near the water) I arrived at the pier.
No boat.
Okay. I was still a little early. No big deal.
I walked around until I found someone who spoke a little English. I didn’t want to wait in the wrong place so I asked him if that was where the dinner cruise picked up passengers and he said yes, they’d be there in five or ten minutes.
Twenty minutes later and still no boat.
The guy from before came back and saw me still waiting. He somehow knew the phone number to the people who ran the boat cruise and called them. This man tried so hard to help out this dumb, frustrated American. The girl on the phone only spoke a little English so he even translated when needed. During a frustrating situation, he was a nice ray of hope. Quite honestly, I’m still not entirely sure what happened, other than that the boat never came. I think she told me that they weren’t operating that night. (Why they sold tickets is a question I wasn’t equipped to even begin to explore.)
I was beyond frustrated. I’m pretty good at rolling with the punches so I don’t think it was just the fact that there was no dinner cruise that upset me so much. I think it was the culmination of an overall challenging day. For the first time in my life I was in a country where I couldn’t get around well on my own. I felt in over my head and for me to feel that way, while traveling, felt like a failure. And now, I was stranded forty-five minutes from the hotel, on a pier, alone. I sat down on the edge of the pier, my feet hanging over the Saigon River, and cried.
I felt ridiculous. I knew, in my head, that in the scheme of things this wasn’t that big of a deal. I could get a cab back. I would probably even get my money back. It wasn’t the end of the world. But we all have moments where our emotions overwhelm our reason. I knew I’d rally in the morning and, chances are, I’d still have an amazing experience in Vietnam. But at that moment, I felt defeated and alone. It was, by far, my lowest moment of the trip till then…even worse than my painful last day on Kilimanjaro.
While I was having my little emotional breakdown, a man came up and asked if he could take a picture of me, crying on a dock, alone. I was confused as to why he wanted to, but I let him take my picture anyway. Then, I had this realization that I would probably end up on some Vietnamese dude’s Facebook page with a caption about the “sad little white girl”. While that’s kind of the saddest thing ever, it also snapped me out of my self-pity. My tears turned to laughter and I stood up, walked to the street and flagged another cab.
By the time I got back to my hotel it was way past dinner time and I was famished. I walked down the street to a Japanese place my cab had driven by earlier. If anything could cheer me up after a rough night, it’s sushi. Sushi can always cheer me up…especially cheap sushi.
The next morning, things turned around. My tour guide picked me up, as I had hopefully planned, we picked up an Irish couple at their hotel and we headed out of town. At this point, after what hadn’t been the greatest experience in Ho Chi Minh City thus far, I wanted to get out to the country and off-the-beaten-path. I needed some space and fresh air.
The day started off at the Chu Chi tunnels. Chu Chi is a small village about ninety minutes outside of Ho Chi Minh City. During the war, the people of Chu Chi built tunnels where they lived to avoid detection. It was also the sight of some bombings and quite a a lot of violence.
It felt very surreal, and a bit awkward, to be an American in Vietnam. Hearing history from their side and watching the propaganda videos was a strange experience. Like so many things in history, I feel like there is our truth and their truth but the actual truth is probably somewhere in between. Regardless, the fact is that a lot of really terrible things were done, on both sides. It didn’t necessarily make me feel ashamed to be an American. It made me ashamed to be human.
As we toured the tunnels, I was amazed to see the places these people constructed and where they lived. Layers of tunnels, none more than three or four feet high. When given the chance, I traveled through one of the tunnels. I had the option of 20, 50 or 100 meters. I felt okay after 20 so I agreed to go to the 50-meter mark. By the time I got there I was almost in a panic. No way was I going to 100!
It was time to head back to the city but, before we left I took a few well aimed shots with an AK47. I’m pretty sure I’m a natural.
When we left the tunnels, it was time for lunch and a city tour. Since all I had eaten since I arrived was Korean BBQ and sushi, I was ecstatic when our tour guide took us to one of the best Pho restaurants in the city. It was delicious – so delicious I might need to go back to Vietnam just for the Pho.
After lunch we left on our city tour. We visited the War Remnants Museum, Museum of Traditional Vietnamese Medicine, the Reconciliation Palace and their Notre Dame Cathedral. After that, it was time to take us back to our hotels.
I mentioned how bad the traffic in Ho Chi Minh City is, right? Well, after spending a good amount of the day driving, I was just about ready to not be sitting in that van.
Now, I’ve had one panic attack in my entire thirty-five years. It was ten or eleven years ago and I was about to have a confrontation with a particularly terrible boss. I went to the bathroom and started hyperventilating. Even though I knew I had done nothing wrong, I also knew that he was unreasonable and I was about to be put in a terrible situation. I sat in the bathroom and could hardly breathe. I thought I was dying.
Thirty-five years. One panic attack.
I almost had number two that night.
As we drove to my hotel I felt the walls closing in. Thousands of cars and motor bikes rushing past our van, inhibiting us from moving. I almost told them to let me out and I’d walk. I had no clue where we were in the city or how far away we were from my hotel. I had very little access to WiFi, data or Google Maps, so it’s not like I could just find my way back on my own. I didn’t care. I needed to get out of that van. For about thirty more minutes, I practiced by deep breathing and we eventually made it back to my hotel without me having an all-out anxiety attack.
The next morning, I had to wake up extra early. I had an all-day tour to the Mekong Valley and the company didn’t pick up at my hotel so I had to take a cab. I gave myself about an hour more than needed. It was funny though because, at 6 am, there was nobody on the road. It was the first time I was able to enjoy driving around the city whilst not fearing for my life. We got to the office and, shortly after, my bus arrived and we were on our way.
Our tour started off with a large boat trip out to the Cai Be floating market. Seeing the dozens of boats floating down the river with their produce and goods was like nothing I’ve ever seen. The friendly faces of the Vietnamese, the South Asian sun and the rural vibe were exactly what I needed to relieve the stress of the city. This was the Vietnam I came to see.
After our boat ride, we stopped by a couple different family owned businesses making local delicacies including honey (and honey tea), popped rice (like popcorn), popped noodles (similar but with noodles), coconut candy and rice wine. We tried them all. Here are my eloquently worded opinions on each.
Honey Tee – I don’t even like honey much but I loved the fresh honey. The only downside was drinking hot tea in the 100+ degree heat. Needless to say, I didn’t have much. I even held a bee hive covered with thousands of bees. All I could think was, “This is not the time to have a klutzy-Kasi moment!”.
Popped Rice – Yum! It’s good right when it comes out of the skillet but even better once it’s flavored and made into bricks, almost like rice crispy treats.
Popped Noodles – Even better! They said the tourists tend to like the popped rice but locals prefer the noodles. I guess I have the taste buds of a Vietnamese person!
Coconut Candy – Similar to taffy. I didn’t love it but that’s mainly because I just don’t have a big sweet tooth. I prefer crunchy and salty snacks. I’ve also never been a fan of stuff that sticks to the teeth. However, if you like taffy you’d love fresh Vietnamese coconut candy, especially right after it’s been stirred and is still warm.
Rice Wine – You’d think I’d love this, based on the fact that I’m an unapologetic wino. I did not. They shouldn’t even use the word wine. It’s not fair to wine.
Once I finally got the taste of hell-fire out of my mouth, it was time for a row boat ride through the delta. This was probably my favorite experience in Vietnam. We rode for about thirty minutes, a calm ride throughout the channels of the Mekong. It was beautiful, relaxing and showed me a side of the country I had been craving. I could have sat in that boat for hours.
We got off the boats on a small island and picked up some bikes. After traveling for almost a month and only working out occasionally in small hotel rooms (other than the week on the mountain) it just felt good to get my muscles and blood moving. It wasn’t a long or hard bike ride, but it was welcome nonetheless.
We finished the bike ride at a small, outdoor restaurant where we had a cooking lesson. I was looking forward to having some traditional Vietnamese cuisine and even more excited to help prepare the meal.
First, we helped peel the veggies and then we learned how to make a spring roll. We even had a contest to see who could make the best one. Have I mentioned my not-at-all-annoying competitive nature? Yeah, I’m kind of a dick when it comes to winning. And losing. So, naturally, I wanted to win. I was soooo close too. Even the others in my group were telling me mine was the best! But alas, even the most valiant warrior loses from to time. However, in this instance, I suspect foul play. The girl who won was, how do I say this without being rationally insensitive? Let’s just say it was a home field advantage. Not fair.
I dusted off my wounds, shook her hand and then focused on the important thing. It was finally (almost) time to eat! We helped fry the spring rolls and the chefs prepared the rest of the dishes. Everything was fantastic, even if I’m still pretty sure my spring rolls were the best.
Once we were full, it was time to head back to Ho Chi Minh City. We got back in our big boat, returned to the pier, boarded our bus and started on the two-hour trip back.
They dropped me back at the tour company’s office. Before flagging a cab to my hotel, I remembered there was something I had to do in Asia. I hadn’t updated my trip tattoo since Toronto – I didn’t have time in Copenhagen and I was weary about getting a tattoo in Africa. Luckily, there was a really well reviewed studio right down the street. I found my way there and was able to communicate what I wanted. I added three more circles around the first one for Europe, Africa and Asia. Only three more to go.
I got back to my hotel tired after the long day and spent the evening packing for my trip to Australia in the morning. Before bed, I returned to the All-You-Can-Eat barbecue place for dinner. It’s funny. Out of all the places I was visiting on this trip, I was most excited for the food in Vietnam and I think, in the three days there, I had two actual Vietnamese meals. Even so, I ate good…and I ate cheap. So I wasn’t complaining.
I woke up very early the next morning and went to the airport. I had a 9 am flight to Singapore which was the beginning of one of my longest stretches of travel that included…
- a two-hour flight to Singapore.
- an eight-hour layover in Singapore (which was extra annoying because it was during the day, which meant I couldn’t sleep or I’d mess up my sleep pattern).
- an eight-hour flight to Melbourne.
- a three-hour layover in Melbourne.
- a two-hour flight to Hobart, Tasmania.
- and a one-hour drive to my tee pee in the Tasman bush.
I felt so good, at this point, about my last two days in the country. I had gotten out of the city and experienced rural Vietnam. The scenery was beautiful and the people even more so. My disillusionment after my rough first couple of days was all but gone.
Well, Vietnam wasn’t through with me yet.
I got to the airport with over two hours to spare and got in line to check in.
I waited.
And I waited.
I switched lines three or four times.
I waited more.
I’m not exaggerating one bit to say I didn’t move for thirty minutes. At least a half hour passed while they checked in one person.
At this rate, nobody in line would make this flight.
Finally, I was at the desk. It was now about fifty minutes till my flight and there was a sign that said check-in closes forty-five minutes prior to departure.
Since my final destination was Australia, they asked to see the print-out of my Australian visa, which I had secured at least six months prior. Of course, I had it in my manila folder. They said that wasn’t enough. I still have no idea what they thought they needed that I didn’t show them. They asked if I had anything else to prove I had already secured my visa. I told them I might but I’d have to get online and there wasn’t WiFi. They brought me to their own computers, let me log in to my Gmail account and of course, because I’m OCD, I found my “VISA FOLDER” and showed theme even more emails. I had every document that I had received from Australia showing the receipt and acceptance of my visa.
That still didn’t satisfy them. Time was running out. And they were not being very nice.
Now here’s the thing. I refuse to let a few people ruin my attitude toward a whole country and its citizens. There are a lot of terrible, rude and ignorant Americans and I hope to God people don’t go to the states, meet them and think we’re all that way. But at that moment, and because of how I was being treated, all I wanted to do was get out of that country.
Finally, with only about twenty minutes to departure, they said I was okay and gave me my boarding pass. I nicely asked them if my bag would make it on the plane since there was so little time. I was answered with disdain and condescension. They acted as if they were insulted that I’d doubt they would get my bag on board after they took almost thirty minutes to check me in.
I ran to security and, as expected, there was a line that probably would have taken over an hour. This was the first time on the trip that I honestly wondered if I’d make a flight. I nicely approached one of the officers, showed him my ticket and told him my flight was boarding. Just when I needed some kindness, he allowed me to go through the crew line. After running through security and toward the gate, I was pleasantly surprised to see they were still boarding.
It had been a bittersweet few days. Good times. Bad times. A few frustrating people but mostly wonderful, kind and beautiful ones. It’s probably true that 95% (if not more) of my frustrating moments in Vietnam were my own fault. I was in their country. I didn’t speak their language. I made mistakes. I won’t blame the country or the people for those low moments.
Instead, I’ll look at it as a learning experiences – for myself and for my future clients. I will choose to remember the beauty of a country and the kindness of the vast majority of the people.
Oh, and I’ll rest assured knowing that I am probably memorialized on some strangers Facebook page, crying alone on a pier – a moment that I could look back on with negativity but instead, like so many potentially terrible moments in life, I will choose to look back, laugh and be thankful for another story that I’m blessed to tell.
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