The Really Dramatic Saga Known As Vietnam: Part 8

By the time I left Phu Quoc island, I was ready to do so. My last stop in Vietnam was Ho Chi Minh City, or Saigon, if you’re trying to not be political. Just like Bangkok (remember Bangkok? Man I missed Thailand by this point. Remember how good Thailand was?), I had heard that HCMC was a terrible huge city and I would hate it and it was dangerous and blah blah blah blah. And just like Bangkok, I kinda actually loved it. A lot.

I landed at the airport, and awkwardly found my way into a Grab Taxi...eventually. I made it to my cute little hostel in the heart of the city, obsessively checked the bed for bugs (this is the norm now), and did NOTHING for the rest of the day, save for watching Netflix and playing a silly game on my ipad. Travel days take a lot of energy.

I spent the next several days just doing city things, walking everywhere and enjoying every perk of a city with no shame: sidewalks!! Street lights!! Shopping malls!! (Pro tip: A place where no one harasses you and you can usually find air conditioning AND food). Also, a STARBUCKS. I went there every single morning with zero concern about the “authentic” experience of Vietnam. Y’all, I literally gave no shits anymore about experiencing all the tourism haunts. The only touristy thing I had on my list for HCMC was the Cu Chi Tunnels, and there was no way in hell I was dealing with figuring out a tour all the way out there so I could spend the day crawling around in the dirt. With the luck I was having, I would have gotten trapped. Or a creepy crawly would climb down my neck. I REALIZE it’s very privileged of me to go somewhere and enjoy the western nature, and ignore the cultural history and significance of the space. But I was at -19 resilience points and YOU weren’t there, so just shut up.

Despite avoiding the historical sites, there were some interesting cultural discoveries to be had here. For instance, apparently at a shopping mall it’s perfectly normal to just shove someone out of your way as you make your way down a rack of clothes. I spent a lot of time wandering around different shopping centers, from fancy to sure-its-real type places. I wandered the streets, enjoying the artwork and graffiti of the city and the playful spirit of the young people. I’m really curious to see how Vietnam changes in a generation or two.

Central Post Office

This kid though...

One day I met up with a friend that I had met in Cambodia, who had recently moved to HCMC to work and live with her boyfriend. I was supposed to meet her in front of this random store, and I was so unbelievably excited to see someone that I knew. Well, “knew”, but still. Any familiar human contact sounded so amazing by that point, that I decided to get dressed up a little bit, so I put on my only clean pair of pants and my lovely little black leather flats. I set off for our evening of fun feeling pretty excited.

And then I walked right through wet concrete.

Now, I’d like to blame at least some of this on someone else. There were no signs to warn me, and there was a total transition zone where you’re just in a gravely area, so you don’t realize what’s happening right away. And the actual wet concrete portion is just large enough that once you’re in it you have to just keep going, but you’ll have to take several steps to get out. So my lovely cute little leather flats got covered in concrete. I wiped them off as best I could with a hanky (thanks hanky!), and just accepted my fate beyond that. Relative to everything else that has happened on this trip, this didn’t even warrant a point loss, because who is even surprised anymore?

[Side note, I was back by this area the next day, and saw evidence that half a dozen other people had clearly made the same mistake as I did, a point which really did bring me some solace. And NO, THE CAUTION TAPE WASN’T THERE BEFORE]

Anyway, my friend finally showed up, and gave me a huge hug.

Plus two points because human contact.

We met at this particular spot by the concrete patch because she wanted to show me the treasures contained within this unassuming building. Every level of this rickety old structure was filled with tiny, adorable, independent shops owned and run by young locals. Lots of cute little clothing shops, some shoes, some decorative household items, just a whole assortment of delightful items to investigate. She bought an amazing little top with tiny sheep on it, and I bought possibly the first dress of my life that truly fit all of my proportions.

After our little shopping adventure, we went to a rooftop bar and had two not-that-great glasses of wine and enjoyed the view. She told me about her new job and all the struggles of working in a country where you don’t speak the local language (important insights that westerners otherwise rarely take the time to consider). I told her about my travel wall and all the epically wonderful and horrifyingly terrible things that had happened in Vietnam. We gave each other advice and encouragement, and our friendship leapt seven levels. The pressure cooker that is geographic and social isolation leaves you forming relationships in new and surprising ways.

As we felt the first two raindrops, we immediately paid and left, knowing that a deluge was likely on its way. We met up with her boyfriend at a nice French restaurant and all ate dinner together. My only knowledge about this guy up to this point was that he had cheated on her, and that they had decided to try again. He seemed nice enough, and we had a good time. I kept my opinions to myself. You should be proud.

After dinner we were only a handful of blocks from my hostel, so they decided to walk me back just to be safe. I have gotten pretty good with my sense of direction while I travel, so I knew exactly where my destination was and made a beeline right for it without looking at any maps, which seemed surprising to them.

Actually, let’s be honest, I’ve always been pretty good with my sense of direction...in the sense that I know where I am in relation to the things I need to find. But if you ask me to go East at blahblah street you will be met with a blank stare.

The rest of my time in HCMC was spent at a leisurely pace, wandering around different shops, and hanging out with my Vietnamese friend (remember, from Hoi An and Danang?). We went and got Poke from another super fun building with lots of little shops in it. We went to Starbucks together (again, no shame) and hung out and chatted about things. We got some meals together and also checked out the night market for approximately 45 seconds before getting overwhelmed and leaving.

We had some pretty interesting conversations during these activities. His perspective was so interesting, as his parents had both fled Vietnam during the war, and he had been born and raised entirely in the US. He is a big dude, well over 6 feet tall and not a string bean. He speaks a little Vietnamese but obviously has an accent. He stands out in his own way, as people can immediately tell that he’s not a native Vietnamese person, despite being 100% Vietnamese in ancestry. And the assumption everyone makes is that his parents were some of the few that were able to leave during the war (as the North invaded the South), that his family does not espouse communism (because of the departure), and that he has money (because of the departure and subsequent return, and also the not-string-bean-ness). There were moments where I think he felt even more uncomfortable or unsafe in certain situations than I did. He was constantly concerned that people would do something to him out of resentment for the above reasons. What a strange and painful way to experience the land from whence your family comes.

His reflections on Vietnamese culture were eye-opening and candid. Now, let’s be fair, both of us have perspectives that are external, and they are simply opinions based on limited interactions. So don’t go thinking you get to repeat these reflections as fact yourself. If you want to have an opinion, go have the experience. The thing that surprised me most is that he mentioned that the mindset there is very much every man for himself. People are not going to go out of their way to try and help you with something, and if it’s you or them in a situation, well good luck. I hadn’t thought about it this way, but did remember one interaction where a cute little old woman walking with a loaded down bicycle had her traditional Vietnamese hat blow off her head. I immediately stopped to scoop it up (it would have taken her forever to get her bike situation settled enough to grab it herself), and when I handed it back to her she seemed so genuinely appreciative and shocked. It seemed odd at the time, but in retrospect I realized that there were a lot of other people nearby and no one else made a move for it at all. Was he right?

He spent about a month staying with his family in the Danang area, and was surprised at how little they seemed concerned with certain things. They witnessed a car accident, and he asked if they should call the police or the emergency medical services, and they looked at him like he was crazy. He asked them about politics and current news topics, and they had nothing to say - they simply never considered any of those things. His aunt sells sandwiches out front of the house for a job, and it’s enough for them to make a living and be relatively wealthy in their community. On the other hand, they couldn’t even fathom that he makes like $11/hour at his college student job, and immediately started suggesting that maybe he could send money back to them. I don’t really have a conclusion here, but all of these things were so interesting to hear from his unique perspective. Of all the places I’ve gone, it’s possible that this is the most different in normative culture and society.

I really wanted to go see a show at the Saigon Opera House, but my friend didn’t want to spend the money. So... I took myself. I wore my new dress, I put in some effort, and I walked myself over to the show. The Opera House was beautiful, and you get a little tour before the show starts, which was fun. They also give you some free warm tea while you sit and wait for the doors to open. Delightful! The show itself was again such a contradiction. It was a cirque du soleil-style production, a storytelling and acrobatic performance about cultural life in Vietnam (emphasis on agriculture). Some of the pieces were stunning and powerful and exciting displays of physical feats, and some of them were weird as crap and terrifying, with horrible music. For example, one piece involved most of the performers creating an enormous “web” on the stage, and one particularly creepy performer hanging in this web upside down in the role of a spider, and ALL SHE DID WAS HISS FOR FIVE MINUTES. Seriously. That was it.

Eventually the time came (FINALLY) for me to head to Indonesia. Can you believe it? Did it feel as long reading it as it did experiencing it? I packed up my bags and headed to the airport. My plan was to get all checked in and then buy my onward ticket from Bali to New Zealand (Indonesia, like some other countries, sometimes asks to see proof of your onward departure). I stood in line to check in for what felt like a hundred years, and finally it was my turn. Annnnd they wouldn’t even let me check in without already having that ticket purchased. I was furious and flustered, and stood off to the side and purchased the ticket, spending more than I had anticipated but just wanting desperately to leave the stupid country. Eventually I made it on the plane, and was off to Bali — with just a wee 21 hour layover in Malaysia.

Final resilience point count: -17