Day 27: another lazy afternoon in Takeo

Again, we slept in, we spent the afternoon drinking iced coffee and blogging, and we topped it all off with pizza and cards. (Andrew won.) Today was nothing spectacular (we were told not much goes on at the orphanage on the weekends), but it was nice and relaxing. And as dorky as I am with this blog, I may as well admit that I’m excited to be blogging in real time! As I’m typing this a pig is making terrible noises somewhere not so far away, yet I was cheered up when Andrew suggested “maybe it’s giving birth,” which is a much more optimistic idea than the one I was previously thinking. Anyway, I’m all caught up! Finally! On top of that,  my average spending per day is down to $45.92! Yay! (I guess being in the middle of nowhere will do that to a budget. But I’ll take it. I need to get it as low as possible before we go into more expensive countries and start flying again.)

(By the way, after taking this picture, I realized that my be is totally uneven. The foot of the bed is a solid 2 inches higher than the head of the bed. This may have been why my dreams were more vivid than usual last night…)

Day 26: Biking in the Rain

Some blog posts, reflect some of our days: they are boring. There’s not much to do in Takeo on the weekends, and we relished the downtime. We slept in, we watched movies, we sat at the only cafe in town and sipped iced coffee and worked on our blogs, and then we got caught in a torrential downpour. “Jake said to bike in the middle of the road at night,” Andrew warned me before we set off for the volunteer center after going out to get Cambodian take out for dinner. “Why?” I asked. “He said you never know what’s going to jump out at you when it’s dark. He said he has killed a bunch of snakes.”

Day 25: Little Po Village School

Other volunteers told us how well behaved the students were, how the teacher (Teem) managed the 200+ students in one classroom beautifully, even how they all would say hello in perfect unison. Despite them telling us all of this, we were totally unprepared for it. I mean, how prepared can you be after a 20 minute bumpy tuk-tuk ride on dirt roads, through rice fields, to a tiny village in the middle of the Cambodian countryside where you find yourself in front of 200 village students asking if you have a boyfriend in perfect English?

After the greetings, followed by some Q & A, and a lot of singing, we broke off into different groups. Andrew and I went with Jake and a group of about 50 students. The boys seemed to be on white board duty and carried white boards from their classroom to the area we would have class, while the girls grabbed our hands and asked us what our favorite subject, animal, color, etc. was. Our class mainly consisted of a worksheet revolving around what a “mistake” was. The students breezed through it rather quickly, and by the time they were finished, it was time for a break. It took awhile to get away from the students. They wanted pictures with me... then with Andrew... then with me AND Andrew... then of *only* me and Andrew...

They seemed super entertained we were boyfriend and girlfriend, and even made us give each other kisses. It was all very adorable and entertaining, and made me wish desperately I had my new Polaroid I ordered right before we left Korea. Fortunately, I found out there is a photo printer in town, where I can get pictures developed on the cheap to take back with us on Monday!

Our break consisted of an iced coffee from the sweetest coffee lady in all of Cambodia. She practiced her ABC’s while we sat and sipped our coffee.

Teem joined us and taught us how to play “Stop the bus!” with the students for the next class period. “Stop the bus!” Is a game where students work in groups of 5 and have to think of different words that begin with the assigned letter under our designated categories:

Country, Animals, Food, Body (part), Colors

So, for example: If we wrote “C” on the board (as we did at the beginning) The students will then write down:

Cambodia, Camel, Carrot, etc.

When they are finished, with a word for each category, their group will shout out, “Stop the bus!”

The game is a lot harder than we thought it would be. A color beginning with “C?” All I could think of was cerulean, which the students did not think of. So, often we would jump to a new letter if they were having too hard of a time getting a word for every category. They ate it up though. Loved it. Were captivated by it for the entire class period.

After class, all 200 students assembled back in their desks (shared tables and benches) and thanked us for coming, sang some more, and gave Sarah a big (very heartwarming) goodbye. Sarah has been volunteering mostly at Little Po for the past 6 weeks. She held it together pretty well, I know I would have cried my eyes out if so many students came up to give me cards and even sing a special song! Most of the students ran out as we left to wave goodbye and tell us they’d see us on Monday, which means, whether or not we planned on returning or not, now we have to go. Not that we mind at all, but it’s going to be a little difficult when we have to say we won’t be able to see them the next day.

Sarah decided she wanted to go out to one of the local karaoke (noraebang to me!) joints on her last night. When we arrived, we sat outside at a table for some drinks and snacks waiting for everyone to arrive. Jake asked us if we knew how karaoke rooms worked in Cambodia. We laughed, and I said, “Well, we know how they work in Korea…” At which point Jake filled us in that Karaoke establishments in Cambodia cater to men, and for the most part men only. Girls are sold to the business (by their families) and then work to pay off their rent and perhaps buy their way out of their position at the Karaoke place? It was unsettling. Even more unsettling was when we got a room and two girls went in with us, regardless if we wanted them there or not. In Cambodia, a private karaoke room comes with one or two girls. They are “in charge” of the remote, pouring drinks, and then walking around to cheers! each person (to get patrons to drink more).

Andrew and I were not happy with the two girls working the room (in more ways than one, even though no one was interested in anything they were doing). Not to mention the selection was terrible. No Madonna. No Queen. No Boyz II Men. And they cut Andrew off singing Mr. Big. We’re pretty well versed in karaoke. Korea tends to do that to you after one month, let alone the amount of years we have under our belts there. So when the girls kept stopping songs, then singing their own Cambodian jams, then turning on dance music as if to turn the noraebang into a club without singing… No. No. No.

We were able to squeeze in a super long rendition of Do Re Mi from The Sound of Music, and Uptown Girl, but I can safely say it was the creepiest and most weird noraebang experience I’ve ever had. When we got our bill, they tried to charge us for food we didn’t ask for, nor eat. And despite the girls drinking whatever they wanted and stealing the remote the whole time, they were obviously not required to participate in paying for the experience. Although just to be cheeky, I purposely counted everyone in the room and then looked at the bill and asked them for $2.00 each. They looked at me like I was crazy. I responded with a little pantomime of them holding the remote control, singing, dancing, and most importantly drinking, and asked for $2.00 again. They laughed, although I don’t think they were as happy as my new volunteer friends were with my charades. We biked back to the volunteer center swearing never to return to karaoke in Cambodia again. (Ok, so maybe only Andrew and I were the ones who vowed to never return, but if you’re reading this and find yourself in Cambodia itching to sing into the microphone… maybe it’s best to wait until you’re back in Korea.)

Day 24: New Futures Organisation

A friend of mine from South Korea informed me about New Futures Organisation. As taken from the NFO website:

NFO is a non-governmental organisation based in the town of Takeo, Cambodia. We run an orphanage which cares for local children who would otherwise be left homeless. NFO also operates a chain of rural schools in the villages surrounding Takeo town. These schools offer free education to children in remote villages who are unable to attend regular classes.

The beauty of NFO is that you do not have to pay hundreds of dollars for the opportunity to volunteer, nor do you have to commit to a specific period of time. Although, even after one day, I can see why it’s suggested to volunteer for a longer amount of time. What NFO really needs is an army of long-term volunteers, and more donations… But, I’m hoping we’ll be able to do some good in our 5 day (possibly longer) stay. 

We quickly learned that NFO is a rather laid back organization. Which is really great, but not what we were expecting. We were sort of expecting to show up and be immediately put to work, maybe in a classroom, maybe doing manual labor around the volunteer center, or the orphanage itself… Instead our welcome was more like… “So, what do you want to do here?” when we weren’t exactly sure what there was to do in the first place.

We decided to substitute teach a class for one of the other volunteers who was going to go out to the village school that afternoon instead of teaching at the orphanage. This may have been a better idea if the majority of the kids at the orphanage weren’t fishing that afternoon. We had three students in our “class” who immediately lost interest once others returned from their fishing trip.

Srey Nang did a few letters on her worksheet with me, attempted to practice some full sentences, and then promptly ran off. Andrew’s student was a little more studious than mine. Not knowing if Srey Nang was going to return, I pulled out my camera to take a few pictures. She returned, quickly took a liking to my camera, and began photographing every single worksheet she had completed.

Once she was finished, we played hangman. She would spy a word written on the wall behind me and have me guess letters until I lost. Then she giggled when I pointed out “I said G! I said Y!” as she filled in “angry birds” (copying it from the wall behind me) in the missing blanks.

(Who cares about English when you can open every app on an iphone instead?)

A: What are they listening to?
me: Fareed Zakaria.

After “class,” Andrew played chess (rather, Andrew got his butt kicked playing chess) while I kicked a ball around in the courtyard with one of the newest additions to the orphanage. He and his brother don’t speak any English yet, so kicking a ball around worked for both of us.

Close to 50 kids live at the orphanage, with only about 3 or 4 around the clock supervisors. It’s pretty bare, and could use an army of volunteers to come in and plant a garden (and educate the kids on how to maintain it), or put down a new floor for the dining room area, or clean out the pond, or re-do the various open aired rooms that used to be used for dance/exercise/play rooms. Other volunteers let on that the Khmer in general, don’t have the strongest work ethic, which can be seen not only at the volunteer center, but perhaps at the orphanage as well. There’s a general level of disorganization going on, and so while I feel a little badly I can’t stay longer, at least now I know what I can come back to, or perhaps convince my mom to form an army to come and work on some specific projects in a two week (or hopefully longer) time period. I’m also hoping (praying. crossing my fingers) that I can at least organize some friends and family back home to send some toothbrushes and pens this way.

me: I think my mom could do some damage here…  you know, in a good way…

Andrew: Yea, Give Mrs. G a month and she’ll get some things done.

(We figured out rather quickly, our warm room is less warm with the door open and the lights off.)

Day 23: Cambodia Post thinks outside the box

The rain stopped me from a walk to the post office the day before. I also needed a break from dragon shipping disappointment. Had I known I would LOVE the Cambodia Post so much, I would not have worried so much! We arrived, and after they eyed my box, informed me that it was too large, and they would re-pack its contents into a Cambodia Post box. All items had to be shipped in a Cambodia Post box. I sighed, opened my box, pulled out the dragon and let them see for themselves what I was dealing with. They tried – unsuccessfully – to put it into their regulation Cambodia Post box. And then, magically, they handed it back to me and said to put my dragon back in my box. They would cover my box with Cambodia Post boxes! I could have kissed them. All of them.

They got to work covering my box with another layer of Cambodian cardboard, and asked me where I got the dragon. We explained what happened, and they smiled when I repeatedly thanked them for their help. Shipping cost a little more than what the dragon cost in the first place, it has enough cardboard around it to hopefully survive the slow boat home, and should arrive in about 2-3 months. Yay!

me: Ohmigod, it’s like the weight of a dragon has been lifted off my shoulders!

Andrew: More like the bulk of one…

After the post office, we walked through the Central Market, got bus tickets to Takeo, lunch, and then waited for what felt like forever at the very crowded and busy station for our bus.

A fairly painless two hours later, we arrived in Takeo and were immediately bombarded by tuk-tuk drivers. Per our tuk-tuk rule, we never agree to a ride when someone hounds us. Usually we stroll around until we find one lounging in his ride and we ask him for a lift. Also, we thought it might be possible to walk to the Volunteer Center. Not only did the tuk-tuk drivers get on the bus before we got off, they asked us a couple of times while we got our backpacks, and then drove their tuk-tuks up to us four meters away from the bus to ask again. As Andrew laughed about later, I do admit, I kinda lost it.

me: Why you ask 5 times if we want tuk-tuk?

tuk-tuk driver: I want to know if you need tuk-tuk.

me: ONE time, you ask if I need tuk-tuk. I said NO. TWO times, you ask if I need tuk-tuk. I said NO. THREE times, you ask if I need tuk-tuk. I said NO. FOUR times you ask if I need tuk-tuk. And I SAID NO! NOW FIVE TIMES?!? FIVE TIMES YOU ASK IF I NEED TUK-TUK!?!? NOOO!!! (and maybe, ok, I did, pretend to physically pull my hair out of my head at this point)

The tuk-tuk driver laughs. I turn around to more laughter and it’s another tuk-tuk driver and I point to him and say “YOU TOO! NO TUK TUK!” and he laughs too, and they leave us alone.

And then we got lost walking.

But then the only foreign tuk-tuk driver passes us by, turns around and asks where we’re going. He’s from New Futures (where we were headed), and gives us a ride to what turned out to be a couple of kilometers to the center. Even if Jake hadn’t pulled up, you know I would have stubbornly walked 2 kilometers with the 50 pounds of backpack weight on my back instead of tracking them down for a ride.

Day 22: “Hey Mr. Facebook Man”

Rather than return to the Killing Fields and the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum for a second time, I camped out at a cafe while Andrew went across the street to see what he declared to be “the most horrible thing he could have seen.” I read “First They Killed My Father”during my travels, and I highly recommend it, however, it’s simply not one of those books you need to read again, like seeing The Killing Fields, where a large number of Cambodians were killed or the former high-school that was used as Security Prison 21 (S 21) during the Khmer Rouge reign. Tuk-tuk drivers asked over and over again, “You want to see Killing Fields?” and over and over again, I would respond “No! No, I don’t want to see that at all!” 

Instead, I hung out at the Boddhi Tree UMMA Cafe. The food wasn’t so great, but the lime-aid drinks, and relaxed atmosphere were superb. Before Andrew went over to S 21, our computers were overtaken by a brother and sister bored with their vending duties. It is not uncommon to see children hawking goods more than adults in Cambodia. It’s not the most pleasant experience, and the practice frustrates me. Even if I want to help the child out, I don’t want to condone the practice by buying anything. It’s always awkward, the feelings that rise up when an adorable 8-13 year old comes up to you. Generally, I will have a short conversation with the poor child slugging around a boxful of illegally copied books, or an armful of bracelets, but I inevitably apologize and tell him or her that I will not be buying anything. They are (usually) better natured and less aggressive than adult vendors who simply don’t. give. up.

(Homegirl amused herself and edited this on my phone before I told her I had to get back to work)

On this particular day, Kon immediately spotted the Facebook tab (not even an open window) on Andrew’s computer, and quickly weaseled his way not only onto Andrew’s computer, but into his Facebook account, and sent himself a friend request. Then he got to work editing a photo of me. Meanwhile, Kon’s little sister came around to my side of the table, asked for an earbud and listened as I edited a video from Vietnam. When we finally shooed them away they camped out at another table playing with an Englishman’s smartphone until his wife and friends met up with him and then bought loads of trinkets from them.

(Kon’s photo editing skills for your viewing pleasure)

That evening, Andrew’s phone buzzed and Kon “accepted” Andrew’s “friend request.” This made us wonder exactly where he was getting online? Does his family have a computer at home, yet they still send him and his sister out after school to sell trinkets to tourists?

p.s. Neither of us were very pleased with how expensive Phnom Penh is. Compared to prices four years ago, it’s astronomical now! $15.63 didn’t get us breakfast, and we split every meal we had simply because after paying $2.00 for meals in Vietnam we had such a hard time spending so much more in the neighboring, less developed country!

Day 112: Incredible India?

We were not sad about getting off of our last overnight bus in India when we arrived in Goa around six in the morning. Not. sad. at. all. Aside from the three episodes of Game of Thrones I coerced Andrew into letting us watch on the bus, it was a pretty uncomfortable ride and we were exhausted by the time we were able to check into our guesthouse later in the morning. We fell asleep watching The BBC. I was in and out of consciousness listening to updates on the poor girl trying to recover from being gang raped in New Delhi, and statistics on rape in India interspersed with Incredible !ndia tourism commercials. It got in my head.

Incredible !ndia or… Incredible India?

This is what it felt like:

We woke up around dusk and forced ourselves out to the beach (I know, life was so hard!) for dinner. Christmas Eve in Goa is one of the more random holidays I’ve celebrated- we’ve celebrated. Both of us really missed home over these holidays. Being abroad in your own apartment surrounded by friends was comforting in South Korea. Being abroad in a random hotel surrounded by Russian tourists and Indian dude-bros is not as comforting. But we were healthy, happy, and more importantly (ha) we were warm!

Day 21: about this dragon…

When we left Korea, I shipped three years of my life home in boxes of all sizes. Big boxes of bedding, shoes, books I couldn’t part with, even bags of 쌈장 and 된장 (Korean bean pastes) I couldn’t foresee finding in Kentucky and living without. (Not having immediate access to Korean food has been a struggle for both of us already.) When we left Hoi An, a few days ago, we sent a box home of things we brought, or already bought, and didn’t need, and Andrew’s new suit. Not a problem! My dragon, on the other hand proved to be a big. big. problem.

When we got to the Post Office, I left Andrew to write out postcards and walked up to counter 7, where the man eyed my dragon suspiciously and tried to fit it into a box. “Too big!” He declared. “Cannot send. This is the biggest size box you can ship to USA. Cannot send. Go to counter 8.”

Counter 8 turned out to be the DHL counter. They told me I needed a box first. They sent me back to counter 7 for a box.

Counter 7 shook his head at me. “Too big! Cannot send!” he barked. I shook my head to assure him I understood, and asked for a box. He eyed me suspiciously, but took my dragon, and put two printer boxes together to make a new bigger box, fit the dragon right in, and demanded the equivalent of $5.00 for his handiwork.

Back at Counter 8, they shook their head and said it would be very expensive. Wrote down $211.00 on a piece of paper and said it would take 3-5 days. I asked for something slower (cheaper) and they sent me to Counter 6. Counter 6 sends me back to Counter 7. Counter 7 barks at me again, “Too big! No! Cannot send! Go Counter 8!” I go back, to Counter 8. They look at the box again, then do some calculations again, and then they write $593.00 on the same piece of paper they wrote $211.00 on previously. I look at them like they must have made a mistake. I asked for something slower. They informed me they only did express shipping. I pointed to $211.00 and asked what happened. They pointed to $593.00 and waited for me to magically understand. I told them I could not pay $593.00 and plopped my box down next to Andrew, who was – throughout this whole ordeal- still sitting in the middle of the three counters writing out postcards.

“It’s not possible. I can’t send it.” I told him, close to tears, again. (Have I mentioned my emotions have been a little heightened this first month of travel?)

He gets up, takes the box to Counter 6. Gets sent to Counter 7, where the same postal clerk looks at me like I must be missing something in the head. “I’m sorry! Too big! Cannot send!” he tells Andrew. Andrew tries to explain how light it is and asks again why they can’t send it. Counter 7 ignores him. Andrew doesn’t budge. I try to hide, until I eventually see Andrew get sent to Counter 8. The girls at Counter 8 have disappeared. I convince Andrew that it’s not possible, and we take our dragon to the agency where we booked our bus tickets to Cambodia.

The girls at the tour guide agency demand to know what is in the box. I say “Dragon!” and I do the dance. They shake their heads and say we have to talk to the bus driver, maybe the box is too big, and we cannot take it with us. I make the executive decision that I will wear the dragon head on the 5 hour bus ride if I have to. Andrew makes the executive decision to get a motorbike so we can pile as many boxes as we’d like on the back. We walk up to the bus drivers. There are at least five of them. They all look at me suspiciously until one asks what is in the box. “Dragon!” I said again, and again, I do the dance. “Ohhh…” and they respond in Vietnamese, and do the dance. “Yes!” I cry, relieve to see them smiling. One of them demands $10.00, and I say “No way!” and they laugh, repeated “No way!” to each other and put the dragon under the bus.

“Maybe we should just take the dragon with us around the world.” I suggested to Andrew once we got on the bus.

“Maaaybe…” He replied, unconvinced.

Day 20: Cu Chi Tunnels & dragon hunting

Just like Sapa, the Cu Chi Tunnels outside of Saigon, have become overrun with tourists, which totally took away from the experience. I told Andrew that afternoons in big groups like the one we were in make me appreciate not being part of a big tour group all of the time. The tunnels were made and used by the Viet Cong during the Vietnam War. Not only do the network of underground tunnels run around southern Vietnam, but they also provide a route to get to and from Cambodia as well. There aren’t any rides, parades, or princesses, but I feel like the tunnels have a Disneyland quality about them, if Disneyland were set in the middle of a jungle, with death traps, bomb craters, and an AK47 shooting range. Tourists get the opportunity to disappear in hidden entry points to the tunnels, take pictures with dressed up Viet Cong manequins, shoot guns, and walk through the tunnels. It’s educational, but a bit of a wonderland, and I wonder if in ten years if visitors will get to dress up in Viet Cong gear and enter the tunnels in an even more simulated experience.

In true Vietnamese fashion, our bus stopped off at a handicrafts workshop and store for 30 minutes. I amused myself photographing a garage door instead of shopping.

Halfway through our tour, it started pouring. Andrew made fun of me for packing a mini-umbrella. Guess who is making fun of who now?

When we got back into Saigon, we immediately hopped into a cab to go to district 5 (doesn’t it sound like we’re in the Hunger Games?) to get my dragon.

me: I’m sorry I’m making you go on this adventure with me…
Andrew: I think we’re a little beyond that by now…
(I guess he’s right, a day of dragon hunting is nothing compared to a year around the world.)

I handed my directions in Vietnamese over to the cab driver. He asked me something in Vietnamese. I responded with an apprehensive expression. Then he did the dragon dance. He pretended to have a dragon head on and wiggled back and forth in his seat a bit. I’m sure my face lit up, I shook my head up and down and said “Yes! A dragon!” and did the dance back to him. He dropped us off right outside a Chinese dragon shop ten minutes or so later.

We thought we were going to a market, but we ended up on a street in Chinatown with three different shops full of dragons. We walked in and out of all three dragon shops, pricing them out, before we returned to the first shop and eyed three different dragons. I tried them on. I made Andrew try them on. And then I debated. I intended to get the smaller size, but they looked cheap, and not nearly as ornate. The biggest one was by far the prettiest and most well put together. But it was nearly triple the price. I hemmed. I hawed. I made Andrew put the dragon heads back on again. And then he asked which one I really wanted. I said the big one, but it was expensive, and I knew my mom would yell at me for getting it. He reminded me it was my birthday, and he hadn’t gotten me a present yet! It really wasn’t that expensive, but this way, I wouldn’t be the one in trouble with my mom for buying a dragon in Saigon in month 1 of 15 of our travels! Awesome!

Not awesome: realizing we didn’t have any Vietnamese cash with us and we were in the middle of Chinatown. We walked around to three or four different atm machines. I told myself it was ok to not have a dragon, I didn’t NEED it… We wouldn’t have to worry about shipping… I could maybe find one in an American Chinatown… and then one magically spit money out at us and we were back in business! We dropped the dragon off at our hotel before going restaurant hopping for our last meal in Saigon. We do this somewhat often- we hop between restaurants, ordering one dish at each restaurant so we can get more of a variety of food/ambiance.

The second restaurant we eyed said “Traditional Vietnamese Food” on the sign. I rolled my eyes. “We would never go to a traditional Korean restaurant in Seoul!” I told Andrew, as he stopped to look at the menu. I wouldn’t even cross the street, yet he kept eyeing it until a westerner walked out and told us “Oh it’s great! You should try it, really good food!” So we went in. Big. mistake. The restaurant was clean, but too clean (and too empty) to be a good Vietnamese joint. The food was ok… but not as good as what we had had already, and it was pricey! ($4.00 for fried rice, tofu and a beer! Crazy talk!) On our way out, the Spaniard was still there talking to the chef. He told us he had just gotten into Saigon – from Spain – that afternoon.

“Seriously, he’s been here for a day and we went in on his recommendation?!?” I asked Andrew when we were outside. “Ohmigod, I know…” He responded and we pouted. I eyed the Vietnamese group slurping up what looked like delicious bowls of fried noodles, sitting on little plastic stools surrounding a table full of sweaty beers, and declared that we would no longer eat at any traditional fill-in-the-blank cuisine restaurants anymore. Andrew agreed.

At least his hotel pick in Saigon was stellar. That night, the manager sent up a little cake for my birthday, which we ate before I promptly danced around as a dragon.

Day 19: Turning 30 in Saigon

My birthday in Saigon was not what I expected it to be… not that any birthday is, really… But I wanted to go to the market, get a dragon, figured we may as well stop by the War Remnants Museum for an hour-ish for Andrew to see, and then go straight to a cafe a friend recommended and lounge for the rest of the afternoon. None of this really happened, except the museum, for an entirely too long of time on one’s birthday. I mean seriously, what was I thinking?

Lesson #6 learned from traveling around the world: Do NOT go to any kind of war-related museum on your birthday. Unless pictures of… perhaps the effects of agent orange put you in the party mood, it’s simply better to avoid going. Save it for the day after your birthday at least…

First stop, Ben Thanh Market. I thought, surely I’d be able to find my dragon here!

The market is pretty big, and last time I was there, tents and miscellaneous shops were set up on the outside of the market structure. We entered through the clothing section, Andrew (finally) settled on a pair of sunglasses, and we walked through, hoping to find a dragon. Me, more so than Andrew, of course. Through the fruit stands, coffee stands, noodle shops, and then we set foot in – what felt like a souvenir section. Unfortunately the only dragons that were offered were of the keychain variety. Not exactly what I had in mind.

Disappointed, we made our way to The War Remnants Museum. I had already been there, but didn’t remember it taking very long (I think they’ve added a few sections or reorganized in the past four years). I also seemed to have blocked from my memory how horrible and awful it made me feel setting foot inside. American planes and tanks line the outside of the building, while Anti-American propaganda pretty much hangs on all of the walls inside of the building.

I’m not the most knowledgeable about the Vietnam War, but I know enough to tell that this museum is ridiculously one-sided. Regardless of your opinion (if America should have been involved in the war or not), the museum presented the war (in my very humble opinion) as if it was America who was the enemy- and America only! I didn’t walk away (for the second time) from this museum having any of my questions answered, if anything dozens of more questions were raised. It did nothing to explain a step by step process of how the war began, what happened during the war (other than to what lengths America destroyed the countryside and people- which granted, we did, but still, a little more well-rounded explanation would have been appreciated). Oh, and by the way, thanks Vietnam for the entire section of Agent Orange (complete with orange walls, as if to really drive the point home) symptoms, side effects, and birth defects. Because by the time I made it to that section, as an American I didn’t feel bad enough…

“Well they won, they can write whatever they want to in their history books…” Andrew replied to one of my fits.

“But that doesn’t make it right.” I retorted, longing for a happier birthday.

Here’s what got my panties in a twist:

1. The museum didn’t seem to acknowledge that it was the North who originally thought the South was the enemy (and vice versa)

2. Why do people pose in front of airplanes, bombers, and tanks that wreaked such havoc during the war? I remember asking my mom to to take a picture of me in front of the Enola Gay at the Smithsonian when I was 13 years old or so. I think I was excited that I knew what it was more than anything else. But I remember being really confused, thinking “do you smile in front of a plane that dropped the first atomic bomb?” I went for the confused look and have since never had a picture taken of me in front of something similar.

3. Senator Bob Kerrey. Why is it that a senator (or fill in the blank government position here) can hold office after killing innocent women and children in a war (and according to the museum do a lot more really horrible things) but a senator (or was he a representative?) can’t tweet a picture of his package? I’m not condoning either. But don’t you find it a little fascinating that one is ok because it’s “patriotic” and the other is practically considered heinous just because it’s creepy? And it is creepy, I’m not standing up for the pervert tweeter, but at least his tweet didn’t murder anyone!

After the museum, we stopped by the post office to mail a postcard to my favorite elementary school students, and then we tried to find the cafe Hans recommended to us. We talked about the Vietnam War nearly the entire time. Which I enjoy. I really enjoy talking about politics and history with Andrew, but maybe it’s not a good idea to do so when walking around for two hours (in what felt like circles) trying to find a restaurant at an address that did not match up.

Lesson #7 learned from traveling around the world: Get exact directions, and confirmation of a cafe’s address/location before you go traipsing around to find it on your birthday. It’s just not worth the three hours of looking for, not finding it, and walking home. 

By the time dusk rolled around, we were forty minutes or so away from our hotel without a dragon, a clue where the cafe was, and any kind of “Yay it’s my birthday!” feeling. And I desperately wanted all of those things, which led to desperately wanting other things- like a hot shower, and clothes that weren’t from my backpack, a backpack I liked (rather than the one I have), and my girlfriends to celebrate my birthday with me… A “Happy Birthday!” on Facebook, or an email if I’m lucky is nice, but it’s just not the same, you know? Anyway- The list went on in my head, and I started to sniffle. Andrew stopped walking and gave me a hug and promised we’d find a place to sit down soon, which we did, and we even found a souvenir shop, that didn’t have a dragon, but gave me directions to where I could find one.

After sitting down, a few drinks, and directions to a dragon, I decided my 30th year might not be so bad after all…

Day 18: 26 hours on a bus from Hoi An to Saigon

It wasn’t an exciting day, to say the least. We woke up in Nha Trang after 12 hours or so on an overnight bus from Hoi An. I’ve heard mostly terrible things about Nha Trang (muggings namely, but the deaths of two former English Teachers in Korea didn’t help matters) so despite it having beautiful beaches, I didn’t want to stay. Also, I didn’t want to be on a bus for my birthday. As it turned out, neither bus (there were two) were all that bad. They were only about 1/3 full, and we were able to stretch out and play musical bus seats when we wanted to sit up or lay down.

Patience is a virtue that I’m constantly improving upon while traveling. In the past, I didn’t remember the bus from Nha Trang to Saigon taking as long. Then I realized, the Vietnamese kid we picked up in the middle of nowhere, and then dropped off in the middle of nowhere probably had something to do with it. Annoyed, after being on a bus for nearly 23 hours at this point, I wanted to give the driver a piece of my mind, but it’s Vietnam. I don’t speak Vietnamese. He doesn’t speak English. What can you do?

Day 17: A Dragon on Parade

Our last day in Hoi An was rather uneventful, that is until we walked through the market…

We camped out for a bit in the morning drinking coffee and blogging, I caved and sprung for the “Buddha is my Om Boy” t-shirt I had had my eye on since we first walked past, we shot some video for Andrew’s project (soon to come on BeCarefulYourHead.com!) and then we walked through the market. On our way to the market, we were asked at least a dozen times if we wanted to go for a boat ride. One captain tried to persuade us by informing us that it was “Happy Hour” as if that should make us climb aboard! I responded, “If I wanted to be on a boat, don’t you think I would be on one by now?” He stared back at me blankly and said “Happy Hour?” again.

I was really fascinated by a wood carver who made faces out of what looked like tree roots. Clever. I watched outside, but didn’t go in for fear I would want to buy one (or three). Maybe next time… We strolled through the food stalls on our way back to our hotel to grab our bags for our overnight bus to Nha Trang and then heard some loud drumbeats coming from within the covered market building. We decided to investigate. What sounded like a militia drum, I expected an army, or something more… intimidating perhaps? Instead, we stumbled on of couple of boys pounding away at a drum and one magnificent dragon dancing in and out of the stalls. For what I’m assuming was for the Fall Harvest Holiday, known as chuseok in Korea, but known as what, in Vietnam, I’m not sure. The boys quickly surrounded us, and then asked for money when they were done. I put a few small Vietnamese bills in one of their hands and then the women of the market shooed them away.

As if crashing a Vietnamese wedding wasn’t enough of a reason to love traveling, stumbling upon a dragon parade seemed to drive the point home. It quite possibly became my favorite part of the trip in that instant. And I knew, obviously, I needed my own dragon.

Day 16: The day we crashed a Vietnamese funeral AND a wedding

We met Mr. Phong at the restaurant he works at in Hoi An. He seated us, made small talk, and then brought out two journals full of testimonials of visitors he had taken to his village. He asked if we had motorbikes and were interested in visiting his home to see “real Vietnamese life.” We told him we had plans, but would consider it. The testimonials in the book were very complimentary (as if someone would write something bad there) but the internet seemed to agree, and so we decided to spend half of the day with Mr. Phong in Thanh Quit, his village about thirty minutes outside of Hoi An via motorbike. He met us outside our hotel in the morning, and off we rode.

When we arrived to his house, his wife came immediately outside to greet us. She didn’t speak any English, but her hands wrapped around mine in a way that you just know it doesn’t matter that you don’t speak the same language. They welcomed us into their front entrance/what felt like a dining room, poured us some cold water, and Mr. Phong launched into lesson on the Vietnam War. It was fascinating, even though at times hard to understand. I felt a little like I was back in school again, which is a lovely feeling (for me at least) but a coffee had I woken up in time would have benefited my concentration greatly. Mr. Phong fought for the South in the war. His uncle and cousin fought for the North. Other family members fled to the States. The most fascinating part for me was that he said there is no ill-will between family members of different sides. I have a hard enough time with my family member’s conservative political views, and that’s without the VietCong involved!

After we learned more about his “re-education” and what life was like farming under Communist rule, (I liked it when he made an example out of me and Andrew. I was the good farmer, who worked hard, took short water breaks, and yielded a good score at the end of the year. Andrew was the lazy farmer. He took really long water breaks, and didn’t get a high score, therefore didn’t get a good stipend at the end of the year.) He gave us a tour of his house. It was two stories, but there was only one room, and one balcony area for the house altar. Second floors are necessary because the first floor gets flooded every year. He pointed out water lines to prove it.

Technically, Mr. Phong is a registered farmer. Andrew and I debated

1. How much he makes from doing these tours on the side.

2. How much he greases others’ palms when he does these tours on the side.

3. How much money he possibly hides away, because it didn’t seem like he was living in the lap of luxury, despite that he has to make far above the Vietnamese average by doing these tours on the side.

He took us across the street where his neighbors run a “happy water” (rice wine) distillery. It was as if we were wrapped in a blanket of rice wine the air was so thick. Rice pulp lay out on a tarp, barrels were full of the happiest of water, and pigs around back slurped up excess water (I’m not exactly sure how that works and the pigs don’t get drunk noshing on the stuff) that was not needed for the wine. Mr. Phong dipped a pitcher into a barrel and the tiny taste I had was enough to put some hair on your chest! Wooooweee!

On our way to the market, we crashed a funeral (which felt a little awkward) and once we were at the market, we learned how to properly chew an areca nut wrapped in a betel leaf. We had seen this a lot in Burma. In Vietnam however, we learned that only the women chew this, and only the men smoke. I thought it might be interesting to try, until the woman smiled, revealing a mouth full of black teeth. Hmm, nevermind!

(Hey Mom, I thought you might appreciate seeing the Vietnamese have Kubotas too!)

We walked through other houses, watched some women pull tobacco leaves off of the stem, peaked into a kindergarten, paid our respects to the monument that had names of those from the village who died in the war on it, and then… we crashed a wedding. It was… intense. Music was several decibals too high. Everyone was staring. Men were posing for pictures, asking me to dance, then asking me to marry them, then apologizing to Andrew. At first, I was handed a small loaf of bread on a stick, with a piece of gelatin on top. When the gelatin slipped off the stick (oh darn!) one gawker guest quickly replaced it so I was not to miss out on this culinary gift. (oh… darn…) We were invited to stay a bit longer to have a drink. “But just one drink!” another guest insisted. “You drink one drink! Only… maybe… ten minutes… not drunk like…” and he motioned to his friends. “Right, Of course! We will only have one drink, and then we’l go!” Andrew and I insisted. “Yes! Yes! One drink, and then…” he said again. “We’ll leave!” we assured him.

We walked out of the wedding, thanking everyone, we may have agreed to see them again tomorrow, and then we looked at each other wondering what on earth had just happened. Back at Mr. Phong’s house, his wife cooked us this amazing meal, and then we climbed onto our motorbikes to head back to Hoi An.

Day 15: Suit up!

Back at Mr. Xe’s in the morning, Andrew was pleased with the linen shirt and got some more measurements done for a suit… So Andrew could Suit up! One of my favorite students at Eonju was (is still, I’m sure) obsessed with How I Met Your Mother. Any and all jokes and/or expressions Barney makes makes me think of you, Seungyoun!

After Mr. Xe measured him, we were led down the street for a second measurement. Surrounded by boys on sewing machines, I amused myself by taking their picture. I played up being bored, waiting on Andrew, so they seemed amused when I began photographing and showing them the pictures (on the LCD screen) that I took.

We biked it to the beach. We got harassed by more vendors. We ate more bahn mi. We ate more cao lau. And then I saw rompers outside of a tailor shop on our way home. (I’ve developed a little habit of calling wherever we may be sleeping that night “home.”) At only $15.00, I figured it was worth it to have for the trip and got my own measurements while Andrew played with the shop dog, Rabbit.

Day 14: “You come into my shop?”

First order of business in Hoi An: find a tailor. Second order of business in Hoi An: decide what you want to get made. If you have the money (and the room in your bags) this is super fun. But, I should probably mention I have an excellent seamstress for a mom among many other excellent seamstress aunts and cousins in my family. From poodle skirts for dance recitals to wedding gowns, my family has got it goin’ on. I’ve been a bit spoiled, and walking through Hoi An simply made me want to sew with my mom more than settle on a certain print/fabric and be able to strip down, try on right in the middle of sewing to make sure the fit was just right. It’s a little bit more of a process in Hoi An. My advice is to get to Hoi An knowing exactly what you want. It’s easy to get railroaded into getting things made that you don’t really need (or maybe even want) once you get there. If you bring pictures and have an idea of what fabric you want, you’ll be more likely to leave with something worth your while (and money)! Nevertheless, it’s still fun and it’s definitely worth it for the boys who want nice suits made on the fly (and if you go to the right place; on the cheap).

Finally (stomach issues be gone)! My first Vietnamese coffee of the trip. My favorite is the white coffee- with condensed, not fresh milk. Try it. It’s delicious.

Andrew can’t exactly buy off the rack like I usually can. He gets nearly half (maybe more) of his wardrobe tailored to fit his slim/long fit. He was on a mission to get a summer suit made, so I tagged along to all of the shops, and sometimes pretended I was going to get something made as well. That is, until they told me that an above the knee A-line cotton dress (without lining!) would cost $75.00! No. way. ThuThuySilk, you are a rip-off. Andrew was less than impressed as well when the first few shops we stopped in all priced men’s dress shirts at $38.00. His research online suggested he could get just as good of quality for a lot lower.

And then we went to Mr. Xe. Maxi dresses were only around $50.00 (which I thought was a good indicator of price) and men’s dress shirts were $18.00. Our aggressive salesgirl kept pushing for Andrew to buy a suit, but we decided to see how the shirt turned out first before he invested in a suit. Mr. Xe came out of another fitting, climbed up on a stool and went to work measuring Andrew. By this point, I was a little worn out from the “You come into my shop?” “You want a dress?” “Come in my shop!” and my ultimate favorite: “Buy something.” so I was intrigued when Mr. Xe (a man of little words) went to work measuring and then sent us on our way. I suppose he has a shop full of girls who are on the aggressive side for him, but he was a lovely break from it all. I’m also a huge fan of Project Runway and as Andrew was being meticulously measured, I imagined what it might be like if Mr. Xe was on the show.

Tailored out, we grabbed a Bahn Mi sandwich to share across the street and then meandered around until finding 1. a pair of hippie pants-that-turn-into-a-romper that I had to have, and 2. a row of cao lau noodle vendors along the river. We sat down on some teensy stools and ordered a couple of bowls. OhMyYum. I’ve never been a huge fan of mint in my food, but this addition to the noodle dish was perfect. It also didn’t help that we also got a dish of limes and a jar of chili sauce to add to taste. “I think this is would be my 회덮밥 (a raw fish salad with red pepper paste and rice meal that we ate at least once a week in Seoul) if we lived here.” Andrew said. I agreed, but didn’t want to talk about 회덮밥. (I miss it so!)

Day 13: Hello again, Hoi An!

Our bus from Hue to Hoi An was a short 3 hours. Painless. Painful on the other hand was walking back and forth trying to figure out where we were, and where the hotels were. We’ve grown accustomed to the system of getting on a bus, and getting off at the bus driver’s restaurant, mini-stop, or hotel of choice. You know, the place where he gets a little kickback from the owners for bringing them business… We usually make it a point to walk across the street to buy our water and snacks, or in this latest case- Andrew stayed outside with our bags, while I checked out a room, before telling the girl that maybe we’d be back. It was dark, and the hotel seemed far from the city center. I suggested that we walk closer towards the center. Hoi An is my favorite city in Vietnam. I had a really great time with friends I had made traveling through last time, and was excited to show Andrew around.

I didn’t even mind lugging my backpack towards the center and felt so grateful Andrew didn’t mind either. I told him so, and told him that I thought he was a really great travel partner. That is, until I asked where we were going, and realized he had no particular hotel in mind. Homeboy spent an hour looking online and through Lonely Planet for places to stay the night before. Our throw down (not really) on the street went a little something like this:

me: Why would you spend an hour looking at places and not even pick one out?

A: I don’t know, I thought you would know where to go… You’ve been here before…

me: FOUR YEARS AGO!

A: Well, it seemed like you just wanted to walk around…

me: With my backpack? Seriously? No! I never want to “just walk around” with fifty extra pounds on my back! Never. No. Seriously?!? No, I never want to do that.

A: … So do you still think I’m a great travel partner?

me: No.

And so we walked. I checked out another hotel, but wasn’t satisfied and told Andrew we could find a better one. Namely, one with a swimming pool, like the one I stayed at last time. And then… magically… we rounded the bend, and the next hotel was the very same one I stayed at four years ago! I hiked up to the fourth floor to check out a room, told the girl we’d take it, and flopped down on the bed.

A: Aren’t you so glad I’m such a great travel partner, I mean, it’s a good thing I found this place.

me: I said you weren’t. Remember? And you didn’t even find this place.

A: No. You think I am. You said it in a moment of sincerity. I know you meant it.

me: I’m getting another room.

Obviously I didn’t. Although, at $12.00 a room, it wouldn’t have been the worst thing. We went for a swim and then walked through town. The amount of tailor shops has nearly tripled (or so it felt) but the relaxed town had not lost its charm.

After a busy and loud Hanoi, it was so nice to stroll through the town, restaurant hop, journal, and people watch. It felt good to be back, despite having a not so great travel partner. I tease, but after I attempted to “fact-check” our conversation with him, he would like me to mention that he disputes the above account (even though I’m totally right) and he didn’t appreciate the voice I used when I read his lines of the dialogue. (Casey, you would have appreciated it!)

Day 12: Huế

Huế was the imperial city of the Nguyen dynasty up until 1945. It’s a much smaller city than Hanoi, with not a whole lot going on in it outside of the historical monuments in and outside of the city limits. We crossed the Perfume River, walked to the Citadel, meandered through The Imperial City, and photographed a lively market before spending our first night in a 14 person hostel room.

The Citadel is the structure that surrounds The Imperial City. It’s basically a wall. Andrew was frustrated we couldn’t get closer – in other words, that he couldn’t climb on and or into it. I wasn’t as enthusiastic.

It was also a little bit hard for me to get excited about The Imperial City as well. (Sorry, Nguyen dynasty) I’m sure a lot of it has to do with how much damage was caused when the North seized the city during the war. It did seem as though more of The Imperial City was open to the public compared to my past visit. Right now, there is a large restoration project going on that was apparent as we walked through hallways filled with freshly painted red panels, and construction hummed in the background. It also seemed as though Korea is helping with this restoration project, evident by the large SAMSUNG sign over the large SAMSUNG tv with a brief explanation of the grounds brought to you by… SAMSUNG!

We walked through the city towards the market area, passing by lots of dragons and food stalls that made for a colorful and entertaining walk. I loved the colors, especially when compared to the dull grey that dominated most of the cityscape of Hue. Vietnam tends to be bright and vibrant in the countryside, but rather dull (and dirty) in the cities. Obviously, this is true of any city/country comparison – the dragons and food stalls tended to brighten things up a bit.

The market was busy. Busier it seemed than the markets of Korea, and of our favorite market experience in Burma. Vendors were one after the other, often several selling the same varieties of vegetables right next to each other. Motorbikes zipped through walkways and roadways alike, and it was as if every stall, or every vendor, or every different kind of good to be sold bled into the next item. Sometimes literally, as meat was chopped up and blood dripped down past baskets of fruit. It was chaotic. and it was unnerving to photograph. Usually, I feel right at home photographing a market (there are quite a lot in Seoul, and I visited many while working on Seoul Suburban), but here I was a little more timid than usual, and soaked up the chaos more than weaving in and out of vendors for photographs.

My favorite part of the market were the hair salons that lined the one end. That is something that was not seen in Korea and I loved the juxtaposition of the fruit, vegetable, meat vendors on the sidewalk while women sat in a salon getting their hair permed, colored, or cut within.

Day 11: The day Alka Seltzer saved my life.

As always, a Skype call with my Momma and her suggestion to take some Alka Seltzer cheered me right up, and made me feel lightyears better (but more on that later). Excited not to spend another afternoon sick in bed, we made our way to The Temple of Literature, a coffee shop, The Hanoi Hilton, and a little shopping before getting on another overnight bus, this time down to the ancient city of Hue.

The Temple of Literature, also a temple of Confucius, is Vietnam’s first national university. It felt like a scaled down version of a palace in Seoul, a very scaled down version. So, while it was nice and a lovely respite from the chaos that is in every Vietnamese city, we acknowledged that “Well, it’s no Gyeongbokgung…” and that perhaps, we might have been spoiled with the sights of Seoul. (Obviously we are also biased.)

I had to agree when Andrew said, “Kung Fu Panda called, it wants it’s Master Crane back:”

After meandering through the temple, we made our way across the city to check out The Hanoi Hilton. The Hanoi Hilton is what the American prisoners of war sarcastically called the Hỏa Lò Prison. It was first called Maison Centrale (a traditional name for “prison” in France) thus, used by French colonists for political prisoners. These origins  explain the guillotine housed inside the prison, and statues of shackled Vietnamese prisoners that you see in the video. There are only two smaller rooms that divulge information about the Vietnam War prisoners of war and of course, they gloss over what really happened to them. Which I found annoying. Sure, it’s perfectly ok to represent the poor conditions of the Vietnamese who were housed there unjustly- but thanks so much for the pictures of Senator John McCain and President Clinton smiling in front of the prison several years after the war. Because I’m sure McCain was smiling the whole time he was kept as a POW. Good one, Vietnam.

We hustled it back near our hostel, so I could (most importantly) go purchase the bag I couldn’t stop thinking about. (I know, I know… I have a problem.) We waited for some Banh Mi sandwiches, which turned out to be quite entertaining because the Banh Mi lady must have been operating without a permit… A siren started to wail, and someone barked information out of a speaker causing vendors to go into a state of panic, moving their makeshift operations into hiding. We watched her move her cabinets off of the corner down the street, then walk back out to check for signs of trouble, before moving her cabinets back to the corner to resume business. Then we got our sandwiches and waited for the bus.

Of course, when we were on time (early, even!) for the bus, we had to wait 40 minutes or so before a man led us to a taxi that would take us to the bus, that was not even there when we arrived. Of course. Then, once the bus did arrive, we had to wait another 40 minutes on board, before it left. And THEN we realized our two seats/beds were next to a very (VERY) smelly bathroom. Which had a door that seemed to be too difficult for every Vietnamese man (who had to pee at least three times each before the bus left) to latch closed. So the door to the smelly bathroom would randomly swing open sending a strong waft of urine out over the six or so settled into seats on the back of the bus. Andrew being the closest, would have to reach over and shut the door every time. I’ve since decided urine is my least favorite smell, and after this bus ride swore I could pick up the scent EVERYWHERE.

This led to a very heated (not really at all) between Andrew and myself. One that I will present to you: Would you rather: sleep next to a smelly bathroom on your sleeper bus OR not have a bathroom on the bus? After being sick on the two previous buses, I quickly decided I’d rather have the bathroom. Andrew (not yet sick at all) having had to close the bathroom door repeatedly throughout our 12 hour overnight bus, quickly decided he’d rather not have the bathroom.

Day 10: Still a bit sick, only in Hanoi this time

Due to the extenuating circumstances on the overnight bus, I was still feeling not so great. I promptly crawled into bed and stayed there longer than any traveler should. (Apologies for the weak day in a minute video and lack of photos, or um, exciting stories to tell you.) The problem with me and stomach issues is that I tend to stop eating until I’m absolutely starving and break down and eat food that I probably shouldn’t. Enter Andrew: “Will Breaking Bad and pizza make you feel better?” Answer: “YES.”

Day 9: “Just call me Little Miss Poopy Sore Calves.”

I woke up, and as I limped around the home-stay house, I confirmed that breaking in a pair of barefoot running shoes (that I thought would also make great wet trekking shoes) was the worst idea ever. I scraped the last of my Tiger Balm out of the jar and gently massaged it into my calves while we waited for breakfast. Our itinerary said we’d enjoy breakfast with our host family “after sunrise” and I thanked the Sapa stars their definition of sunrise ended at 9:30 AM. We were served, but didn’t eat with our host family (the family we still weren’t exactly certain who they were) and then we took off through terraces, bamboo forests, Giang Ta Chai village, a waterfall, and a suspension bridge.

This day of trekking was my favorite. I still wasn’t feeling so hot, but the trekking through terraces and jumping over streams, and sitting with my feet in the water (Genius idea, Tony and Raquel!) felt the most like what I had enjoyed four years ago.

It was a little muddy, a little exhausting, and reminded me of being ten and going out exploring in the woods behind my childhood home.

After lunch, we were picked up by a bus pumping some electronic dance beats and headed back to Sapa’s city center for showers, and last minute minority tribe wears. This got me in trouble. I saw a bag our first day in Cat Cat, but was feeling too badly to bargain it down to a reasonable price. I didn’t even stop to ask how much it was, just looked long enough to know it was just different enough from all of the other bags that I liked it a lot. Because I didn’t get it our first day, I was on a mission to find one similar on our last day.

This didn’t happen. My next (not so) brilliant idea was to get another style (with the embroidery and colors I wanted) and take it to a tailor in Hoi An and have them turn it into the style of bag I wanted. Perfect? Right? Until I worried that maybe I didn’t have enough material for the style of bag I liked, and continued with (not so) brilliant ideas to buy a pillowcase (with the embroidery and colors I wanted) and even a belt (with the embroidery and colors I wanted) to ensure that I would have enough fabric for a bag. I spent $12.00 on this mess and later found a different bag entirely (of better quality for $15.00) I simply HAD to have in Hanoi. GAH!

Lesson #5 learned from traveling around the world: Seriously. Don’t buy it unless it’s exactly what you want. Seriously. You’ll find another bag you love soon, I promise.

After I spent too much on things I wasn’t going to want in the end, we got some Tiger Balm, showers, dinner, and hopped on the shuttle bus to catch our overnight bus back to Hanoi. Our bus driver hit a motorcyclist. We waited on the bus uneasily as we watched the poor driver try to call for help while not moving in the middle of the road, our driver busy picking up pieces of the bus that broke off upon contact. Fifteen minutes or so later, the motorcyclist got up (or more accurately, he was pulled to his feet by our bus driver) everyone cleared out of the intersection, we waited a bit longer, and then we were on the road again. On average, something like 30 people die daily in traffic related accidents in Vietnam. Not halfway through our trip here, it’s easy to see why.

As if that wasn’t enough fun for one bus ride, I started feeling poorly again. Mostly, I think due to the anxiety of being on a bus with a crazy driver and 11 more hours to go. I was relieved when we pulled into a rest stop, hoping a trip to the bathroom would help. It didn’t. The “bathroom” consisted of a concrete wall separating the men from the women. A trough sat a little deeper closer to the wall, behind a row of bricks that were lined up for women to stand on as they (we) squat down to take care of business. side by side.

Modesty is simply something you have to forget about in situations such as these. At least I wasn’t wearing a romper (without a bra) so I wasn’t completely vulnerable. (When attempting to poop in public, it’s better not to be naked.) I gritted my teeth, nodded to the Vietnamese woman next to me, and marched up to the bricks and squatted. Like a boss. Only not really, because of the two numbers that I needed to take care of to make my stomach feel better, I simply couldn’t attend to both with an audience. I climbed back on the bus and immediately into a fetal position for the remaining six or so hours before again, sprinting to a bathroom while Andrew checked us into a room in Hanoi.