Having seen everything I came to Can Tho to see, I fought through a downpour to get to the bus station. The only option to get where I wanted to go was with a very aggressive tout in a cramped van. Nothing like the Mai Linh bus I had taken from HCMC, which was a frilly, perfumed deal and included a free water bottle and some Vietnamese pop concert blaring on the big-screen tv up front. I arrived in My Tho cold, exhausted and cranky and checked myself into a Lonely Planet - recommended hotel (displaying a true lack of creativity) where I took a lukewarm shower, cried and wished I was at home. A bowl of hu tieu chay (the veg version of the local noodle soup) and 10 hours of sleep made me feel better.
I woke up in the morning and found a lovely cyclo driver named Nip who let me rent his (very decent) bike and even gave me a complimentary cyclo ride to go pick it up. I took a ferry across the river and biked through country roads (and then a highway, and then some less-country-like but still out-of-the-way roads) in Ben Tre province. Feasted on rambutans, chatted with some locals and remembered why I had come in the first place. When I returned the bike, my friend asked with concern how much I had paid for the ferry ride, the fruit, and nodded in approval when I told him - I'd been charged the local price, not the ludicrous tourist price.
I could have stayed, but I was on a schedule - I had to make my way up to Hoi An for when my travel buddies arrived from Singapore. So Mr. Nip arranged for his cyclo-driver friend Mr. Kha to drive me to the bus station and I moved on, heading back to Saigon to catch a northbound train.
Next stop was Quy Nhon, a beachy town that doesn't get many foreign tourists. At the train station I met a British investment banker-turned-organic farmer and together we navigated the sea of xe om (motorcycle taxi) drivers to get to town. We rented bikes and spent a couple of days alternately trying to interpret baffling Lonely Planet maps and quaffing cheap beer.
From there I headed to Hoi An, town of the 500 tailors. The bus ride was interesting - the "restroom break" was on the side of the road, where myself and the only other woman on board had to find a semi-private place to do our business. Nothing bridges a language barrier better than squatting together in a ditch. Nearby, an old lady tended to her water buffalo.
Hoi An is cute, with great accommodations and lots to do. It's also full of foreigners and, yes, tailors. I got a custom suit and winter jacket but wasn't in much of a shopping mood. I think it had something to do with the the desperation-tinged approach of many of the shopkeepers - "You buy something now?" - that made me feel uncomfortable and overwhelmed. But the Boy connected me with a friend in town, the lovely and hilarious Kim. We went out for coffee and talked about life, family and men. She took me to the local places and stuffed me full of fabulous Vietnamese food. Sea food hot pot. Rice paper rolls. Spicy snails. Pho from a fly-by-night stall in the cloth market parking lot. Two of my friends from Singapore arrived and we did the tourist thing.
Eventually we moved on to Hue, an area that bore much of the damage from what the Vietnamese call "the American War." The Forbidden Purple City is spectacular despite having suffered massive damage. We went on a tour of the Demilitarized Zone, something I really felt the need to do. My grandfather was in the US Army and served in Vietnam. I stood in a rebuilt bunker at Khe Sang base, the scene of one of the bloodiest battles of the war and a turning point in the USA deciding to get out of the country, and cried. Now, I'm a leftist and not a big fan of war, and I'm skeptical (to say the least) of the US mission in Vietnam to begin with. The damage done to that country was massive and heartbreaking. But what ultimately had the most profound effect on me was the thought of these young American men, sent far away from home to a hot, unfamiliar country to fight an enemy they couldn't see. I thought of the seige, the air thick with artillery smoke and noise, and soldiers - my Grampy among them - watching their friends fall. And I just broke down.
We didn't head any further north - it was December, 4 degrees in Hanoi, and we never would have survived in the scanty clothing we'd brought from Singapore. Plus, our time was limited. The Germans wanted to see the Delta so we headed back towards the south and into Ben Tre, the province beside My Tho and one I really wanted to see. Despite the promises in the Lonely Planet it proved nearly impossible to charter a slowboat there but the hilariously nervous and smiley dude running our hotel had a fledgling tour operation and took us out. The best thing about that part of the country is the slow pace - just Vietnamese people living their lives. We drank beer by the manmade lake and watched an ancient woman make waffles on the sidewalk, so absorbed in what she was doing that she didn't notice us trying to buy some. It cost 1000 dong for two - about 5 cents - and when we misunderstood and overpaid her, she handed us back the extra. How refreshing! We also had the most incredible, big bowls of seafood Hu tieu for a dollar each. Honestly, I could live there.
Kim and her sister met us back in Saigon for the end of our trip. We went to a theme park outside of the city, where they took us into the temple (yes, a temple in a theme park) and taught us a bit about Vietnamese culture and spirituality. Kim came on the Viking ship ride and screamed until they let her off...so we stuck to tamer activities like the paddleboats. At every opportunity they tried to stuff me full of food ("Alex! Bigger!") and Kim repeatedly punched me in the arm and called me "Alex khung" ("crazy") right up until it was time to leave. Man, I miss that girl.
*** At one point I sent The Boy a text message saying "omfg. let's have babies." I hope that didn't freak him out. They're just so obscenely cute.
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