Bangkok, Thailand - Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

Spirited Away
Good Morning Vietnam!

Apart from a delay at Vietnamese customs, where an American tourist loudly denigrated the country he was visiting ("What do you expect from the commies?"), the journey from Bangkok to my guest-house on the edge of the city's centre was pretty invigorating. First, sat next to me on the plane was a beautiful Vietnamese woman who spoke Vietnamese and French. My Vietnamese isn't up to much, so I dusted off my French and proceeded to butcher the only langauge in the world in which it is hard not to sound sexy. Second, once I'd negotiated customs--distancing myself from the ranting American--I decided I was going to boldly step past the air-con coach counters and the taxi-touts, and find a more traditional means of getting into town.

Emerging from the scrum of cabbies into a forlorn looking super car-park withering under the harsh midday-sun, I found myself wondering if I'd made a big mistake. Pride said I couldn't go back, but the only apparent form of transportation was a gaunt gentleman leaning against a moped. Not breaking my stride and giving away my chancer status, I marched up to him and pointed at his moped.

Maybe he wasn't a taxi-service and was just waiting for a relative, but when he realised there was a money-making opportunity he snapped into action. I paid a fifth of what the car-taxis wanted, hoisted myself onto the back, and gripped his waist.

We were off.

We rode for a long time, skirting along the bank of a putrid looking stream and seeming to make-up the route of the road as we went. Three scenarios came to my mind: the airport was miles from the centre; my pronunciation of the destination had been mistaken for 'Take to me the dirtiest place you know'; or, I was being taken to the secret police, suspected of being in cahoots with the loudmouth in the airport.

Whatever happens, think of it as an experience, I said to myself.

Part of the experience that wasn't necessary was holding the driver's waist I discovered after a little experimenting. My seasoned-traveller cover was blown, or worse, the guy thought I was groping him.

Eventually we came to Miss-Loi's guest-house. A tall, slender building with clean rooms and friendly staff on the periphery of the backpaper area. More accurately would be to say it was a good twenty minute walk from the next guest-house, as I found out when I went for a little walk after dumping my bags.

I was just adjusting myself to the rawness of the streets; the broken pavements, the dust, the intense smell of sewerage, the open houses where whole families sat in circles, and the crumbling state of the buildings, when I stumbled into a street with the most chaotic market imaginable.

All the produce was green and vibrant and laid out in large circular weaved bowls attended by crouching women in conical hats. A rich aroma of fresh leaves and herbs permeated the air. Both sides of the street were lined with vendors. Between these banks of merchants a river of people flowed full of chatter and smiles. Occasionally the stream would split in two to make room for a trader who'd set his stall in the middle of the road. A kind of mist or smoke floated around giving the whole place a dream-like quality.

It was the most amazing spectacle and I moved with the current in a trance, giddy with the feverish anticipation I felt in the air.

Later I learnt this was the last day's trade before the Chinese New Year started and everyone was stocking up for the holiday. The next day when I walked down the same deserted street I had a weird feeling I'd invented the whole experience such was the contrast. (It reminds me now of the deserted market in Spirited Away which has a energetic life at night).

I'd been having trouble crossing the roads because of the constant stream of bikes, cyclos, mopeds (with up to seven passengers), cars and buses, but had always managed to dart across during a gap in the lesser streets.

Then I came to the enormous plaza outside Ben Thanh market which was ensnared by an huge roundabout of tarmac and spoke-like avenues leading off it. No darting was going to happen here. The numerous paths of the vehicles meant even a supercomputer wouldn't be able to find a way to cross the street.

It was impossible!

I stepped away from the kerb flummoxed.

And watched a crinkled octogenarian hobble into the road, not even bothering to twist his arthritic neck to check if anything was coming. He kept up his snail's pace across the whole road never deviating from his path or tempo.

Instead of making way for the traffic, the traffic making way for him!

Enlightenment! I burst out laughing, realizing it was my expectations which were all askew here. It made me realize how easy it is to paint yourself into a small box of behavior because of assumptions taken for granted.

In the evening I dined alone unable to break the unwritten rule that you should never join a person who is dining alone...and then wished someone would join me! The stupidity!

I have a long way to go to be free....

How did the chicken cross the road?He followed the old man.