Wednesday, October 12th 2011

I woke up at 5:15 and showered in a shower stall that was so close to the toilet I could have sat on the toilet while I showered (I chose not to J).

When I walked outside the sun hadn’t yet risen and the humidity and temperature hadn’t yet encroached on the coolness of the nascent morning. None of the other people from my group were awake yet so I enjoyed the breakfast by myself – watching the red sun rise in the sky, observing the street vendors and merchants opening their places of business, listening to the zip of motorbikes as they whizzed past and the chatter of the Vietnamese people as they smoked cigarettes and drank strong coffee.

It was a wonderful start the day. I was totally happy and content with the simple things in life – a beautiful day, a new environment and a cup of good coffee. It reminded me of a morning in Kiniji, Rwanda when Maggie (my travel partner) hadn’t woken up yet and I watched the sun rise over the thousand hills of Rwanda drinking coffee, eating a banana and writing. There are some moments that are scribbled on the fabric of life with indelible ink, and my solitary morning in the Mekong Delta was another one of those moments.

Eventually other people on my group came out and I had breakfast with the four German’s I’d had a beer with the night before.

After breakfast we walked to the river for an early morning cruise on the Mekong Delta. While we jetted out into the river I joked with Stephen that Mekong Delta was the, ‘Venice of Vietnam’ but truth be told it does remind me of Venice in the sense that everything revolves around the water. The brown water that licked against the side of the boat is the life source, the sustenance that keeps the population thriving. To that end the delta feels less like a body of water and more like an artery pumping the area full of livelihood.

As we headed towards the market a man in a junk came up to our boat and latched to us like a pirate ship.

‘Hello! Hot coffee! Ice coffee! Hello! Hot coffee! Ice coffee!’

‘I just wish this guy was clearer with the goods he’s selling.’ I joked to Stephen.

I bought an iced coffee off the guy, and I’m glad I did, haven’t really come across a cup of coffee I didn’t like. Doesn’t seem to matter whose selling it.

When we got to the floating market, a clustering of boats moored to bamboo shoots sticking out of the water, the guide explained that the different merchants advertised their goods by tying them to a bamboo pole and hanging them high over their boats. So if you wanted, for example, pineapple you could look for the vendor that hoisted a pineapple above their ship and you’re all set.

We cruised up and down the water looking at the commerce and life as it takes place on the delta. We got off our ship and onto one of the boats at one point. We realized the people not only work on these boats, but they also live on them. Looked like a decent sized family lived on the boat we boarded.

Afterwards we veered off the main throng of the Mekong Delta and into one of the subsidiary tracts of water. We went to a place where women were making rice paper and noodles. As I sat there watching the women making the rice paper, a very delicate and precise work, I thought of how beautiful it is to watch someone do honest, good work. Sometimes it doesn’t feel so simple in America where so much of our work is abstract and intangible and the results of our toils are weeks, sometimes months away. At this facility their daily work is rewarded in the perfection of the delicate rice paper and the texture of their noodles.

Funny enough – as I was walking around the facility I came upon a woman making soup…and she was making Ramen noodles out of a package! She was surrounded by the noodles that were supplied through half the restaurants in the delta and she was eating processed noodles.

I brought Stephen over and showed him.

‘Looks like they don’t get high on their own supply.’ He said.

Haha!

Rest of the day was pretty standard…more cruising on the delta…crossed ‘monkey bridge’ (a bamboo bridge over a pond brimming with catfish)…more cruising the delta.

Aferwards the guide took us back to the same restaurant that Stephen and I saw advertising rat the night before.

‘I’d prefer to go somewhere that doesn’t serve rat.’ I said.

Stephen looked around, ‘I’m pretty sure all these places serve rat.’

I agreed and we went back to the same restaurant we ate at the prior night.

After lunch we had a four hour bus ride back to Saigon. It was extremely unpleasant…AC barely worked, bumpy roads, we were covered in a veneer of sweat the entire way.

When we got back we went out to a local restaurant and got their ‘hot pot’ specialty. It was horrible…boiled chicken, bland mushrooms, tasteless noodles. Yet another restaurant serving substandard food - the street carts are where its at!

After the lackluster hot pot we wandered to our favorite bar, Allez Boo, and smoked a hookah (sorry Mom) and had a few beers. Then we wandered to another bar down the street playing live music.

When Stephen went to the bathroom a guy came up to me. He was smallish, about 5’9’’, white, hirsute face.

‘Where are you from?’ He asked.

‘America. And you?’

‘Don’t worry where I’m from.’

‘I wasn’t worried, just making conversation.’ I said, ‘You came up to me dude.’

‘What do you do?’ He asked.

‘If you cant tell me where you’re from.’ I said, ‘Don’t bother asking me any other questions.’

‘What do you do?’ He repeated.

‘Like I said, not interested in having a conversation buddy.’

Five minutes later he walked over to me and tried to hand me a drink.

‘Dude, if you come up to me and ask me where I’m from and what I do and you can’t answer a single question. What makes you think I’ll take a drink from you?’

He tried to hand me the beer again.

‘Get lost.’

Despite the weirdo the bar was a lot of fun. When we walked outside the street had changed pretty dramatically – felt a lot seedier. No amount of seediness could deter Stephen and I from getting our beloved street noodles. We ate at a place on the corner and wandered back to our hotel.