Street Crossing 101

We packed all of our souvenirs, our extra water purifier and a few articles of clothes into a backpack and a bag and hired motorcycles to take us to Ben Thanh Market. We walked around the market, a super-sized version of the Old French Market in New Orleans. There were stalls selling just about everything, fresh flowers, tea, candy, shoes, belts, lacquered bowls and vases, silver jewelry, clothes, cooked foods, fresh vegetables, raw seafood, and luggage. We stopped at a stall selling North Face backpacks and negotiated the purchase of 3 for $24.00. The North Face factory is in Vietnam and North Face items can be purchased cheaply.

G- I'm so excited that this backpack is designed to sit off my back so it does not have to always be covered in sweat.


P- I know my little freak. You're just happy to buy another bag.

G- I can't have enough bags of various shapes, colors & sizes. Now that you have one too, you can help me shlep around some of the stuff.

P- I always offer to carry the backpack.

G- Yes, I know you do.

We walked from Ben Thanh Market to the post office, located in a beautiful building obviously built during the French occupation. The interior resembled an old train station, vaguely similar to the one housing the Musee d'Orsay in Paris. This post office was fantastic! It contained a long counter of windows offering every conceivable way to ship a letter or a package. On the left side, FedEx, UPS, DHL, and even the USPS (WTH???). Across the back was commercial shipping. On the right side, several windows for the Vietnam Postal Service and one selling stamps. In the middle you could buy stamps or sit at counters to complete paperwork. It was quite impressive!

P- I cannot believe this. This is better than any American post office.


G- I am speechless. This is turning me on. It is the epitome of efficient and that man is packaging our box better than I could have.

P- Oh, I figured you were getting the Big-O over it.

G- I don't like the way he squished down our stuff, and I hope the paintings are not getting crushed, but the way he cut the box to make the top shorter is genius.

P- I can't believe the way he's wrapping the entire box in packing tape.

G- It certainly won't come open or get wet.

P- He's doing it so fast. If I put a box on a chair and spun it around while I tried to wrap tape around it, my tape would just keep going on top of the last piece and get all clumped up.

G- He's obviously been doing this for a long time. He is perfect. Every successive line of tape goes up just enough. This is the best thing I've ever seen.

P- And Smiley had us worried about sending a package from Vietnam.

G- So far everything has been infinitely better than USPS!

While it drove a knife through our hearts to pay $150.00 to mail home a 32 pound box, it had to be done. Conveniently, about 10 Vietnamese banks had an ATM in the front of the post office. The place was packed with tourists, including a large, European, woman with cottage cheese thighs, wearing thin, white spandex pants. She seemed intent on punishing anyone with eyesight. We tried to capture this atrocity on film, but she was with a tour group that closed ranks around her in an apparent attempt to shield the rest of the world from her visual assault.

Feeling relieved that we had rid ourselves of the souvenier albatross, and because this was our last day in Saigon, we strolled around the city and through the park where we again watched the badminton playing kids and the exercising old ladies.  The park was nicely manicured and bright red flowers bloomed in the gardens.

Crossing the street is a special art in Vietnam and Saigon raises this art to it's highest level.  We had been warned about the unbelievable number of motorcycles in Saigon and had been coached to cross individually and not together.  One must pick the time that seems appropriate and begin walking at a slow and steady pace.  Never dash across the street or change the cadence of your walk.  Even though the motorcycles and cars seem to be headed directly for you, they will  either go in front of you or behind you.  This is the proper way to cross the street in Vietnam.  At first it is terrifying, but we quickly adjusted and not once did we see someone hit.

As we sat in the alley and drank a cold Saigon we discussed that, much to our surprise, we had really enjoyed Saigon.  It's just a big city, noisy, chaotic & buzzing with traffic, but there is something quite exciting about it.  Contrary to what we had heard, the Vietnamese had been nothing but friendly & welcoming.

Calling B.S. on Uncle Ho

We got up and headed to the War Remnants Museum, dedicated to the Vietnam War, or as it's known in Vietnam, the American War.  On the way we passed a preschool teaming with motorcycles carrying parents and their children.  Some children were in metal seats attached to the motorcycle seats and others were in wicker seats, wedged between the motorcycle seat and the handle bars. 




P- I can't get over those wicker seats.  That looks totally unsafe!

G- We've been seeing them now in several countries, so apparently it's the acceptable way to transport your child on a motorcycle, and it's dual purpose.

P- I guess so.  Maybe they use it as a high chair at home.

G- Since most people sit on the floor to eat, I can't imagine why the child would need a high chair.

P- Maybe it's just to keep them confined.  Since they're not use to sitting on anything high, they're scared to fall off so they're still while the parents eat dinner.

G- Maybe that's the case.  Anyway, I love the brightly colored, stuffed animal looking pillows that are on the handle bars.

P- I love those too.  Yesterday I saw a little boy sleeping on one while sucking his bottle.

G- When you live your life on a motorcycle, I guess you think of all things to make the situation comfortable.

The front courtyard contained American equipment, huge guns, helicopters, jet planes and tanks. Just inside we tried to watch a film, but the sound was of such poor quality we couldn't understand a word that was being said. We left shortly after it started and walked around the museum.


G- As much as I know about WWII, I know very little about the Vietnam War except that it went on too long, killed far too many Americans & Vietnamese, and accomplished absolutely nothing. Wasn't it the first war America lost? Although I don't think our government couched the “withdrawal” in those terms.

P- I'm hoping to learn more about it because I remember it being on the news the whole time I was growing up, but I don't know the specifics of why we were in Vietnam in the first place or the things that happened during the war.

G- Well, this museum should give us a different perspective than what we're told in America.

P- I'm interested to hear it.

We toured the museum with the knowledge that much of what had been done by the American government and American soldiers was just wrong, but the theme of the museum was so blatantly and grotesquely biased that we became more and more aggravated with each new gallery. The signage labeled the Vietnamese soldiers as “patriots” and the Americans as “invaders” with no discussion of the South Vietnamese soldiers who were fighting against the north's or any indication that the war may have been a civil war. By the time we reached the gallery dedicated to America's chemical warfare atrocities, we had enough.

G- Ok, this is now total bullshit! Is it not bad enough that we indiscriminately dropped chemical weapons on the Vietnamese and American soldiers? Do they have to tell blatant lies in this exhibit?

P- This is total b.s.! Some of these birth defect photos do show the affects of Agent Orange, but many of them totally have nothing to do with it.

G- Yes, like the pictures of the people with Down Syndrome, the dwarfs, the conjoined twins and cleft palate. The pictures weren't even taken after the war because they're dated after 2000.

P- I know. It's totally stupid. These birth defects are genetic and occur all over the world. Who believes this shit?

G- I don't know. Let's go. This museum has taught me nothing except to remind me that history is written by the victor, and Uncle Ho's museum doesn't even pretend to be balanced.

P- I'm ready. Let's go have lunch.

G- Did I tell you that yesterday's motorcycle driver told me that he thanks America?

P- No, what did he say?

G- Well, he didn't speak English, but he looked just slightly younger than my daddy, and he touched his chest and said, "Help America war.  Thank America."  That's all, but I got the point.

P- Yeah, well Uncle Ho and his museum have forgotten that small fact.

We left the War Remnants Museum rather annoyed and we headed to Mien Xian to eat lunch. The wife/owner of our guesthouse suggested that we eat at her favorite restaurant for Banh Xeo & Banh Khot , 2 famous Vietnamese dishes. The restaurant was near our hotel and was full of local office workers on their lunch hours. We were happy to be the only tourist in the restaurant and ordered 2 Saigons and the dishes recommended by our guesthouse owner.

It seemed that most of the patrons were eating the same dishes, so we watched to see how we should eat them. A large bowl of lettuce, mint leaves, and something that looked like tiny clovers was delivered with 2 sauces. Then the Vietnamese pancake was delivered. It was a large pancake made of rice flour, egg & green onion, filled with pork, bean sprouts, shrimp & shredded carrots. As the locals, we wrapped pieces of the pancake in a large lettuce leaf, filled it with mint and the clover things, wrapped it and dipped it in the sauce. It was divine! The second dish looked like little quiches and were just as good.


Half way through our meal 3 individual cakes were delivered to 3 people at a long table table across the room. The woman in charge lit each candle and signaled for the singing to began.

P- Why are they singing Happy Birthday in English?


G- I don't know. It is very peculiar. Isn't there a Happy Birthday song in Vietnamese?

P- Apparently not or wouldn't they be singing in Vietnamese?

G- What? The Happy Birthday song has it's origins in America and was then disseminated to the world? What happened before that? No singing?

P- I guess not. They just threw a cake at you and called it a day.

G- What cake? Doesn't the Happy Birthday cake go with the Happy Birthday song?

P- Shut up, ass! I can't figure it out, but every time we hear Happy Birthday sung in another country, it is always in English.  It's very strange.
G- And check out the chick in charge. She's Denise from my office. She obviously arranged the lunch gathering.

P- Hahaha! Yes, that's Asian Denise.

G- But Asian Denise never shuts up.

P- I know. Look at the other people, the looks on their faces say, “ok, shut up and sit down”, but Asian Denise never shuts up.

G- My Denise wasn't like that. It's fun to watch this. It's exactly like every office birthday lunch celebration at any restaurant in America.

P- Funny!

G-  Ok, let's go back to the hotel and get our souveniers together and go to the post office.  I can't wait to get rid of this stuff.

P- Me too.  Let's go.  But I think we should stop at that big market first in case we buy something that we want to ship home.

Nipple Pinching

It was unusually quiet at the rear of the hotel, and we slept until 9:30. Coffee was free and amazingly good. We looked out of our window at the plethora of apartment buildings protruding from the warren of narrow alley ways. One perk of being on the 5th floor is a good view. As agreed, the hotel staff moved us down to the 1st floor (2nd by US standards), to give our knees a break. We spoke briefly, to the desk clerk, about possible ways to get to Da Lat and the cost, put on our shoes, and headed out to explore Saigon.


Exiting our hotel gate we walked past daily life in our alley. An old lady squatted, cutting various vegetables. Another had her meat market open; raw meat sat on a wooden table. Several high school children, wearing their uniforms, sat at a little table, on tiny stools, eating noodle soup. The restaurant owner & chef stood against the wall monitoring her pot and cutting seasonings. Motorcycles wiggled up and down the alley in the 2 feet of available concrete.

We returned to the Asian Kitchen because it was convenient, reasonably priced and good. As we ate mango salad and curry chicken, we talked to a Swedish couple, Helene & Paul. We hit it off instantly and exchanged our thoughts on Saigon, world politics, Hurricane Katrina, and stories of our travels.


P- Have you had any Vietnamese women react rudely to your chest?

Helene – No, I don't think so.

P- I'm asking because they seem to be fascinated with mine and you're built more like me than them.

Helene – I haven't had any trouble, but Paul did.

G- What kind of trouble?

Paul- We took a boat trip on the Mekong River.

G- A private or a group tour?

Paul- It was a group. For one day.

G- Do you mind if I ask how much you paid?

P- Agnes! Let it go.

G- Nevermind. What happened on your tour?

Paul – I had been talking to the tour guide for about half an hour when he suddenly reached out and pinched my nipple.

P & G- Bwahahahahaha!!!!

G- He pinched your nipple?

Helene – Hahahahahaha.

Paul- Yes. We just stand there talking and suddenly, he pinch my nipple. I jump and look at him but he just laugh. I say, why you do this? He say he is just joking.

G- OMG!

P- We know so many American men who would have beaten the crap out of him and thrown him overboard.

Helene – I think he like it.

Paul – (Laughing.) Well maybe.

G- I guess you'll have to pinch his nipples sometimes, Helene.

Paul – Later I ask another Vietnamese man about this and he said it is not a big deal for a man to do this to another man. I say, in Sweden it is a very big deal.

P- That is unbelievable!

Paul – Also he tell me that when a man introduces his young son to a friend, the friend will sometimes cup the testicles of the boy as a sign that the boy is strong and healthy. It shows respect. What will happen if you do this in America?


G- Besides being beaten by the father, you'd be arrested and tried as a pedophile.

Paul- Yes, it is like this in Sweden too.

G- Well Gladys, you feel better now? At least they're only pointing and laughing at your boobs and no one has grabbed them.

Paul and Helene were lamenting the fact that they were flying back home that night. The snow is piled high in Sweden and they were enjoying the warmth of Saigon. We exchanged email addresses and we hope to visit them when we go to Europe. We were very disappointed that our time in Saigon didn't overlap more because we could have had a lot of fun with them.


 

Still laiden with the souveniers, and stolen shoes, that we had tried to mail in Siem Reap, we vowed not to travel one more mile carrying this extra weight. We would mail it home from Saigon, price be damned!! The minute we emerged from our alley, cyclo (like a tuk tuk but peddled) drivers. We asked them the price and how long it would take to get to the main post office. The first answer was 100,000 Dong and 1 hour. When we balked, the second driver said 20 minutes and 80,000 Dong.

P- Let's hire motorcycles. They're faster and cheaper.


G- I agree, and I think we're being lied to because the time it takes to get to the same place just dropped by 40 minutes. Plus, I like riding the motorcycles.

(we began to walk away)

Cyclo driver – How much you want?

G- No, thank you.

Cyclo driver – (walking with us and pointing at map) 1 hour tour. 80,000 Dong.

P- No, thank you.

Cyclo driver – How much you want?

P- No price, We don't want tour. We want speed.

Cyclo driver – How much? How much you want?

G- (to Phyl) My gawd! I'm gonna choke myself in 2 minutes. We don't want a freakin tour!! This is business and we want to get there quickly. (to Cyclo driver) NO! Thank you!!

P- Just ignore him.

He circled us asking how much as we negotiated a ride to the post office for 20,000 Dong each. I guess he gave up as we rode away. Saigon is a huge city and the traffic, especially the motorcycles, is amazing to watch from the sidewalk, much less ride through. We passed a school of very young children letting out for the day. The motorcycles were parked all over the sidewalk as parents secured their kids in metal seats attached to the handle bars or in small wicker chairs wedged between the handle bars and the seat. Many of the motorcycles had pillows, in animal shapes and various colors, strapped to the handle bars so the kids could rest their heads on them.

At the post office we checked out our various options and planned to return the next day. We then walked around the city which is not for the faint of heart. One must always be on high alert as motorcycles are coming at you from every direction!! They ride in ANY direction on streets, they ride in either direction on the sidewalks, and they make U-turns according to the driver's whim. We were often required to walk in the street as the sidewalks double as motorcycle parking lots.

P- Look at this dude sleeping on top of his motorcycle!


G- Every time I see that I am amazed.

P- How in the hell do they stay balanced? My ass would fall off.

G- Well, you're not exactly know for good balance, but I think it would be extremely difficult.

P- I guess motorcycles are just an extension of their bodies since they're taken home from the hospital on a motorcycle.

G- I guess so. Gawd knows we've seen that everything can be done or moved on a motorcycle.

We stopped at a Hindu temple and gave incense offerings for various friends in need. Unfortunately, this temple did not hold a candle, or an incense stick, to the one in Khuala Lumpur. Then we stopped at a bakery and purchased croissants. On our way back to our hotel we walked through a park where old ladies did calisthenics and we sat on benches watching girls' and boys' badminton teams practicing.

P- This is hysterical! I could sit and watch this all day.


G- They look like the rejects from a long jump competition.

P- What is the point of that?

G- I have no idea. I'm not a badminton officianado, but is a player every required to jump like that?

P- I don't know. Look over there and you can watch an actual game.

G- They're sure taking it seriously.

P- Look at that boy. He plays like you'd play badminton, slamming the birdie as hard as he can.

G- Very funny! He's doing that on purpose to make the fat kid run.

P- Is that what you were doing to me when we played tennis?

G- No. I was trying to hit it to you, I just suck at it.

P- This is a pretty park.

G- I like just sitting here watching people go about their daily lives.

We returned to our alley and stopped at a little “convenience store”, a tiny shop about 10' x 5', that we noticed contained a large box cooler and stacks of bottled beer and drinks. In the doorway of the store sat a group of Vietnamese people, on little plastic chairs, who jumped up to offer us their chairs. We declined, took 2 chairs off the stack, and sat across the alley from them. We watched families motorcycling up and down the alley, a grandmother holding her cell phone up to her young granddaughter's ear so that she could talk to one of her parents, tourists returning to their hotels, hot pots of food being prepared for the evening's meal, and women sitting together talking and pulling gray hairs out of each other's heads.

P- I really hate the way so many women sit around grooming each other like monkeys. Can't they just dye their hair? How easy would that be? It's black.

G- One year I pulled gray hairs out of Cat's head, on the way home from a Gatlinburg, TN and she swore it caused 3 to grow back for every 1 I pulled out.

P- Why did she let you do that?

G- We were bored. It's a long drive.

We ate dinner at an Indian Restaurant, Taj Mahal, thoroughly enjoying the spicy flavors of the lentils, spinach, lamb, and garlic naan. We're spicy girls and plain, boring, white rice is killing us!!  As we walked back up our alley............                               

G- Did you see that old lady sitting in that doorway?

P- Yes, was that her house?

G- I think so.  The whole thing was about 20 feet long by 8 feet wide.

P- I couldn't see in that well, but I think I saw the "kitchen" on the left. (The kitchen was nothing more than a small counter with some bowls, a pot, and a burner.)

G- And there was tiny mini fridge under that little flight of wooden steps.  Look up there.  It must be a sleeping area, but she'd have to crawl on her hands and knees, because it only looks about 3 feet high.

P- I thought there was a mat on the floor off to the right.  Maybe that's where she sleeps.

G- Maybe.  The whole place sure is tiny.   I wonder how many people live down small alleys in little houses like that.

P- Probably more than you imagine.

Fish Bladder Soup

After lunch yesterday, we returned to the hotel to wash up before setting out to explore My Tho. Our hotel was very nice and we forced ourselves to get over the fact that we were on the 3rd floor, which meant climbing 4 flights of stairs because the Asian floor numering system is just like the European one in that the actual 2nd floor is called the 1st. Apparently the 1st floor has no designation. We were only paying $10.00 for the night for air con, a minifridge & wifi.

P- The bathroom is huge!!!

G- I think it's bigger than that room at the Tune hotel at the airport in KL.

P- It has a large tub and a separate shower area. That's a first.

G- A bidet'! You can tell the French have been here. But look at the tub closely. Do you notice anything?

P- No.

G- It's just sitting on the floor and not connected to a drain. It just drains out onto the floor and goes down that drain on the side of the toilet.

P- Ha! That makes changing the tub easy and since the shower water is going all over the bathroom, what difference does it make.

G- I guess that's the thinking, but be careful you don't flip that sucka over when you get out tonight.

We set out to explore the town, smiling at and giving a slight head bow to the lady at reception who was holding a tiny, brown chuahuaha. There wasn't much to My Tho. After walking around a “lagoon”, aka stagnate body of water, we walked along a short section of riverfront, then settled into an empty, execpt for us, riverfront restaurant to have a few beers.

G- We've been here 2 hours and not another soul has come into this reastaurant. I can't imagine how they stay open or why they need the 8 employees dozing in their chairs.

P- Maybe tour groups will pour in for dinner. What is that sound?

G- If the tour groups aren't going to pour in until dinner, why are there so many employees here now?

P- Good question. OMG! Look! It's a boat full of Asian tourists singing.

G- How can you tell they're a tour group? Could it be the matching bright yellow T-shirts?

P- I never knew that Asians could be so silly, but so many of them are very silly.

Although our lunch of grilled pork and merliton soup was quite tasty, we hadn't eaten much of the boring and tasteless white rice, so we were getting hungry. We shared fried pumpkin flowers and marveled at how delicious they tasted. We contemplated ordering a dish of succulent MOUSE meat, but decided we didn't want to fall in love with a dish that couldn't be obtained in the States. Then we each ordered a bowl of crab and corn soup.

G- This is good, but I don't see any corn. What's this white stuff?

P- I was just wondering the same thing. This can't be the soup we ordered.

G- The white stuff has a very strange texture, but tastes ok, and there is definitely real crab meat, not that immitation crap, in this soup.

P- (to the waitress via a hand gesture made to look like opening a book) Can I see a menu?

G- So, what do you think we're eating?

P- Do you really want to know?

G- Sure. I'm not going to suddenly decide it tastes bad just because it's made with something weird.

Glass houses!! People who eat raw oysters & suck crawfish heads shouldn't throw stones.

P- In that case, I think we're eating crab and fish bladder soup.

G- It does look a little like tripe, but what kind of huge fish must this have come from?

P- I can't tell you.

G- You finished yours?

P- Yeah, why?

G- I didn't want to tell you this earlier, but when I was standing up on the boat as we came down the Mekong, I saw a black wild boar piglet floating in the water, and …........................ a dog head.

P- WHAT!?!?!?

G- I've been questioning if that's what I really saw, but I'm pretty positive it was.

P- When you say head, do you mean skull?

G- No. Head. Skin/Fur on it. It was black & white, kind've like Miche's dog, Mac.

P- Ewwwwwwwwwe! That's disgusting. How do you know it didn't have a body?

G- The way it was floating. I'm positive there was no body. Hell, we were in the sticks in that stretch of river. I'm thinking some country person ate it and tossed the head into the river.

P- They do throw everything into the river. Thanks for not pointing that out to me as we passed.

G- I do have to say, however, that we have seen a lot of dogs in Vietnam, so the belief that there are no dogs here because people eat them seems like a crock of bull.

P- I agree with that. Who told us that they eat dogs?

G- It is a common joke or myth I heard at home, but Samuel told us that.

P- Samuel?

G- The guy from the Apa Kaba Homestay in Malaka.

P- Oh, yeah.

A few hours later we headed back to our hotel, purchasing grilled chicken from a street vendor and some yogurt from a small store. We got a good night's sleep and relaxed drinking coffee & eating our yogurt. We didn't have to rush because a bus leaves every 30 minutes for Saigon. Knowing that the owners did not speak any English, I had used Google translate to ask for hot water for our coffee mix, and Phyl took the netbook downstairs and showed it to the lady. Voila! Hot water and 2 mugs in a jiffy! Being able to use the local language is certainly helpful.

After breakfast and packing, we Google translated a request that 2 motorcycles be called to take us to the bus station to go to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City). We are always confused about which name we should use, but it seems most of the Vietnamese in this area still call it Saigon. We've encountered something new in Vietnam, that we've not encountered before, and it's something we don't like. When we check into a hotel, they keep your passports until you check out. Every hotel has done it and we've asked other tourists who confirm that they're experiencing the same thing.

We really are enjoying taking motorcycles as taxis, and thank Gawd we did this time because the bus station was much farther away than the 500 meters Thom had told us. Then again, maybe he was talking about the mega tour buses parked along the river. No one at the bus station spoke English as this was clearly a locals only station, so I pointed to what I wanted in the Lonely Planet guide book and she gave me 2 tickets that said Ho Chi Minh City.

We boarded the bus and sat in the very last seats so that we'd actually have room for our butts. The Vietnamese are like pencils and their whole asses take up the same amount of space as one of my butt cheeks, certainly Phyllis'. We sat waiting for the bus to fill up because it does not leave until full, and watched women/vendors as they walked up and down the aisle selling water, pineapples & steamed dumplings.

The ride to Saigon was uneventful and not scenic as we primarily passed businesses along the road and large industry along the rivers. We stopped several times to pick up or drop off passengers and each time women would hop on the bus and walk the aisle selling the same food items. The bus matron jumped on and off, collecting people and money. About half way through our 4 hour trip the matron came to the back, pointed at us, and spoke to the young woman next to us.

P- I wonder what this is about.

G- I don't know, but it's clearly about us. I think she's asking the young girl to tell us something, but the young girl shook her head, no, so maybe she doesn't speak English.

P- She looks like she would.

G- I think so too. Look, the man next to her is writing something down.

Man – You get off bus. Take bus B2.

G- (pulling out the guide book) B2 takes us to this (pointing) station?

Man – Yes. B2

Bus matron – (Smiles and nods, pointing at the paper.) Saigon.

G- Ok. Thank you very much. (I pointed to my day pack, then down to indicate that we had bags in the luggage compartment.)

Bus matron – (nodding) Blah, blah, blah, womp,womp womp

P- We have to transfer? I thought you said this was the direct bus to Saigon.

G- Ahhhh! Now I get what the ticket lady in My Tho was trying to tell me when I was asking for the direct bus. She wrote on a piece of paper My Tho – Some name I didn't know – Saigon. She pointed at each and I got the impression we were stopping at the middle name, but I assumed that we didn't have to get off.

P- How are we gonna find our new bus?

G- We'll figure it out. We know we need B2.

On the outskirts of Saigon we pulled into a large yard full of people with busses coming and going, looking like a disturbed ant pile, and I doubted this transfer would be easy, but the man pointed …..

Man – B2 there.

P- Go over there and just get on the B2 bus or do we have to go somewhere else to get a ticket?

Man – Yes. B2.

P- Just get on the bus?

Man (pointing to the paper) B2

G- He has no idea what you're asking him. Stop asking him questions.

P- Well I want to know what we have to do before we carry our bags all the way over there only to be told that we need to buy a ticket in that building.

G- No one is going to tell you that because no one around here is going to speak Engrish. Chill, Gladys, we'll figure it out.

P- This stresses me out.

G- I know. Just follow me. Stop worrying.

We got off the bus with all the other people and I indicated to the bus driver that we had bags under the bus. He nodded and pointed to the side. I assumed that this meant we were to open the door and get them ourselves. We pulled out the bags and put them on the ground. I slammed the door to the luggage bin and the driver pulled away.

P- Holy shit! Why doesn't he just run over us? Ya think he could wait until we get our packs on our backs?


G- No. He's got to go. This is why these people scramble, like their hair is on fire to get on and off buses. Take longer than a nano second and you're either getting left or rolled over. We need to move faster and that is not at all your forte'.

P- I'm moving as fast as I can.

G- I know, muffin. Come on before you get rolled over. You can bitch after we get on bus B2.

We walked across the lot, to the spot where the man had pointed, and scanned the buses parked in that area.

G- Look, numbers on the front windshield and back window.

P- I see it. It's parked right there. You think this is the right one? It's empty.

G- I don't know, but it says B2, so let's get on.

We walked down the side of the bus and were looking at the driver when he cranked up the engine and started backing out.


G- Shit! He's moving. Get on!

P- The bus is moving.

G- Then you'd better hurry. Jump on! The door is open.

He stopped, put it in drive and started moving forward. I threw our large extra bag into the open rear door, grabbed the handle and hauled myself and my heavy backpack into the bus. The bus was moving slowly as Phyl grabbed the handle and pull herself, and her heavy backpack, aboard.  This shit is better than any stairmaster!!! The bus matron approached, I asked her if the bus was going to Saigon and pointed to the bus station name we had written on the guide book. She shook her head yes.

P- OMG! I can't believe we just jumped on the moving bus.

G- No time for hesitation. If we had not jumped on, we would have had to walk way over there and get in line behind that waiting crowd; we may not  have gotten on.

Just then we stopped next to the crowd which filled the bus in seconds. We were very thankful that we had gotten on first and been able to select single seats along the window that allowed us to stack our packs next to us. We paid the bus matron who indicated that we had to pay separately for our backpacks. We assumed it was because they were so large, they were taking up a spot where 2 people would have stood. No matter, the entire bus ride from My Tho to Saigon had cost under $4.00 for both of us.

After another hour on the bus we entered a large traffic circle, and the bus stopped on the far side of the circle. We were immediately approached by motorcycle drivers offering rides. There was no bus station in sight. Presumably, we were near the bus station or they call this corner the station. Who knows, but this is very common in Asia. We negotiated a fare with 2 motorcycle drivers (20,000 Dong/$1.00 each) and had them take us to a guesthouse in District 1. We had no reservations, but we knew this area was full of reasonably priced guesthouses. After a short ride we turned into a very narrow alley, actually a street, and selected the 2nd guesthouse we toured. The cost was higher than usual, $18.00/night, but we were in a big city. We ate dinner, in the same alley, at a place named Asian Kitchen.