FROM EARACHE TO BUTTACHES AND A PSYCHO CYCLO
I’d left home with a mysterious earache which, thankfully, decided to leave me alone upon my arrival, but yesterday my ass was hurting so badly that I could barely stand it, let alone sit down comfortably. I discovered this when I climbed onto the back of a motorcycle for the umpteenth time since I arrived in Vietnam. I’d sworn I’d never do it – having more fear of the machines than I cared to admit. But I soon discovered it’s really the finest form of transportation here, as Kelly’d told me well in advance, and it not only makes you feel quite part of the bigger picture but gets you to your destination in much better time, ass aches notwithstanding. Please note that there are strict size regulations here – these so-called “motorcycles” are extremely small, just a notch above a motor-scooter, but absolutely ubiquitous. There are far more of them on the street than any other type of vehicle.
My own initial cycle experiences were in Saigon, on my first day, when I found myself unable to figure out how to get back to my hotel. Somehow the taxi drivers around me at that moment seemed a bit too seedy to be trusted. In my extensive research, I’d learned to try to stick to the yellow cabs – one of the few things in common between Saigon and Los Angeles along with the traffic and spread-out nature of the cities. But they just never seemed to be around. So, when a nice young man asked whether I’d like a moto ride, I decided to take a chance. Of course I balked momentarily when a rather grimy helmet materialized, seemingly out of thin air, and was presented to me in a “no if’s, and’s or but’s” fashion. This was the first true test of how well my OCD meds were working and, thankfully, I passed it, carelessly throwing the protective gear onto my freshly washed hair as we sped away (apparently, helmets became law just days before my arrival). The ride was so fun – it took my mind far from my usual thoughts of who had worn the helmet before me and whether or not their hair was clean or lice infested (which I’d consider no matter where I was) and.. Well, you get the picture. Somehow I was able to avoid obsessing but, admittedly, I traveled armed with handy wipes for the duration of the trip .
As we whizzed and wound our way through the city, I thought, “Wow, this is definitely the thing too do. I felt at one with the hundreds of other moto riders all around me and certain that could easily grab hold of their hands if I tried. Smiles were aplenty and the city was aglow with leftover holiday lights creating a veritable electrical sky overhead on the main streets (the sparkling Christmas décor is very over-the-top here). Everywhere I looked there were motorcycles pouring out of streets and avenues, but more in a gliding fashion – very orderly really, streams of them running into each other at intersections yet managing to yield and keep everyone safe, -- perhaps thanks to all the beeps warning others of one’s relative location -- that seemed to do the trick in terms of reducing the potential danger while adding to the noise level considerably – much like the tendancy in India to beep incessantly yet somehow it all seemed much less threatening here than it had there.
And so I’ve been riding – all around Saigon and elsewhere since.
Saigon was much fun as I’d been introduced to various people via LA friends (many thanks!). First off, friends Brian and Nga (pronounced “nyeah”) had given me some things to drop off to their friend, Tina (since she loves Tina Turner). As Nga, Brian’s wife, is Vietnamese, they’ve traveled here several times and had all sorts of fantastic suggestions which I followed rather religiously. Each one has added so much to the entire experience. My first hotel room in Saigon was really beautiful and had a great view of the river, (well, not that I paid for it but once I complained about the construction taking place RIGHT NEXT TO MY ROOM I was swiftly moved/upgraded). A huge complimentary buffet breakfast was served on an upper-floor terrace with sweeping views of the river, too (as I write this I’m watching a gecko moving ever closer to me across the wall of the LIVING ROOM – yes, living room, of my current abode, the gouverneur’s suite in the Victoria resort hotel, Siem Reap, Cambodia. Yes, once again, mega-upgraded! But more on that later…). The Saigon river is rather ugly, but there’s so much activity on it that the muck is soon forgotten and at night it shines with stripes of colored lights. As the boats pass through, their silhouettes appear to be changing color and those taking tourists on dining cruises light up to look like giant fish gliding across the water. My views offered such great photo ops – I could never be bored in this room and took some very yummy pics from that vantage point.
I spent my first day doing the necessary stuff: After visiting the ATM and learning about the kooky money and exchange rate, I had the requisite mani/pedi which I’d put off until that moment. Why visit my local Vietnamese nail shop when I could have the real thing? This highly recommended place was all it was promised to be – very quiet and relaxing and including a massage – I thought of just my feet but somehow they got most of my body and I was sitting the whole time. Next, I jumped into a cab and had him take me on a mini city tour, just to help me get my bearings. At 5:30, he brought me back to my hotel, just in time to meet Brian and Nga’s friend Tina to hand over her loot. I was glazing over with exhaustion at that point but it was really fun to meet her and well worth it. I have to say I truly believe she’s the prettiest Vietnamese girl I’ve ever seen and we got along famously. Since then, we’ve become great friends. She even loaned me a cell phone for the trip – something that’s come in VERY handy. We had coffee that night and planned to have dinner together the next.
Meanwhile, when I’d come back from my first venture into Saigon, I’d spotted a man and woman at the registration desk. She was too old to be anything other than his mother, and they looked alike as well. He was drop-dead gorgeous – tall, ¼ “ attachment hair, chiseled, and spoke with a lovely accent. After Tina left, I dipped into the hotel shop and was chatting non-stop with the Indian guy who ran it (we all know how I love those men from India but this one wasn’t really my thing which was a shame as, apparently, I was very much his). Suddenly, in walked the mother-son duo. I figured they were shopping, too, but he addressed ME! I couldn’t have been more shocked and chuffed, though I soon learned it wasn’t my buxom bod or green/blue eyes that had attracted him. Alas, he had noticed my little exclusive guide book called the Luxe guide, another great suggestion by Brian, andwas simply wondering whether he could copy mine as he’d lost his own. He was actually asking me to do it for him, which I found to be rather strange, though I was also not thinking straight at all and, jet-lag or not, as much as I hate to admit it, this dumbass will jump as high as a tall handsome man asks me to. By that time, my jet-lag was running me ‘round in circles and I felt I could pass out at any minute, -- like a drunken bridesmaid at a depressing wedding or a kid who’s too stoned to get up off the floor pillows (not that I’ve ever really experienced those things…), but of course I kept myself vertical to pass some time with His Handsomeness and, in the process of figuring out how to make the copy happen and finally just doing it together, I learned a great deal about him (the interest was definitely one-sided).
He was an Aussie who’d grown up on a huge ranch which was so big it could hold several LA’s insided it. I think he said it was 50,000 acres so do those statements make sense? I’m not one for quoting stats so I’m not quite sure. Anyway, somehow he’d parlayed the outback ranching life into International investment banking and is currently Head of all of Citibank’s Asian investment banking offices (or some such thing), living in Hong Kong and traveling constantly all over Asia. Hot chick in every port? I’d bet on it. I certainly couldn’t tell if he was married or had a girlfriend, but didn’t spot a ring nor did he mention anyone in particular besides a “friend”. One thing that WAS extremely clear was this: once he got what he wanted from me (my guide), he was much less friendly, to the point that it was ridiculously obvious and rude, to the point of discomfort. Case in point: The hotel gave me a free dinner to make up for the noise near my room, and as I was eating, they showed up, but didn’t ask me to join them, nor did they ask the other numerous times I ran into them. This is really rare when I travel on my own – anyone I’ve had contact with, especially someone I’ve helped out in some way, goes out of their way to invite me. Well! All I can say is.. YUCK. FINE. DIDN’T WANT TO HANG WITH THE LIKES OF YOU ANYWAY! So there..
The next day all about shopping – at least mostly. I spent the morning in the huge market that features everything from fruit to candy and clothing – a covered market that lacked the usual icky ambiguous items and frightening fish and fowl offerings that most others featured so proudly. Those were tough as the smell and mess were treacherous, and I always shuddered to think what was getting caked to my shoes, which were often sandals until I learned not to wear them. But that was later on in the adventure. Here in Saigon, the central market was a tough experience mainly because the ladies were serious sales people – sitting with their wares around them and talking on their phones (the old plugged-in kind), cutting deals and flashing toothless smiles, blocking their faces as I tried to capture them with my camera but laughing about it as opposed to letting it upset them. The so-called bargains weren’t as easy to come by as legend had it, but walking away with feigned disinterest usually turned the situation around. I did well, scoring a cool green daypack for $8, a beautiful handbag for the same price (sells in LA for over $100), and various other odds and ends, while snapping photos of elderly men and women with amazing faces and smiles that kept their difficult pasts very well hidden. Such lovely people.
Next I decided to go to a restaurant where they serve only one dish – cha ca – which is “snakehead fish” (a bit like eel but not and found everywhere in this country) served with dill sauce and various herbs and other fresh compliments. As I stood outside the market trying to decide which mode of transportation to take (as the restaurant was only open until 2 and it was almost 1), the nearby cyclo rider (this is basically a bicycle with a seat comfortable seat attached to it – the slowest way to get around the city) said he knew where it was and it was close and cheap to get there. Now I’d been warned not to take a cyclo, especially on a hot day (which is ridiculous as all days are hot, sunny or not), but the guy just wouldn’t let it go and insisted it was an easy trip. Also, I thought it’d be fun to experience the cyclo one time in Saigon so I got in and we rode and rode and rode and rode and at one pt I got off and said I’d had it – time was rushing by and there would soon be no way to get there on time. Not to mention the fact that I now had a different driver as my older one had traded places with a young buck when he felt as though he might keel over (though they did it on the sly -- I didn't even notice!) so there was no longer a payment agreed to. Charming. But again, the (now) psycho cyclo insisted and after an hour of huffing and puffing, we finally pulled up in front of the place, with scarcely 10 minutes to spare, at which moment he demanded 500,000 dong – something like $25 or more (I’m sans calculator right now). What a shock. I refused, saying I’d give him 100,000 – much more than most would give for the ride, but though I ran into the restaurant which was, at this point, empty, and they proceeded to create this cha ca meal I’d been dreaming of, the psycho cyclo remained outside, howling like a wolf and demanding, per the girls helping me who were translating, that I give him the 500,000 or he wouldn’t leave. In fact, he gave BACK the 100,000, claiming it was an insult and that he wouldn’t accept it. Now had the girls in the restaurant told me that it was proper and correct for him to ask me for that amount, I’d have given it to him with no hesitation, but they laughed at the notion and even more when I told them the story of how I’d been coerced into taking the cyclo in the first place and then ended up with a different one in the end, etc.
Meanwhile, my food arrived, and it was all I’d hoped it would be – extremely fresh and flavorful, without too much spice but with tons of delicious herbs to add to it at my discretion. AND psycho cyclo was still out there, howling away, like the chilling sound coyotes when they’ve pounced upon a small animal. But eventually, realizing I wasn’t giving in, he informed the girls from the restaurant (Cha ca Hanoi though it’s in Saigon) that he’d accept the 100,000 dong, so I presented it to them to give to him and he finally left us in peace.
To be continued…
I’d left home with a mysterious earache which, thankfully, decided to leave me alone upon my arrival, but yesterday my ass was hurting so badly that I could barely stand it, let alone sit down comfortably. I discovered this when I climbed onto the back of a motorcycle for the umpteenth time since I arrived in Vietnam. I’d sworn I’d never do it – having more fear of the machines than I cared to admit. But I soon discovered it’s really the finest form of transportation here, as Kelly’d told me well in advance, and it not only makes you feel quite part of the bigger picture but gets you to your destination in much better time, ass aches notwithstanding. Please note that there are strict size regulations here – these so-called “motorcycles” are extremely small, just a notch above a motor-scooter, but absolutely ubiquitous. There are far more of them on the street than any other type of vehicle.
My own initial cycle experiences were in Saigon, on my first day, when I found myself unable to figure out how to get back to my hotel. Somehow the taxi drivers around me at that moment seemed a bit too seedy to be trusted. In my extensive research, I’d learned to try to stick to the yellow cabs – one of the few things in common between Saigon and Los Angeles along with the traffic and spread-out nature of the cities. But they just never seemed to be around. So, when a nice young man asked whether I’d like a moto ride, I decided to take a chance. Of course I balked momentarily when a rather grimy helmet materialized, seemingly out of thin air, and was presented to me in a “no if’s, and’s or but’s” fashion. This was the first true test of how well my OCD meds were working and, thankfully, I passed it, carelessly throwing the protective gear onto my freshly washed hair as we sped away (apparently, helmets became law just days before my arrival). The ride was so fun – it took my mind far from my usual thoughts of who had worn the helmet before me and whether or not their hair was clean or lice infested (which I’d consider no matter where I was) and.. Well, you get the picture. Somehow I was able to avoid obsessing but, admittedly, I traveled armed with handy wipes for the duration of the trip .
As we whizzed and wound our way through the city, I thought, “Wow, this is definitely the thing too do. I felt at one with the hundreds of other moto riders all around me and certain that could easily grab hold of their hands if I tried. Smiles were aplenty and the city was aglow with leftover holiday lights creating a veritable electrical sky overhead on the main streets (the sparkling Christmas décor is very over-the-top here). Everywhere I looked there were motorcycles pouring out of streets and avenues, but more in a gliding fashion – very orderly really, streams of them running into each other at intersections yet managing to yield and keep everyone safe, -- perhaps thanks to all the beeps warning others of one’s relative location -- that seemed to do the trick in terms of reducing the potential danger while adding to the noise level considerably – much like the tendancy in India to beep incessantly yet somehow it all seemed much less threatening here than it had there.
And so I’ve been riding – all around Saigon and elsewhere since.
Saigon was much fun as I’d been introduced to various people via LA friends (many thanks!). First off, friends Brian and Nga (pronounced “nyeah”) had given me some things to drop off to their friend, Tina (since she loves Tina Turner). As Nga, Brian’s wife, is Vietnamese, they’ve traveled here several times and had all sorts of fantastic suggestions which I followed rather religiously. Each one has added so much to the entire experience. My first hotel room in Saigon was really beautiful and had a great view of the river, (well, not that I paid for it but once I complained about the construction taking place RIGHT NEXT TO MY ROOM I was swiftly moved/upgraded). A huge complimentary buffet breakfast was served on an upper-floor terrace with sweeping views of the river, too (as I write this I’m watching a gecko moving ever closer to me across the wall of the LIVING ROOM – yes, living room, of my current abode, the gouverneur’s suite in the Victoria resort hotel, Siem Reap, Cambodia. Yes, once again, mega-upgraded! But more on that later…). The Saigon river is rather ugly, but there’s so much activity on it that the muck is soon forgotten and at night it shines with stripes of colored lights. As the boats pass through, their silhouettes appear to be changing color and those taking tourists on dining cruises light up to look like giant fish gliding across the water. My views offered such great photo ops – I could never be bored in this room and took some very yummy pics from that vantage point.
I spent my first day doing the necessary stuff: After visiting the ATM and learning about the kooky money and exchange rate, I had the requisite mani/pedi which I’d put off until that moment. Why visit my local Vietnamese nail shop when I could have the real thing? This highly recommended place was all it was promised to be – very quiet and relaxing and including a massage – I thought of just my feet but somehow they got most of my body and I was sitting the whole time. Next, I jumped into a cab and had him take me on a mini city tour, just to help me get my bearings. At 5:30, he brought me back to my hotel, just in time to meet Brian and Nga’s friend Tina to hand over her loot. I was glazing over with exhaustion at that point but it was really fun to meet her and well worth it. I have to say I truly believe she’s the prettiest Vietnamese girl I’ve ever seen and we got along famously. Since then, we’ve become great friends. She even loaned me a cell phone for the trip – something that’s come in VERY handy. We had coffee that night and planned to have dinner together the next.
Meanwhile, when I’d come back from my first venture into Saigon, I’d spotted a man and woman at the registration desk. She was too old to be anything other than his mother, and they looked alike as well. He was drop-dead gorgeous – tall, ¼ “ attachment hair, chiseled, and spoke with a lovely accent. After Tina left, I dipped into the hotel shop and was chatting non-stop with the Indian guy who ran it (we all know how I love those men from India but this one wasn’t really my thing which was a shame as, apparently, I was very much his). Suddenly, in walked the mother-son duo. I figured they were shopping, too, but he addressed ME! I couldn’t have been more shocked and chuffed, though I soon learned it wasn’t my buxom bod or green/blue eyes that had attracted him. Alas, he had noticed my little exclusive guide book called the Luxe guide, another great suggestion by Brian, andwas simply wondering whether he could copy mine as he’d lost his own. He was actually asking me to do it for him, which I found to be rather strange, though I was also not thinking straight at all and, jet-lag or not, as much as I hate to admit it, this dumbass will jump as high as a tall handsome man asks me to. By that time, my jet-lag was running me ‘round in circles and I felt I could pass out at any minute, -- like a drunken bridesmaid at a depressing wedding or a kid who’s too stoned to get up off the floor pillows (not that I’ve ever really experienced those things…), but of course I kept myself vertical to pass some time with His Handsomeness and, in the process of figuring out how to make the copy happen and finally just doing it together, I learned a great deal about him (the interest was definitely one-sided).
He was an Aussie who’d grown up on a huge ranch which was so big it could hold several LA’s insided it. I think he said it was 50,000 acres so do those statements make sense? I’m not one for quoting stats so I’m not quite sure. Anyway, somehow he’d parlayed the outback ranching life into International investment banking and is currently Head of all of Citibank’s Asian investment banking offices (or some such thing), living in Hong Kong and traveling constantly all over Asia. Hot chick in every port? I’d bet on it. I certainly couldn’t tell if he was married or had a girlfriend, but didn’t spot a ring nor did he mention anyone in particular besides a “friend”. One thing that WAS extremely clear was this: once he got what he wanted from me (my guide), he was much less friendly, to the point that it was ridiculously obvious and rude, to the point of discomfort. Case in point: The hotel gave me a free dinner to make up for the noise near my room, and as I was eating, they showed up, but didn’t ask me to join them, nor did they ask the other numerous times I ran into them. This is really rare when I travel on my own – anyone I’ve had contact with, especially someone I’ve helped out in some way, goes out of their way to invite me. Well! All I can say is.. YUCK. FINE. DIDN’T WANT TO HANG WITH THE LIKES OF YOU ANYWAY! So there..
The next day all about shopping – at least mostly. I spent the morning in the huge market that features everything from fruit to candy and clothing – a covered market that lacked the usual icky ambiguous items and frightening fish and fowl offerings that most others featured so proudly. Those were tough as the smell and mess were treacherous, and I always shuddered to think what was getting caked to my shoes, which were often sandals until I learned not to wear them. But that was later on in the adventure. Here in Saigon, the central market was a tough experience mainly because the ladies were serious sales people – sitting with their wares around them and talking on their phones (the old plugged-in kind), cutting deals and flashing toothless smiles, blocking their faces as I tried to capture them with my camera but laughing about it as opposed to letting it upset them. The so-called bargains weren’t as easy to come by as legend had it, but walking away with feigned disinterest usually turned the situation around. I did well, scoring a cool green daypack for $8, a beautiful handbag for the same price (sells in LA for over $100), and various other odds and ends, while snapping photos of elderly men and women with amazing faces and smiles that kept their difficult pasts very well hidden. Such lovely people.
Next I decided to go to a restaurant where they serve only one dish – cha ca – which is “snakehead fish” (a bit like eel but not and found everywhere in this country) served with dill sauce and various herbs and other fresh compliments. As I stood outside the market trying to decide which mode of transportation to take (as the restaurant was only open until 2 and it was almost 1), the nearby cyclo rider (this is basically a bicycle with a seat comfortable seat attached to it – the slowest way to get around the city) said he knew where it was and it was close and cheap to get there. Now I’d been warned not to take a cyclo, especially on a hot day (which is ridiculous as all days are hot, sunny or not), but the guy just wouldn’t let it go and insisted it was an easy trip. Also, I thought it’d be fun to experience the cyclo one time in Saigon so I got in and we rode and rode and rode and rode and at one pt I got off and said I’d had it – time was rushing by and there would soon be no way to get there on time. Not to mention the fact that I now had a different driver as my older one had traded places with a young buck when he felt as though he might keel over (though they did it on the sly -- I didn't even notice!) so there was no longer a payment agreed to. Charming. But again, the (now) psycho cyclo insisted and after an hour of huffing and puffing, we finally pulled up in front of the place, with scarcely 10 minutes to spare, at which moment he demanded 500,000 dong – something like $25 or more (I’m sans calculator right now). What a shock. I refused, saying I’d give him 100,000 – much more than most would give for the ride, but though I ran into the restaurant which was, at this point, empty, and they proceeded to create this cha ca meal I’d been dreaming of, the psycho cyclo remained outside, howling like a wolf and demanding, per the girls helping me who were translating, that I give him the 500,000 or he wouldn’t leave. In fact, he gave BACK the 100,000, claiming it was an insult and that he wouldn’t accept it. Now had the girls in the restaurant told me that it was proper and correct for him to ask me for that amount, I’d have given it to him with no hesitation, but they laughed at the notion and even more when I told them the story of how I’d been coerced into taking the cyclo in the first place and then ended up with a different one in the end, etc.
Meanwhile, my food arrived, and it was all I’d hoped it would be – extremely fresh and flavorful, without too much spice but with tons of delicious herbs to add to it at my discretion. AND psycho cyclo was still out there, howling away, like the chilling sound coyotes when they’ve pounced upon a small animal. But eventually, realizing I wasn’t giving in, he informed the girls from the restaurant (Cha ca Hanoi though it’s in Saigon) that he’d accept the 100,000 dong, so I presented it to them to give to him and he finally left us in peace.
To be continued…
