I realize that I’m devoting a lot of time to food here. That’s probably because we haven’t be going out to “see the sites.” Yonna has been living various parts of Ho Chi Minh since about 1992, and so far hasn’t indicated that there is much to see in the way of tourism other than the city itself. And I would argue that the most import part of any city is the food it offers. Then again, I like food.

So when we finally made it out yesterday it was well into lunch time. After our short stop at Như Lan yesterday, I was curious to go back and try the food, as it had looked very good in a simple, unpretentious way. We both got plates of rice with meat (I’m guessing pork, but I didn’t ask) mixed into a salad of both cooked and raw vegetables (and I still haven’t needed to use the Cipro). As we were eating, and sharing another glass of custard apple drink, a few employees sat down nearby to eat their lunches. Yonna struck up a conversation immediately (she’s one of those kind of people). One of the guys had a bowl full of what looked like little radishes that he kept adding to his main plate. Yonna ordered some for us too. She said they were “cracker eggplants” because when you bite into them, all of the little seeds crunch in your mouth. These were pickled, and really tastey.

We finished and I wandered around, checking out the cakes in the refrigerator cases. Most were birthday cakes featuring animals (a lot of mice, to coincide with the Chinese year of the mouse).

I snapped a few more pictures of the shop, including the sandwich-making station. And on our way out we bought a little mini-cake to try later.

But as we were leaving, Yonna asked if I wanted to try Vietnamese Milk Coffee. I said I’d love to, and asked where we should go for some. She turned around, went back into the shop and sat down. We ordered the coffee and decided to try our cake, as well as some local sweets made from a chewy gelatin with shredded coconut and sweet bean paste inside.

As we were enjoying our dessert, I realized that there was a heated arguement going on a few feet away. A customer was apparently very upset about something and was letting the employees know. I was surprised when Yonna suddenly joined in, saying something to the irrate customer. He continued to rail at the employees for a few more seconds and then wandered off.

Yonna explained that he was upset because the wait staff had been much more attentive to us than to him. Basically he was saying “everytime she asks for something you run straight over to get it for her, but I have to wait.”

It’s true. When Yonna wants something she calls out “Hey, younger sister!” quite loudly, and she doesn’t stop until someone comes to see what she wants. While I’ve read that this isn’t considered rude in Vietnam, I have to say, I don’t see anyone doing it with quite the same vigor. I’m hoping that some of this assertiveness will rub off on me.

We left a second time, and grabbed a passing cab. There is a constant supply of modern, clean, air-conditioned cabs circulating throughout the city, and with extremely low rates. If the meter reads less than 15,000 dong you can give the driver a single US dollar bill. Yonna wanted to take me into a neighboring district to see the sprawling Chinese Market. I tried to take some video with my camera, because I can’t possibly describe the insanity that is driving in this city, but every time I started the video, we would hit a well-regulated segment of the street, with boring results. And then my battery died.

We didn’t stay long at the market. I had not planned to be out longer than it took to eat and get some water, so I hadn’t dressed for the oppressive closeness inside the crowded marketplace. We decided to come back tomorrow (which is actually today, even though it’s nearly 1pm and Yonna is still sleeping). So I’ll bring my camera today, fully charged, and hopefully have some really interesting images to upload.

After a little work in the afternoon, we went back out and walked along the Saigon River (well, you can’t actually walk along it because the entire riverfront is closed for construction in most of District 1) to get some Indian food for dinner. The restaurant was very fancy, and yet among the well dressed patrons there were a number of young Americans and Brits sitting around in their t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops. The food was amazing (and un-photographed, since the camera was still charging, but who doesn’t know what Indian food looks like?) and while familiar, definately had different flavors than I’m used to in the US. We ordered two entrees: Bhinda Masala (the okra was grilled!) and vegetable curry, two lassis and two naan and two chai after dinner, and the total was about $17. (And there’s no tipping in Vietnam…at least, Yonna said there isn’t.)

As we walked home, Yonna pointed out the French language school (started by the French government) where a theatrical performance had just ended. We walked in and watched them striking the set. It looked like a European bedroom circa 1950. Yonna said that she really likes the old French style with the Vietnamese flavor. I asked what about it made it French style, as it didn’t look particilary French to me. What followed was a 15 minute discussion, that nearly became an arguement. It turns out that in Japanese, a phrase like “French Style” doesn’t apply only to architecture or color or some physical attribute, but to all of the things that take place in the building, the architecture, the lighting inside, the pictures on the wall, the purpose and uses of it, etc. This led to an hour-long discussion of language and word origins, philosophy and science. But like I said, the camera was still charging, so no photos.

I’ve been running about a day behind on my entries. Mostly because the last two have taken over two hours apeice to put together (surprising, I know, based on the quality of the writing). I probably shouldn’t spend so much time in Photoshop resizing and adjusting the levels of the photos.

Looking back over what I’ve posted so far, I realize that it’s barely scratched the surface of my experiences. For example, I haven’t really mentioned how hot and humid it is here, and how that means making as few trips as possible up to the 5th floor (technically 6th). Basically once we leave, we stay out all day. I also haven’t mentioned that Yonna is perfectly happy with the apartment being 90° most of the time, which seriously impacts the operation of my brain and my laptop.

It’s 6:30am now, and I’ve been up for the last hour or two, catching up on news from the US, the stock market, my credit card statements, etc. I’m about to start into a day of work. So I probably won’t leave the apartment except to get some food and cold water.

I worked most of the day yesterday too. So not much happened. When we did step out, I snapped a couple of pictures of the side street and alley leading up to the apartment building.

These are the views from the end of the alley, looking left and right respectively.

I didn’t think to take a photo straight ahead for some reason. There’s a car repair shop directly across from the alley.

We were headed to a late lunch at an Indian restaurant yesterday, but we arrived too late and they were closing until dinner. Apparently most places close around 2-2:30. So we walked to a restaurant that caters to Western tourists who stay at the upscale hotels nearby. Apparently, it’s Yonna’s mom’s favorite place to eat in Vietnam because she can get steak. In fact they have everything from eggs and bacon to hamburgers. We split an order of stir-fried seafood and vegetables and a Chinese sausage clay pot. The food was pretty good, but I’m really starting to miss the ubiquitous glass of ice water that gets constantly refilled in most restaurants in the US. I think I’ve lost 10 pounds since I’ve arrived, purely through dehydration.

As we wandered back in the general direction of the apartment, we stopped at Như Lan, a bakery that has been around since the French colonial period. We weren’t hungry, but Yonna introduced me to a drink made from Custard Apple. It was basically a smoothie made from a very delicious (and custardy) apple. The shop is open 24 hours, and offers full meals and ready-to-eat food to take away.

And before publishing this and moving on to work, I have to say for all its flaws, sometimes technology can really help you put things into perspective.

After another late start we decided to head to the Internet café Yonna frequents. It’s in what I would call the ‘financial district’ of Ho Chi Minh’s District 1. She called a cab for us and we carried our shoes down to the entrance of her building, put them on outside, and the cab was already waiting for us.

The café is Italian, and serves food. I had a rolled sandwich of arugula and Gorgonzola. I needed to do some work for a client (I’m a little behind on my work schedule, oops), but in the short time I was connected to the wi-fi, I got two notifications from my antivirus software that my machine was being attacked. I decided against anything that would require sending passwords, which ruled out the work I was planning to do.

The café was filled with Westerners, since it was too expensive for the average local. Most of these people work for companies who have moved branches into Vietnam in the last 10 years. It was a little depressing.

Yonna explained some of the Vietnamese pronouns to me. I noticed that she used “em” with  our waitress. This means “younger sister or brother.” With women who are contemporaries or slightly older, she uses “chi,” which means “older sister.” When speaking of herself she also used “em.” When the waiter started to take away a plate she said “em dang ăn” (“younger sister is still eating”) to tell him she wasn’t done yet. I started to realize how nice this arrangement is. Everyone in Vietnam is your sister, brother, grandmother or grandfather.

Throughout lunch I’d been trying to forget that Yonna had made appointments for us at a Seitai massage studio she likes to visit. After the nearly unbearable pain of the previous day’s foot ‘massage,’ I was honestly dreading this new experience. The little I knew of Japanese massage told me that it was going to be painful. Yonna didn’t reassure me we she told me how people tend to cry out in pain during the process, but feel so much better afterwards. Yes, I was dreading the experience.

During the cab ride on the way to the studio, I noticed that a lot of the scooters around the car were carrying not just one or two people, but entire families, including very young children. And it looks like the new helmet law doesn’t apply to them.

We arrived at the studio, which was elegantly decorated, and very impressive. We were taken up a few flights of stairs by the hostess, and I was introduced to Kitahori Shinji, the Seitai Master. He handed me his business card in the two-handed, Japanese fashion. I took it from him correctly, but stupidly forgot to say my own name back. But he was extremely nice, and we all laughed about it; I felt much of my anxiety disappear. Yonna translated as he asked me some questions about existing pain or historical problems with my frame. He noticed right away that I had been pigeon-toed and treated for this as a child. He said that I was still carrying my weight unevenly as a result.

As he began to work on me, there was some minor discomfort here and there, but nothing in comparison to the foot ordeal the day before. I know nothing about massage or chiropractic therapy, but I could tell he was a master. He warned me before doing anything that was certain to cause pain, and then we both laughed after the excruciating bits were done.

When he finished all of my joints felt more free and loose than I can ever remember.  He then worked on Yonna, who seemed to find it more painful than I did, even though she comes here regularly. I am looking forward to going back.

Another cab ride brought us to a street lined with electronics shops. Each shop was small, but very tidy and organized, with all of the latest hardware and accessories for computers. I saw 4GB USB sticks for under $25. After stopping in a few places, we walked into a shop where the owner was just making the final preparations for his grand opening the next day. He was very friendly, and sold the adapter for less than we had expected to pay for it. Yonna explained that when a new business opens, or on the first day of the new year, or even the beginning of the business day, the first customer is very important, and the “right customer” can bring luck. While women aren’t particularly lucky, a foreign woman might be considered lucky. A prestigious older man would be ideal.

As we walked out of this collection of shops we passed a restaurant that was mostly open to the street. Yonna ordered some food for us while I sat down.

She explained that what looked like a slice of loaf was something like quiche, containing “pig’s ear,” mushroom, pork and fermented shrimp paste and eggs. I wasn’t paying very close attention, and assumed that “pig’s ear” was the variety of mushroom. After eating a bite or two, I asked if this was vegetarian. “No! I said it has pig’s ear in.” She later told me that the variety of mushroom used actually translates to “Jew’s ear.” Good lord, the possibilities for unhappiness.

On the way out I noticed some bowls of meat waiting to be charcoal grilled. They were sitting there on the street. Probably wouldn’t pass muster with a US health inspector.

At the end of that block we came to a shop selling motor-scooter helmets. The law was passed in December of 2007, and already there was this amazing variety of helmets to choose from.

Just around the corner was a little produce stall. Yonna was surprised to see prices on display. Generally you have to ask the price of everything, and depending on whether you are a foreigner or a local, you will get a higher or lower price. So to see fixed prices like this is unusual.

We watched as a man open a durain for a customer and packaged it in plastic for her. Yonna asked if I’d ever eaten durain. I’ve seen them, but never eaten one, so we went ahead and asked him to prepare one for us too. It was surprisingly tough to open, even for a seasoned pro, as evidenced by the husks on the ground.

But after a few minutes, and one false start with an unripe fruit, he had it open, and packaged the meat up for us.

I won’t really try too hard to describe the flavor. Yonna said it was like ice cream. I think that if they made fried-chicken ice cream she might be right. Definitely sweet and creamy, with banana undertones, but something savory going on too. Completely unique. The smell on the other hand…There’s nothing pleasant about the smell, especially after a night in the refrigerator.

We left the market and waded through the river of motor-scooters. It turns out that crossing the street isn’t so bad. You just have to wait for an opening and then move cautiously, but with a constant speed, so that the drivers can plot a course around you. It works surpisingly well.

Suddenly I was insanely thirsty. The kind of thirst where you can think of nothing but opening a bottle of cold water and drinking it all in one gulp. The problem is that cold water isn’t easy to find. A lot of people sell bottled water on the sidewalk, but it is usually warm. I’d paid 7,000 for 1.5 liters of water the day before (about $.55) but today everyone was asking 10,000 dong. For some reason I just couldn’t bring myself to spend that extra quarter. Then Yonna mentioned that there is a little market near her place. It’s a Western-style market that a lot of foreigners living in the area go to. I immediately pictured refrigerator cases full of cold water, and could think of nothing but getting to this market.

During the entire cab ride I couldn’t pay attention to anything else, I was so fixated on the mental image of opening a water bottle and drinking. So I was thrilled to walk into the market and see chilled water…and for only 6,000 dong! I bought it as fast as I could, ran outside and fumbled with the plastic seal for what seemed like hours.

But finally I was rewarded with cold water. And I’m not ashamed to admit how much I needed it.

So I arrived at Ho Chi Minh airport shortly after 11pm and approached passport control with some trepidation, but made it through with no questions asked.

The airport is brand new, and just as generic as Tokyo-Narita. In fact it was built by the Japanese as part of their Overseas Development Aid program.

Yonna was supposed to arrive 30 minutes before me (from Hong Kong), and told me to wait for her. I was trying not dwell on what would happen if she had missed her flight. But as I approached the baggage carousel for my flight, I saw her waiting with her own bags. What a relief. We went through customs together (our bags were fed through a large machine) and stepped out into the thick, humid air of Vietnam. It was approaching midnight, and yet there was a massive crowd of people pressed against barricades, waiting for friends and family to arrive. I was too overwhelmed to get a photo at the time, but as we waited for a taxi, I snapped this.

The 15-minute ride was astonishing. The predominate mode of transportation in the city is the motor-scooter. They are everywhere, and they out-number cars by at least five to one. They also go slower than the cars, and everyone is weaving in and out of their lanes. This leads the car drivers to use their horns almost constantly, just to make their presence known.

As I mentioned in my last post (from two nights ago), I got in, showered off 24 hours of travel, and went to bed. But not before taking in the view from Yonna’s kitchen window. She lives on the top floor (5th) of her building, and there is no elevator.

The next morning I put together this less-than-stellar panoramic mosaic of the same view.

This is the Death Racket:

It’s a bug zapper built into a tennis racket, and it’s rechargeable. There’s a flashlight in the handle to attract the mosquitoes, and lure them to their loud, flashing death. It is used before bed, and there are always one or two satisfying snaps and flashes in the dark.

When I was finally able to drag myself out of bed, it was after noon, and time for lunch. We made our way out of the building, and into the small side street where Yonna’s building is located. Before getting into the cab, I saw a number of street vendors squatting and selling food to locals and a couple of barbers cutting hair on the sidewalk. But as soon as the cab pulled onto a main road it was all about motorbikes and horns again.

We stopped at a restaurant, and the taxi let us off across the street. I then learned that crossing a street in Vietnam means stepping out in front of a river of motorbikes and hoping for the best.

Yonna took me to a wonderful restaurant serving a huge variety of local “street food.” I’m not going to try to name any of the following dishes. But they tasted as good as, or better, than they look:

It was so easy having someone there to order, chat with the wait staff, and catch the 40,000-dong error on the bill (about $3). The total bill was 180,000 dong, just a bit over $10.

From the restaurant we walked to the central part of Ho Chi Minh District 1 (the central district of the city). I stopped to take the requisite “oh look at the authentic apartment building” shot.

A few blocks further, and we were in the posh, heavily-touristed center, where shops offered art and designer clothing.

Our destination was Royal Massage, where Yonna introduced me to the foot massage. She convinced me that this would be so relaxing, I would be able to sleep for the 90-minute massage that cost about $15. She ordered a young woman for me, and opted for a guy with big hands for herself. We sat side-by-side in a row of overstuffed chairs, along with about 10 other people (many Westerners).

The massage was focused on the feet, but started with the application of scented oils to the perimeter of the scalp as my feet were soaked in very hot water. Then each foot was — well, to put into bluntly — attacked with pointy little fingers. I began to understand why a man with big hands would have been better. As my masseuse was digging her bony knuckles into my tender foot-flesh, I couldn’t keep my mind from drifting to he recent “waterboarding” discussions going on in the US. I think I might have preferred a little waterboarding to the intense pain I was experiencing. All I could think of was “this goes on for 90 minutes? and I’m supposed to fall asleep?”

Well, the torture didn’t go on for 90 minutes. I survived, and my feet actually feel pretty good. After the foot attack, there was a less viscious working-over of the hands, legs, shoulders and arms, then some vigorous pounding on the skull with a small fist (that went on for too long). And finally I was brought out of the chair, turned and sat forward in the “bracing for a crash” position from the airline safety manuals as my tiny attacker climbed on a stool and brought all of her weight down onto various parts of my back, through her elbows, knees, or maybe it was a set of steak knives.

As I hobbled out, wondering if my body would recover from the assault, Yonna asked if I had slept. “You slept through that?” I asked. She had. Next time I’m going with big-hands guy too.

It was starting to get dark, and we decided to visit the market before heading home. We passed an advertisement for the recently-passed helmet law.

I didn’t want to draw the comparison to the image and the way my skull felt after the “massage.”

The market was inside a building with many openings to the outside, but the humidity and crowds made it a trial. It was too overwhelming to take in at once. I won’t even try to describe it. Plus I was half-asleep by this time.

Dinner was a vegetarian roll and a small salmon roll at a sushi bar near Yonna’s place. Then more sleep.

It’s now noon, and I’m just getting ready to head out for another (hopefully longer) day of exploring.

I made it. I’m too tired to write anything now. It’s 1:45am here. I’ve showered and I’m going to sleep for about 16 hours.

I’m at Tokyo-Narita now. My flight for Ho Chi Minh boards in about 80 minutes.

I forgot that today was Presidents’ Day, so I got off a late start, since the BART was running on its holiday schedule. But I still made it to SFO by 9:15am, with a 10:50 flight out. And amazingly, there was no one at the All Nippon Airline counter. I mean no one. I walked right up and handed over my passport.

When the nice woman at the counter disappeared for a few minutes to check something with my Vietnam visa, I didn’t think much of it. But then she came back with a managerial-looking man, who asked me if I realized that my visa was due to expire seven days before my flight out of Vietnam. He informed me in the politest way possible that they would definately turn me away at customs in Vietnam, and I would have to return on the next available flight. I was dumbfounded. After all, when I filled out my application for the visa, I clearly stated my travel dates. I guess I’m learning a lot about Vietnam before I’ve even set foot there.

The people at ANA were extremely helpful, and booked me an earlier flight out of Vietnam, explaining that once I’d cleared customs and extended my visa, I could cancel the new flight and go back to my original booking. With any luck, this will be the only hitch associated with getting into Vietnam.

The flight itself wasn’t bad at all, once I discovered the secret of the hidden screen controller…

Once I discovered this device, I was able to enjoy on-demand movies and games. The 10-hour flight felt more like a flight back to Chicago. And there was plenty of food.

That first meal was served shortly after take-off. It was stir-fried pork in ginger sauce with rice, and noodles with “noodle sauce” which my neighbor slurped merrily. Desert was an individual-sized Hagen Daz (not shown). The second meal was served about eight hours into the flight, shortly after the stewardess came through announcing “Ohayou gozaimasu” (Good morning). Oddly, it consisted of rice mixed with bits of squid, clams, and fake crab-stuff, all covered in what tasted something like cheddar-cheese sauce. (Yes, mom…I ate it. OK, only half of it.) I did finish the strawberry yogurt though.

Here’s a better shot of the squidy-rice, just to make my Mom uneasy:

We also flew over that long, dangly bit that sticks out from Alaska.

Finally we began our descent into Narita, and I was a bit dissapointed to see what could easily have been any Midwestern suburb (but with a lot more golf courses).

The airport is similarly generic. But at least I’ve had a chance to use my scant Japanese here.

Somehow this morning, on the day I’m traveling for 24 straight hours, I forgot to use deodorant. I was horrified when I realized this. I have nightmares about being stinky in Asia. I’ve learned that Purell does not make an effective deodorant, although opening the container at 34,000 feet does result in a fun mess. So I found some Ban Roll-on in a little shop here in the airport, and I changed $100 into  ¥100,500 and set off to buy the ¥600 Ban. I was given one ¥100,000 bill. In the US, I would feel pretty awful about giving the clerk a $100 bill for a $6 purchase. So I approached the clerk, holding the box of Ban aloft in one hand, and the bill in the other and asked “iidesuka?” (Is it OK?).

It was OK. And now, no matter what happens at Vietnam customs in eight hours, I don’t have to worry about being stinky. 

My flight leaves in just over 11 hours. There are still a few things left to do, but I guess I’ll leave them for the morning.

I’m considering getting up at 6am and doing one last bike ride along the bay trail. It seems like a good idea, since I’m going to be sitting on airplanes for nearly 24 hours.

Yesterday I stopped by my bank and asked if they could sell me some Vietnamese currency. They only had $18 worth, so I bought it all. I now have 255,000₫ in my wallet. The Vietnamese currency is called “dong” (actually: đồng, which probably looks like a mess if you don’t have the right font packs installed on your computer). Aparently, this is just about half the average Vietnamese monthly salary.

Today I broke out my suitcase (which is really combination back-pack and wheelie bag) and took it into the “loading zone” in the living room. My cat immediately decided that it was the most comfortable looking thing in the apartment.

It wasn’t until I saw him in there that I realized how big he is, or how small the bag is. I guess it’s a little of both.

Over the course of the day I did laundry and packed. Eventually the bag was completely full of clothing and toiletries. Then I realized I hadn’t packed any extra shoes. I hate packing shoes. I wear a size 14EEEEE (yes, that’s five E), so a pair of my shoes takes up about 20% of that bag’s capacity.

On a side note: I was digging around in my closet and came up with a pair of shoes I had no idea I owned. I really like them, and plan on wearing them for the flight tomorrow (they’re slip-ons).  So in all, I have three pairs of massive shoes I want to take. I opted for a second, small bag that I can check. It will only contain shoes. There’s something extremely un-masculine about all of this.

Around 8:30, with packing 90% complete, I met up with Ginger and Sarah at the local pizza-and-pub, Lanesplitters.

It was a nice little going-away meet-up, and I’m hoping the beer will help me sleep.

I just got back from picking up up my passport with its shiny new Vietnam visa.

Now, I’m not going to let myself freak out about it too much, but the visa is only good until March 19. I specifically wrote March 26 on my visa application. I wouldn’t be too worried about it if I were just going to be hanging out in Vietnam for a week with an expired visa. The problem is that we had planned to come back from Laos just a day or two before heading to Japan on March 26.

I’m just going to put this out of mind for the time being and assume I can work out the details at some official office in Hanoi.

Last night I fell asleep listening to my Vietnamese lessons. I didn’t get very far. I’ve been staying up really late for the last week or two in order to get some work done before I leave. Most nights I haven’t been asleep before 3am. The problem is that for the last two weeks there’s been construction going on in the basement of my building (directly beneath my floor). The guys start working around 7:45am, so I’ve been averaging just under five hours of sleep a night.

I’m not sure what they are doing down there, but aside from what sounds (and feels) like pounding on the building’s structural supports with sledgehammers, they are clearly cutting the concrete floor up to update the drainage system.

So I didn’t get a lot of Vietnamese practice in last night, but I did go through three lessons today on my way to get the visa.

The fun thing about Vietnamese is that the English pronoun “you” doesn’t exist. Rather, I should say it exists in four (at least) forms, depending on the gender and age of the person you are talking to. So there is a different “you” for an older man, an older woman, a younger man and a younger woman (“ông,” “bà,” “anh,” and “cô” respectively). A quick glance at the Vietnamese pronouns entry on Wikipedia shows just how much more confusing it can get.

At least now I can say “Excuse me. Do you understand English? I understand a little Vietnamese, but not very well. I’m American.” More importantly, I can say “yes” and “no,” as well as “hello” and “good-bye.” I’m just working on “Please let me back into your country. I don’t know why your consulate screwed up my visa.”

Well, it still hasn’t really sunk in that a week from now I’ll be in Vietnam.

Tomorrow morning I go to the Vietnam Consulate in San Francisco to pick up my entry/exit visa. I went in last week and gave them my passport, a separate passport-size photo, and $90. I suspect the price of the visa changes depending on how long you’ll be there, and whether you’ll need multiple entries.

Last Friday I got my Typhoid shot and prescriptions for Doxcycline Hyclate (anti-Malaria), Ciprofloxacin (antibiotic) and Lorazepam (sweet, sweet anti-anxiety).

I have a little work to do before bed, but before I fall asleep I’m going listen to a couple of Pimsleur Basic Vietnamese lessons. So far I can’t really say much of anything aside from “Excuse me.” For some reason, Vietnamese doesn’t stick in my head the way Japanese does. I think because Vietnamese is a tonal language, so it’s not just about remembering new words, but also how to intonate them.