I'm not sure if I like Vietnam that much. Its beautiful, sure. But its also incredibly hot and noisy. Very much like India. (But I like India, mostly because of Indian food. Oh, and there is the fact that it is home.) I'm eating and drinking well, that's for sure.
Random thoughts...
Currency: The Vietnamese currency is called the Dong, something that cheers me up everytime I say it. They say Vietnam Dong here, not just Dong - perhaps because Dong means something else? - and for a while, I thought they shortened it to VD. (Which also amused me.) But no, its VND - Viet Nam Dong. (Every syllable is a word in Vietnamese.)
Oddly enough, the Vietnamese writing everywhere is in English script. Not sure if it is because they have no script, or because its really hard to read. Its odd to see teenagers at Internet cafes IM in Vietnamese using an English language keyboard.
Traffic: Is appropriately horrendous, again, very much like India. It took me over two days to figure out which side of the road they drive on here. (The answer is any which side they choose.) Lots of honking, lots of motorcycles, thankfully, apart from the big cities, few cars. My taxi ride into HCMC scared me deeply, but I think that's the 'shock and awe' campaign. Its been better since, or maybe I've embraced the possibility of dying horribly, squished by a giggling, wobbly teenager on a cycle.
My Son: Speaking of dying horribly, I woke up at 4.30am to go to My Son, a set of temples much like Angkor Wat in Cambodia, except a lot smaller. The Lonely Planet recommended getting there early, ahead of the tour buses, and I'm glad I took their advice; there were about 15 people at the same time as me, and it was quite enough. At the entrance, there was a nice concrete bridge over the river, and a rickety old bamboo bridge. Unfortunately, the concrete bridge was being worked on, so the guard gestured me towards the bamboo one.
Now - I am deathly afraid of heights. However, it wasn't a deep river, and the bridge wasn't very high - the worst thing that could have actually happened is that I would have gotten a little wet. And yet - I was petrified. I hugged the side, took very slow steps, and crossed over with shaking knees. (Onlookers must have thought it was the funniest sight ever.) I wanted to tell myself not to look down, but every so often, there'd be a bamboo slat missing. I wanted to tell myself that they would hardly suggest I cross if it wasn't safe - but then again, it was not like I could sue them if I fell. (Vietnam. C'mon.) I thought, in case I fell, that my story might make the press; and therefore they would have ensured the bridge was safe. Then again - 'Tourist gets a Dunking' is not a noteworthy headline.
As is clear, despite the drama, I reached the other side. My Son was appropriately peaceful (it was 6.30am - why wouldn't it be?) and impressive - I wandered among the ruins, took pictures, and hung out for a while.
Gender Roles: The women here appear to do all the work - the men sit and drink and play cards. Hey, its a good life if you can get it - but I think a rebellion is in order.
More later. I've essentially bought all of Hoi An, in an uncontrolled orgy of shopping, and I have to go pick up some clothes before the shop shuts.
Cheers - Reethi.
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