-^-for posterity-^-

this once strange place now feels like a warm glove. i realized it tonight when i was driving my bicycle.

i went to scavenge something to eat. there’s no other foreigner here at the moment and i’m having to go out gathering alone. i’ve been quite successful but don’t frequent or normal restaurants. i don’t really feel like going into a place, knowing everyone and sitting down with a book. i’ve never seen a vietnamese person do it and i’m not about to start a trend. i never was a good trend setter.

i found an old lady that sold roasted duck. she sells roasted duck sandwiches. she works out of a small, well lit stand on one of the main roads. the night is pitch black but her small cart lights the side of the road with “vit quay” written in large letters. there are a number of dead ducks hanging upside down without their heads. you can ask her for a sandwich and she will take out a large knife and chop off one of the dead duck’s legs. she then shears off the meat. the flesh is old and well cooked. i’m sure it has been sitting around for a few days. it peals off easily.

then she asks you what you want on it. do you want soy sauce. yes. do you want pickled vegetables. yes. do you want cucumbers. yes. do you want some sauce that isn’t familiar looking and you don’t understand the name when it’s pronounced. pause. yes. do you want chilies. of course.

she ties it up in an old newspaper. not the most hygienic setup but it’s delicious.

i drove home with my sandwich in my bicycle basket. i drove slowly and everyone passed me. four or five or six people shouted hello. i didn’t even flinch. i really didn’t notice some of the hello’s and only took note when i realized i hadn’t noticed initially.

i weaved through traffic. the night air is hot. it’s like the air coming out of the top of a toaster except it doesn’t smell like pop-tarts or bagels. the traffic ebbs and flows flawlessly. the motorcycles all felt normal passing me. the hoards of people on the sidewalks were also rather normal. the coffee shops blaring pop music filled in where they should have. the groups of dogs tied up with chains and the roosters all looked well and good.

i came to this place and nothing was sane. nothing was remotely familiar. the ways of traveling were mysterious. the amount of people was mind boggling. the homogeneity of it all was disturbing. the air was too hot and the food was too ricey. the language was a slurred sing-song mixture. i was uncomfortable with the culture and i was terribly uncomfortable with being so well known. i longed to be anonymous. nothing was right and my mind kept screaming at me to, “go home!”

i suppressed the screaming because i wanted to be here. having your body scream at you for a bit will do no one harm.

i do not understand the culture or the language or the ways of travel. i just have accepted that i will never understand. i’ve accepted that i’ll never be anonymous. i’ve accepted that i have to eat rice every day. i’ve accepted that every time i go out someone will shout “hello!” at me. i’ve accepted all of these things deep down in the subconscious of my mind. i only know i’ve accepted them because i don’t react in the same ways that i used to. i assume it’s all normal.