Taste of Saigon

Clayton found a tasting tour for us to do while in Vietnam and lightly explained it to Robert and I while we were in the office. I have to admit I was half listening as I agreed to it. I mean, it sounds like fun—you go around the city and try different foods and beers, what could go wrong? I guess nothing technically went ‘wrong’ but the tour certainly had some unexpected turns.

We had just finished our motorcycle tour with Adam, showered, and headed back down for a coffee before the next tour. The tour started at five and right on the dot we headed to the front door. I could see the girls through the large glass windows before we got to the sliding glass door. Three small women dressed in traditional white and light blue Vietnamese gowns were just getting off their motorbikes as we strolled up.

After spending the day being shuffled around by ugly middle-aged men, it was certainly a shock to be confronted by three young Vietnamese girls who were going to drive us three sweaty Americans around to gorge ourselves on food and beer. I never actually got their ages but I would have to assume they were in the 20-25 years old range. The fact that they were all very short—and Asian—made them seem even younger on first impression. One girl immediately took the lead, introducing everyone and explaining the tour to us.

She group us together simply based on who was standing closest to each other, or maybe that she fancied Robert, who knows. She was clearly the more experienced of the group and will now be referred to as Robert’s girl. My girl, whose name is Nyung or something of the sort insisted on putting the helmet on my head and clipping it under my chin—I felt like a child. We sat on the behind them on the bike and were off.

One of the rules Robert’s girl had told us (apart from the fact that we were not allowed to hold onto them as they drove) was to stay centered on the bike and not lean side to side. Sounds like a fair rule. As we pull to the first traffic light, Clayton reaches over to pinch the back of my arm, almost making his girl lose total control of her bike and crash. Obviously, some of us are not mature enough to go on bike tours with Asian girls drivers.

I was slightly uncomfortable due to the fact that all the other motorists were staring at us goofy Americans awkwardly on these motorbikes with traditionally dressed girls, and the fact that I had a totally different idea in mind for a food tasting tour of Ho Chi Minh. It was time for a beer.

We arrived at our first location and met Ben, the tour leader, who memorized our names right away. We sat at one of three tables with a guy who lives in Orlando (small world), a German couple that just got off the plane from Singapore, and two others from Singapore. We were fed Pho. Well, Ben and the tour girls insisted that it wasn’t Pho because it had a different broth and the noodles were shaped differently. It was Pho.

Ben talked for a little and we ate, then we were told to go back to our drivers for the next leg of the tour. We got up and were faced with a sea of Vietnamese girls; there were 15 people in the tour, each with a driver. Nyung managed to track me down, I am glad she remembered what I looked like (must be my devilishly handsome features). This time we took off as a pack, with male drivers acting as ‘body guards’ for the group. They helped keep us together and direct traffic around our awkward tour group.

The next location was a large, outside seating area full of Vietnamese people eating dinner. We were sat at a long bench with our drivers and served a variety of foods, all cooked and handled by the girls until they were placed in the bowl in front of us. The girls were expected to do everything apart from put the food in our mouths and chew it. It quickly became annoying. I can cut my own goat breast lady!

We soon began to catch on to the rhythm of the tour. Like clockwork, food would be delivered and Robert’s girl would demand our attention and give us an in depth explanation. I could hear the other girls around us reciting the same script, and Ben (the leader) and the bodyguards would patrol and keep an eye on everything the whole time. I had a suspicion that Ben was very two faced and strict with the girls. He and the bodyguards would speak quickly and quietly to the girls in Vietnamese as they were cooking and entertaining.

They served us goat breast and full-bodied prawns, which the girls peeled for us. They brought out frog, or jumping chicken as all the girls called it. Now, I had never eaten frog before was the first one to get a piece. I looked around and then shoved it into my mouth and began chewing. I immediately was taken aback by how crunchy the thing was, but kept chewing to be polite. It wasn’t until I looked over at Clayton’s plate and saw the bones from remains of his frog’s leg that I realized my mistake. So maybe I wanted to get at the frog bone marrow, get off my back.

As the professional looking Michael Jackson impersonator (Asian) finished dancing to Billy Jean, we got up to leave. I used the lavatory and came out to see Robert and Clayton on their bikes with their girls. Mine was no where to be found, she was in the bathroom. I waited a minute and she came out and we got on the bike, no problems. Robert’s girl immediately pulled up next to us and gave Nyung an earful under her breath. I can only imagine she was getting yelled at for not being ready. That was when I realized the full extent of Robert’s girl’s personality. Maybe in this case ‘bitch’ would be an appropriate word.

We were then toured around the city, then taken to our last place. Again we invaded a popular Vietnamese eating spot, getting pleasant looks from all the families around us. The tables and chairs we sat at seemed as though they were designed for children. The chairs bent slightly under our weight and our knees poked out over the edge of the table. We were served a variety of seafood and asked if we wanted to try their ‘special egg.’

I am going to go ahead and put a disclaimer here for the next part:

READER DISCRETION: DON’T READ THIS OUT LOUD TO CHILDREN OR HYPER-RELIGIOUS INDIVIDUALS

This special egg was delivered and just looked like a normal boiled chicken egg. Oh boy was I wrong. It was a duck egg. Yes, a duck egg, like a walking, quacking, poor little duck. I hadn’t eaten duck before, it was horrific.

Ok, so that’s not what the bad part was. Inside the boiled egg was not only duck egg, but also a two week old duck fetus. I don’t know whose demented idea it was to harvest and boil such a thing, but it was sitting right in front of me. The girls were peeling away the top portion and we were instructed to slurp away the excess liquid. So, doing as I was told, I slurped the liquid, which tasted like runny eggs. Nyung then dug her spoon in and gave me a big bite of white and dark grey streaked chunky egg. Yummy.

Now after forcing down the first bite, I was done. Not only was I full, but this specific dish wasn’t exactly appetizing in any way—it just tasted like a boiled egg. Nyung already had a second spoonful ready when I finished chewing, and I looked around for help. Robert had a look of disgust on his face as he was forcing down a bite and Clayton was digging in without much hesitation. I took the second bite and made the mistake of looking into the shell at the remains as I began chewing. I saw some feathers.

It was quite the challenge to get the second bite down, good thing I had some Vietnamese beer to swig around in my mouth. I had to give Nyung a relatively firm ‘no’ to stop the continual flow of underdeveloped duck fetus eggy bites.

Ok that’s all about the egg. We were driven back to our hotel shortly after and faced with the awkward situation of how much to tip the girls since we paid for the entire tour separately. We then headed in, thinking that was the end of the duck egg. Remember the friendly competition I mentioned earlier? We had a winner (loser) the next day..

The Sweaty Guys Tour

Day two in Vietnam we were up super early due to jetlag, and the fact that we passed out at about 8pm the night before. We made our way down to breakfast, expecting your basic continental deal, and were pleasantly surprised with a buffet full of crazy fruits and foods. There were fruits I had never seen before, let alone eaten for breakfast. A few were: passion fruit, papaya, guava, rambutan (hairy Asian fruit), pitaya (like a white kiwi with a crazy pink skin), and even watermelon. Ok, I have tried watermelon before, but they had watermelon juice in a big pitcher (red drank). It tasted good. 

The food consisted of your typical fatty American/British breakfast atrocities like bacon, sausage, eggs, potatoes, beans, toast, French toast, muffins, omelets, you know, the usual. They also had pho (a Vietnamese noodle-based soup eaten for breakfast and lunch) a selection of cold cuts and smoked fish. We ate a variety of fruits and the other not quite as healthy stuff, and were already looking forward to tomorrow’s breakfast when we left the table. Typical American slobs.

Our motorcycle tour was lead by an Australian named Adam; the tour was called Saigon Unseen (shameless promotion I know). Adam introduced us to his two other drivers, two older Vietnamese guys. They guy I was paired with was about 65 and pushing 5 feet. He had a wicked grin with missing teeth and spoke to me enthusiastically throughout the tour. I caught about half of what he said. I caught myself saying “Oh yea?” and “Ok” a lot. I think his name was Thao, but that could be wrong. Let’s just call him Thao.

So Thao handed me a helmet, which was army green and had two stars and an eagle on it. He laughed as I put it on; I am pretty sure it was some type of communist gear that I was wearing. Ironically, I had on a shirt that said USA in big letters, probably not the best decision I have made so far in Asia. I then had to hop on the back of a small motorbike, Thao in front of me, and was instructed to put my feet up on the footrests and hold onto the small handles on the back of the bike. Now these footrests were designed for smaller individuals with smaller legs. My knees were bent so much they almost touched the handlebars at the front of the bike. Poor Thao was pretty much in a knee bear hug for the entire trip. When I sat up straight I could see right over his head. Apparently I looked like a goofball, like a goofball in Asia. (yea, I just did that)

Robert was paired with Adam and their heights matched up pretty well, and Clayton had the other Vietnamese guy who didn’t speak a word of English but was a good amount taller than my guide. We headed off and got to experience the traffic culture of Vietnam. At first, I was holding onto the handles on the back for dear life, thinking I would tumble right off the back as Thao gunned it passed other bikes, but then I settled into a one hand handle grab with the other one casually resting on one of my knees (pretty much next to Thao’s ear).

The motorcycles rule the road, with cars maneuvering around them as opposed to the opposite. We were not going very fast, maybe 25 miles per hour at the most, but with so much traffic and smaller roads it felt like we were flying. As chaotic as the traffic seemed, there was a clear sense of organization, with everyone using turning signals equipped with audible beeps when they changed lanes. The motorists have a good understanding of passing each other and staying to the right if they are going slower. There is a lot of honking, but nobody is pissed off at each other. It is strategic honking, letting people know you are passing or getting the attention of a merging individual.

When you need to take a left turn (they drive on the same side of the road as the US) and you need to cut across oncoming traffic, the motorists generally do not stop, but creep into the oncoming traffic. It is a game of keeping your line and reading the paths of the other motorists. No body gets pissed and yells; they just go around each other. I expected to see at least a dozen accidents on our half-day trip, but didn’t see any. Now, 4 days in, I still have yet to see as much as one motorcycle bump another.

Thao and I were leading the pack through the streets. After a lap around our District, we began slowly driving through a street market. There were tons of stalls on each side of us, and a path wide enough for two motorbikes to pass each other. What made it difficult was the number of people walking through the market also. We were weaving around shoppers and avoiding other motorcycles while attempting to take in the wonders of the market. There were tons of fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as every type of meat you can imagine. There live fish right next to sliced fish, next to bundles of frogs. Yes bundles, like six large frogs (toads?) tied together in a bundle. Vietnamese of all ages were running the stalls, but I mainly saw middle-aged women in charge.

These markets were not like other markets I have been to where locals yell at you and try to persuade you to buy their goods. The merchants didn’t leave their stalls; many didn’t even make eye contact. Some of the ones that did make eye contact said hello or waved, mostly only the woman and children though. I guess the older men weren’t too impressed by my army helmet and USA shirt.

After the market, we stopped at a corner café, which there are thousands of all over the city, and had a traditional Vietnamese iced coffee drink with condensed milk. Again we were faced with the dangerous ice dilemma, but powered through. We were drenched with sweat and the iced coffee was excellent—sweet, strong, and very tasty. Thao bought a few lotto tickets from a wandering ticket seller and made jokes about how tonight could be his night! Oh yes, while on the subject I want to talk a little bit about Dong. Now I would say I am a respectful and open person when it comes to other cultures, but when I found out this little gem of knowledge about Vietnam, I could only be so mature. Their currency is called the Vietnamese Dong. So Thao was hoping to win the big Dong tonight. We will speak more of Dong later.

We then travelled across town to the new district, which was a chunk of land purchased by the Taiwanese to build upscale shops, restaurants, and apartments. There are wide roads, riverside parks, Pizza Huts, nice restaurants, Carls Jr., high-end shops, Burger King, just the most sophisticated of International stores and restaurants. The place was really nice, reminded me of certain places in the US.

We then headed to lunch, where we had the traditional Vietnamese dish Pho. We sat down in an empty restaurant and wanted to wash our hands. Like magic, the server brought over little packets of disinfectant wipes. When the Pho arrived, Clayton reached for the hot sauce, and the guide grabbed it from him and poured his perfect amount of two different hot sauces in each of our dishes. It was the perfect amount of heat, I think he had experience. The trouble was the hot soup, mixed with the usual spicy food sweats, mixed with the 95-degree weather, mixed with the hundred percent humidity. We were pouring sweat, just running down our faces and backs. Our shirts didn’t have sweat stains; it was more so like our shirts had a few random dry spots.

As our sweat was pouring down us, raining onto the floor, it began storming outside. It was just like our afternoon summer thunderstorms in Florida. Heavy downpour, flooding, lightning, and cracking thunder, I felt like I was home. After about an hour we decided to brave the storm and head back to the hotel. They gave us some super hip rain ponchos; mine had light blue polka dots and we drove through the flooded streets, with rain pelting our faces and water drenching our shoes and shorts. There were hundreds of drivers on the streets, and I still didn’t see one accident. We got back to the hotel drenched in a combination of rainwater, street water, and sweat. We said our good byes, slipped the drivers a few Dong, and headed in for a shower. Separate showers, just to clarify. I don’t know what the hotel staff thinks of three men in a room with two beds, hope we don’t get arrested.  

We had to do some work before our night time food tasting tour, this time driven around by traditionally dressed Vietnamese girls. That was an adventure.

Until next time..

Zombies and Motorbikes

We made it. The 3-hour flight from Taiwan to Ho Chi Minh was a breeze compared to the 14-hour flight prior. I watched the movie Brave, not afraid to admit it, ate some fried fish style airplane food dish (good choice right?), read a little, and boom we landed in Vietnam. We went through Customs with relatively no trouble; I am assuming the agent didn’t speak a lick of English because he refused to utter one word to any of us. I even used the politest ‘thank you very much’ I could muster after 25 hours of travel.

We stood waiting with a hundred or so others Asians for our bags. There was a continual joke that our bags wouldn’t make it all the way to Ho Chi Minh and we would be stuck wearing our nasty traveled in clothes on our back. The joke became less and less funny as we stood there not seeing a single bag of ours. We just had to see one and then we would be in the clear. I started imagining walking into an Asian style Walmart and buying new clothes for the trip, we would probably have to shop at Big and Tall or the Asian equivalent. We spotted our bags and got out of there.

We walked out of the airport to a flood of Asians all waving and smiling. Waving and smiling at us obviously, so Clayton waved back. There was a teenage kid holding a huge sign with LEE ROBERT written on it. We should have planned better and given an inappropriate name for the sign. We followed the young guy to the curb and waited ten minutes or so for the car. That was when the heat soaked in. Not just the heat, but also the humidity. We all grew up in Orlando and can deal with a good amount of heat and humidity, but this felt worse than an August day in central Florida. It was a relief to step into the air-conditioned car and have a nice conversation with the driver. The driver didn’t speak English. It was a quiet ride.

The ratio of cars to motorbikes on the road is about 1 to 10. The people on the motorbikes were a crazy mix of individuals of all varieties. There was a suit-wearing businessman with dress shoes riding next to a man transporting fifty or so tires, next to a well dressed woman, next to a family of three squished on a bike. While there are a few traffic lights, it seems as though it is a vaguely organized free-for-all on the roads.

Arriving at the hotel, it was obvious how respectful all the staff members are. They wouldn’t let us carry our bags in, had two or three greeters at the door, and made us sit down and drink tea while they checked us in. I know I give off a natural glow of royalty but it was almost an overwhelming amount of service. I guess I can get used to this culture shock. We immediately met a Canadian couple that told us of the three weeks they had spent in Vietnam. I thought their accents were funny. They recommended not eating the food from the vendors sitting directly on the streets. It was a crappy experience that had left a bad mark on their trip, if you catch my drift. Diarrhea, I meant diarrhea. And now I know how to spell diarrhea, wouldn’t you guess, two r’s. We have a friendly competition going; whoever gets the squirts first loses. I will keep you posted on the outcome.

Speaking of diarrhea, we were told by a very reliable and knowledgeable young doctor in San Diego that we should not drink the water. It was some real top-quality medical advice. I asked her about the ice in drinks and she said that she hadn’t thought about that but yes, to avoid that too. I have been drinking water out of bottles, but have had every other drink with ice. It is too hot not to. Maybe we will find a loser to the competition sooner than we thought.

We felt like zombies after checking in, the jet lag/dehydration was running its course. We decided to have an early dinner and located a spot on a map. Heading that way, we almost got hit by a couple of motorbikes crossing streets and ended up slipping into a bar a few blocks down, just to check out the Vietnamese bar culture. The bar was called O’Reilys, just your typical Irish-Vietnamese bar. We sat next to a Brit our age who was trying to pretend that he only spoke Vietnamese, that was until his buddy came in and he started rambling in that silly accent. That wanker.

Dinner was great, seafood and spring rolls. After dinner I really felt like a walking zombie, a Walker, if you will. My eyes were bloodshot, I couldn’t walk straight, and it was time to pass out. We woke up early for a motorbike tour of Vietnam. Actually just got back from that awesome tour in one piece, one terribly soggy piece.

Until next time. 

How Bout That Ride In?

Today is the start of a three-week trip throughout southeast Asia with my brother Robert, a not as good looking older version of myself, and Clayton, a not as good looking older version of myself. I will attempt, in some type of periodic fashion, to keep this blog up-to-date on our wanderings of Vietnam, Thailand, and China. Wish me luck.

It’s Monday or Tuesday, May 13^th or 14^th, I don’t really know, my internal clock is doing double backflips. We passed an International dateline or two on the journey and finally have arrived in Taiwan after 20 hours of travel. We were blessed with supreme seats on the flight, middle of the last row of the airplane right next to the toilets. Of the 200 or so people on the flight we were three of the five white people I saw. We were the minority, the three white Americans sitting in the back of the plane making inappropriate jokes about the complementary slippers each person received. Being in the back of the plane didn’t feel cool like it was in middle school to be at the back of the bus. Clayton summed up his deep perception of the matter perfectly—I feel like we are peasants.  

On the flight, they made announcements in Chinese, English, and then what I can guess is Taiwanese, which I am assuming is a language. My ignorance of Asian culture and language is evident. This should change quickly, hopefully. There are double the number of flight attendants than other flights I have been on, all Asian and all working their butts off. I got up to go to the bathroom and opened a closet door by accident. A flight attendant stopped me and I slowly and articulately asked where the bathroom was. She smiled, pointed around the corner, and said in perfect English, “It is around the corner.” I need to learn more languages.

It is 6am on Tuesday in Taiwan, but my body is telling me it is 3pm on the Monday prior, not that my internal clock is that accurate but you get the picture. I had a few hours of horrible sleep on the flight, which is surprising because I can never sleep on an airplane if I don’t have a window seat. The whole ‘putting your head back and sleeping sitting up’ doesn’t work for me, and I am too tall to do the ole ‘high school head down on the tray table trick’ for any extended period of time. But I was managing all right in the middle seat of the middle row—that was until my travel buddies decided to take advantage of my open, drooling mouth. Don’t worry, they just put a piece of paper in it. A piece of paper torn from a magazine that has sat in the seat pocket of the back row of an Asian airline for who knows how many international flights. Might as well build up my immunity to Bird Flu at some point.

All in all it was a tough journey. We travelled half way around the globe, experiencing the miracle of flight, and I managed to watch most of Gangster Squad, eat two strange meals, almost pee in a closet, get yelled at for not putting my tray table up and seat belt on, and sort of sleep a little. It could have been worse. We could have taken the boat.

One more flight before we land in Ho Chi Minh (Saigon). And then the real adventures begin!