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..