Today’s taxi driver to Tan Sun Nhat Airport busted out one of my favorite jams: Modern Talking, You’re my heart, You’re my Soul, with double decker synth keys and electric drum pad. It might have been his “American Tourist CD collection,” thinking he also has Japanese, Korean and Aussie cd mixes for each tourist group. (Even though MT is German, i think.)
Looking out the windows, I think I’d be crying if it was leaving day. Saigon is really a city you fall in love with and I’m glad we went to the countryside first, I appreciate the city more. Writing this from the airport where we unwrap our perfectly packaged and rubber banded 1 dollar banh mi for breakfast (they were out of fresh homemade yogurt). This airport will probably be torn down in three years and replaced with something much larger. Vietnam Airlines had their most lucrative year in 2010, and it just keeps growing.
The chicks can be super styling here. We see 2 on brand new Vespas, in matching high heels, one in crisp all white, one in all black, both with pricey bags and shades park their rides among the long line of scoots and head into work.
During the day, girls cover absolutely everything up when they ride. Face mask, hoodie sweatshirt over that, elbow length gloves over that, long pants, sunglasses, and a neck scarf around it all with a helmet on top. It’s both a crippling fear of a tan (tans implying working class in Asia and also skin protection), and a filter from pollution.
At night they ride on the back of the moped, sitting side saddle, their legs casually crossed at the knees, skirts too short to sit regular, with super tall heels, bare arms and legs, still rocking the face mask. Doing that slight toe tap/kicking in the air. Texting or chatting on their phones. Or not even holding on.
It is almost unreal to see such dangerous sitting, but they grew up riding since they are babies here. I’ve only ridden a few times in NYC and Brian sold his Stella scooter long before he met me. We drool at the vintage Vespas. If I lived here I’d have a turquoise or yellow one. Or red. The new ones are sweet too - and they’re even made here.
Before a 25 kilometer ride along country roads, my 19 year old cousin Han takes one look at my bare arms and hinted, Wouldn’t I want to bring my jacket? Feel like such a poser in my motorcycle jacket, but not riding up front. I ride on the back and hold on with a white knuckle death grip for my life. My family laughs when I stretchs my fingers after the hour long ride.
My mom gets on the moped for the first time and says, Whoa, whoa, whoa! My uncle cracks, You sound like a Walker Texas Ranger.
As long as there are no buses or cars, just step off into the sea. The mopeds move slowly and creep toward you when you cross. Make eye contact with the riders and they move in what feels like slow motion around you. This is the opposite of Hong Kong, where they do not stop or slow down, and they WILL hit you.
Last night I got scared and hopped back on the curb, as a guy scooted a little too close for my usual uber safe USA comfort level. My friend said to just keep moving slowly into the sea, the driver saw me and would move around. It’s in my nature to think they’re going to hit me, I’m still not used to it. Nighttime is even more crazy and crowded, but really not crazy at all. No road rage here, for the most part. Hong Kong is going to feel so boring when we’re back, so sterile and clean in comparison.
Kind of like how I see open, unattended, white hot charcoal fires at knee level everywhere, perfect bumping into lawsuit bait in the States. Or how a long pinky nail isn’t for scooping drugs, it’s a nose picker, toenail scraper, dental floss, hammer, lock picker and screwdriver.
The plan now is to hit the island of Phu Quoc, the art and government centered Hanoi (with 1 of my favorite dishes cha ca or turmeric grilled fish), and now Hoi An, famous home of hit or miss tailoring.
My favorite shirt (bought for $9, used, in NYC) turned pink in the wash in HK. During a foot massage yesterday I realized I can get a new one made custom in Hoi An. I wanted to turn to my pal to tell her this, but my head was shoved into a pillow and the masseuse’s knee was deep in my kidneys with my arms pulled behind my back. That little lady was working out all the fun we had at four different bars, including one with lots of hookers and ladyboys called Apocalypse Now (irony is lost here) the previous night. That massage was intense.
Think I’ll get ten shirts made - just in case.
