Something I dug up

So, I was cleaning out my old emails and came across something I wrote in January 2004 when I went to Vietnam with my friend Tammi. This is my last email before heading home after a month of travels in the Motherland. I'll try to find the other emails but in the meantime, enjoy.

Tammi and I are back in Saigon after several restful days on my Grandma's hammock.

After a few days in beautiful Hue, we took a 20 hour train ride back to Saigon and 4 hour bus ride back to Grandma's village. My first view of An Nhon was from the back of a 50-year-old motorcycle which I was afraid was not going to support my 95 pound frame. We were told that we could be taken straight from Saigon to the Village however about 5 kilometers from our destination, the driver of the bus kicked us out and got us on motorcycles for the remainder of the trip. Evidently he was late in picking up his girlfriend.

Grandma's village was fun but very, very quiet. The big thing was a "carnival" for the New Year. You could throw large, plastic bowls at some cans of juice on the ground (and win said can). Or there's the little ball that you toss into glasses and you can win noodles. My personal favourite was a type of roulette table that you can bet on and the prize is a large bag of MSG. Yes folks, that's right. MSG. Tammi and I were a huge hit there. Whatever booth we were at was packed! The villagers followed us around with a look of vacant awe on their faces. Very funny. (Note: This is because Tammi is a tall, white girl. The only other "whitie" these people had ever seen was my brother-in-law who had visited the year before)

We also went on a leisurely bike ride in the village. The bikes date back to the fall of Saigon and had little baskets on the front of them. Along the way, my aunt and uncle passed us on a motorbike and asked if we wanted to see their shrimp farm. We readily agreed and followed them on our rickety bikes. Soon we were mountain biking up and down small hills, avoiding large ruts and larger potholes. Then we had to dismount and walk across a monkey bridge. You may wonder what a monkey bridge is. Well the term "bridge" is very loose. Yes, it does allow you to cross over a body of water but it consists of a thicker log to walk on and one or two thin logs at waist height to hold on too. Though I seriously doubt that the handles could support any kind of weight should you feel like falling.


Okay, I'd better go ahead and admit this now otherwise Tammi is going to blabber about it anyway. I fell. Off the bike. And got stuck. There. On the way back to the main road, I took a turn wrong and ended up with my head about a foot from some shit-brown water, my ass in the air and my foot caught under the bike on the path. Not one of my shining moments. Tammi was laughing so hard that she couldn't even help me up. Sheesh.

Yesterday, we went to see a fortune-teller. Tammi's gonna have a Vietnamese boyfriend and I'm gonna to be a dried up old spinster. Actually, she said with my personality, I'm going to have trouble finding a husband. I guess not that many guys can take my shining wit. Luckily though I'm smart and am going to be rich. Throughout the trip back to Saigon today, Tammi and I have been on the lookout for her boyfriend. No dice but we've got a few days yet.

Speaking of the trip back! Hitched a ride with my uncle (he had rented a mini-van). Little did I know that we had to stop to pick up his friend. This "friend" turned out to be half the population of a small village (men, women and children), enough food to feed them for an entire year AND a tree. At least on the local buses, they tie the tree and sacks of clams to the top of the bus! Next time, I go local bus...chickens and all.

In my month here I have been thrown up on, ALMOST trampled to death not to mention the near bath in shit-filled water!

I went there as a Canadian tourist and came back as a Vietnamese-Canadian, proud of my lineage and rich heritage.

Romance is not dead my friends. But it should be.

Okay, I'm committed to write in this thing at least once a month and this is the September edition, even though it happened many months ago.

The dating stories seem to amuse everyone the most so I go back to the original purpose of this blog. To entertain everyone with the trials of being a single girl who really doesn't want that to change.

So, many months ago I met a guy who had the alarm bells clanging almost immediately. For one thing, he told me within minutes that he was a "hopeless romantic". I told him I'm not particularly keen on getting to know anyone who describes themselves as "hopeless" in any sense.

And yet a few days later I found myself being "whisked away" (his words, not mine) in a 20 year old caddy convertible. We pick up some take out sushi in Kits and head to Spanish Banks. When we get there, he opens his enormous car trunk and it's crammed with everything! Blankets, cutlery, wine and I'm pretty sure I could've found a body somewhere in there if we dug around. I didn't look too closely. Anyway, we grab a couple of blankets, wine and his picnic basket Okay, WTF? What kind of man drives around with a freaking picnic basket in his trunk? But I digress.

So the date is us sitting on the beach eating, talking and waiting to watch the sun set.

Romantic, huh? Yeah, you'd think.

It was really unfortunate that Dude had virtually no conversation skills. After about 45 minutes of rambling I decided I didn't give a toss and just sat in peaceful silence. After all, it's rare these days that I'm not in front of my computer so I decided to enjoy the time off and just relax.

Well, I guess this made him uncomfortable so he opened his mouth and started talking.

After a few progressively stupid questions like "When was the last time you got drunk?" (He met me at the bar three days prior...while I was drunk) and "What's EA?" (He works in technology in Vancouver!!!), he caps it off with an absolute humdinger.
By now I've checked out and his voice is but a minor irritating buzz in my ear but then I catch what he's saying about a regressive movement of women. I perked up and asked what he meant by that. His response? "One of these days, you women are going to get sick of the rat race and return to the home." I stared at him in blank shock and finally squeaked out "You mean, we'll leave our jobs and be more content being pregnant and in the kitchen"? He answers, "Well, maybe not pregnant". And that sad, sad twat was utterly serious.

Remember how I mentioned that I was at Spanish Banks? Well, for those of you who don't know where that is, it's in a fairly remote area and there wasn't a hope in hell of me finding a cab. I can NOT believe I made the rookie mistake of getting stuck!!! He picked me up at 6 and the sun didn't frickin' set until 10 that night. Longest damned date of my life.

In case you may be thinking that I was a bit harsh on him, the dumb ass actually had the gall to call me for a second date. I'm still not sure if that's courageous or sheer stupidity. But I was too busy with my cooking classes. Had to get ready for my regressive movement after all.