The streets are crowded: Bui Vien in particular. Somehow I landed in the pulse and from my closed off room the heart beats regularly.
But when I walk in this quadrant around Pham Ngu Lao and Nguyen Thai Hoc there seem to be fewer people than can make so much racket.
Photogenic in a gritty way, dirty way. Shoe shine men, thin slung straps supporting boxes browned wood pass by time and again after replying no with their appeal pointing toward my canvas shoes, "hello my friend".
Noon: plans to travel with someone I met south about forty km to mangrove swamp of Can Gio by public bus caught near Ben Tranh Market cancelled - no show and didn't want to travel solo today. I wandered into Quan (District) 3 beyond War Remnants Museum. Didn't have the heart to venture past gate beyond a couple posing before a US tank. I understand from a coconut seller whose name is also Tom the museum is very popular with Americans. As he was gouging me for a fresh cut nut.
Walked past the women's museum of southern women they were closed.
A copy if French language Lonely Planet at Kim's wrote up a pho shop where the blurb mentioned vietcong ... Kim circled the block on my map.
During the walk I took lots of pictures with the Olympus and a few with the phone to post later. Never found the sympathetic noodle rollers though I tried, there was a new car lot on the block which made me think about the construction cranes around town. I stopped into a clean and popular chain noodle shop with soup that's spicy and has shrimp balls flattened into the shapes of skipping stones. In restaurants are small wastebaskets beneath tables. Here they are yellow with green plastic liners, the effect is the color of limes. I put my paper chopstick wrap and membrane bottle seal on top of napkins and an empty cigarette box.
Without pen I am lonely; without paper I am in solitude. I am in a crowded soup shop and I can say thank you - cam on - yet still I often botch that and say can am which could mean anything as I get downcast looks with small nods of heads. I am also afraid for the first time traveling. I dont know why. maybe its the city. just as despair rises As I leave the waiter opens and holds the door with the humblest of smiles, his lips only slightly turned and his eyes expressive of sentiment.
There are storm clouds and the breeze is gusting. Cooling off is refreshing. I remove my cap and leaves blow on the walkway.
The sky breaks. Suddenly ponchos appear on all motos. Vendors lower umbrellas to provide tighter shields for their customers to sit beneath. A trinket seller adjusts her pant leg before donning clear plastic as a woman carrying limes skips pace between awnings.
A motoist waits for light beneath a tree just as it turns from drizzle to downpour. Her tan shirt turns a shade of brown. A spout creates a fall in puddle along curb a truck drives through and kicks up a spray soaking my pant legs a drop falls on my book and I retreat and stash the journal
Back at Kim's I'm drained from walk and heat and likely dehydrated. Ill need to watch for that sensation of fatigue apart from the lethargic emotion described earlier over soup.
I've arranged through Kim to travel by tour group in the morning to My Tho and Ben Tre. Ill jump off the bus at the second city and stay with Ken at the Oasis. He has info on transit by boat to Tra Vinh. Meanwhile Kim recommends the tour rather than a regular bus bc ill get to take a short ride along canals or something. I just hope there's no visits to coconut farms for ice cream. We are not visiting the Cho Chi [sp.] Tunnels.
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