Lets start at the beginning

This morning, I appear to be suffering from a now mild case of jetlag and thought what a better time to actually type down what has happened. I believe I have about 20 minutes before the propoganda starts going out over the loudspeakers. I'm not sure propoganda is the right word. I've never lived anywhere that had daily announcements over loudspeakers. Kind of fascinating. Kind of animal farmish too...

Anyway, FRIDAY
I get up at 4 am to finish packing and get to the airport for my 6:30 am flight to San Francisco with Elizabeth. Very uneventful. We meet Kristine at the airport and trudge over to our 12 hour Asina flight to Seoul. Its going to be long. It was long.

The only thing that kept me going was food time. You had the choice of American or Korean. Of course I picked Korean. I had bi bim bap while flying over Anchorage. No one wanted to play travel scrabble with me. I kept thinking it would be different if Jane or Jen was on the trip.

SATURDAY
We get into Seoul haggard and barely moving and zombiewalk through transfer over to our flight to Hanoi. We get on the plane, and I proceed to completely conk out for the next 5 hours. Finally, Hanoi.

We slowly, ever so slowly weave our way through customs, get our luggage, and meet our driver. I knew that after that long of a flight, I was gonna need a ride. Ta da! He gradually introduced us to driving in Hanoi. It's a free for all. That is all I can say. Luckily I was too asleep to realize how many people, besides us, he almost killed.

After 20 minutes, we got to the hotel, Hanoi Elegance 2, a tiny storfront in the old quarter. I couldn't take everything in because of the dark and my exhaustion. We made our way in, signed the paperwork, got to our room and crashed.

SUNDAY
We decided to take today easy and just fly by the seat of our pants. We made our way downstairs early, and over breakfast at the hotel saw that Ho Chi Mins mausoleum was closed after 11 am. So, we just hightailed it over there.

BUT FIRST, the hotel insisted on gettng our taxi. Taxis are the biggest scam in town, even to natives. You have to watch out for them.

We get to the mausoleum complex and we see the line going out the door, and around the corner and down the street about half a mile and then around another corner. The driver drops us off and waves us good luck. And we get in line.

We are the only white people. I thought surely there would be more, but Kristine pointed out that others were probably not as excited as me to see the body of a communist leader who died in 1969.

We get through the first security and promise them we are not carrying knives, and the line keeps going. We get through the second security and hand over our cameras. No pictures allowed.

Side note, no shorts, exposed shoulders, or hands in pockets allowed either.

They line us up two by two, and we shuffle in. It was mind blowing. Honestly. We walked through the communist complex with the permanent grandstands to the gray stone tomb. Its silent. Not a word. Not a giggle. The two lines just keep moving. We go up the stairs and into the room. You walk around him. He lies there in a patch of lovely yellow light with the hammer and sickle and vietnamese star behind him.

And then you walk out into the hot sun.

Just very surreal.

After viewing him and seeing his little house on stilts, you go to the museum to discover his life. FYI, we aren't even mentioned, but the French were not portrayed very well. I believe the word tyranny was bandied about a bit.

Oh damn, gotta shower. They are picking us up for Halong Bay soon.

Where in the world

Alas, I have been awful lately. After a horrible business trip in Houston followed by a rotten cold, I barely had anytime to deal with life before I left for my vacation.

Soooo, I am finally writing from my hotel room in Hanoi.

Seriously, its kind of surreal. Something I've been planning since June actually is happening. We bought the ticket and arranged some hotel rooms, but other then that, we decided to come over here and wing it.

I'm half asleep after a day of street food and cheap vietnamese beer, but I thought I would put a little list together of quick things I discovered:

1) Scooters. Scooters. Scooters. They can fit whole families on them. Mom, dad, and two kids plus 3 boxes, 5 baskets, and a chicken.
2) Frogger is not just a video game. Its a way of life.
3) Being a minority.
4) A lot of white people don't want to see a dead Ho Chi Min (I personally found it to be very cool experience)
5) 4 stools on the side of an intersection and a charcoal grill = amazing food
6) I have chia hair, it grows in water
7) Vietnamese winter = Houston summer
8) I never want to experience a Vietnamese summer
9) There are no trash cans for street food. You can just drop the stick.
10) People are nice. No matter where you go.

What is love

Last night in bookclub, we had a bit of fight.

Let me put a back story on this first. My friend Tammy and I have different thoughts on love. She thinks you should follow it and do what it dictates, and I believe you need to have it, but not let it rule your life.

I think it stems from our upbringing and our mothers. Doesn't it always come back to your family? They are the ones who screw you up.

Anyway, I was telling a story about a guy I know. He has had a girlfriend for a while, and she sat him down a little while ago and said she "loved" him, but she knew that he "loved" her more. She didn't feel the relationship was fair, and she broke up with him. I don't think he could take it, and soon enough, he convinced her to come back. And now they are dating again.

So I was saying, I just think the whole situation is a mess. While she isn't blameless, I stated that he has no respect for himself. Someone has just told him they don't "love" him enough. And yet, he goes back to them.

Tammy didn't agree with me. She said he was in love. When your in love you do things like that, and I just didn't understand love.

Ok, don't tell me I don't understand love. I get love, but I understand loving someone else, and I understand loving yourself.

Hmmm. Oh well. I think there has to be a happy medium, but I just don't get setting yourself up for a fall. I guess some people love being in love.

Expectations

I am not atheltic. This has been drilled into me from childhood.

So how come I ran 3 miles last night, after a week off because of a cold, with no problems. Not even a blister on my foot. My expectations of myself are way too low.

Who was the one who decided I wasn't athletic? It certainly wasn't me. I think the problem was I just tried out for the wrong sports. T-ball was probably not the right choice for me.

T-ball. Oh how I can't stand t-ball. Seriously, I used to strike out all the time at t-ball. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?? I think I got on base once in the 2 years my mom signed me up for it.

Last night though, I just kept running. I knew we had gone pretty far for pretty long. My coach wanted to prove to us that we could run a 5k without even trying. And we can.

I guess my paradigm is shifting. Maybe I'm not just artsy.

Wally Lamb

Last night, the annual Art & Letters Live had its kick off authore, Wally Lamb. I found him to be a very good speaker. Sometimes, authors can write well, but they are unable to really connect with their audience in person. For example, Sue Monk Kidd, the poor woman had no clue what she was doing. She spent a hour going through her new book at the time "The Mermaids Chair". She went on and on and on. By the end of her speech, I realized I didn't have to get the book, she had told me the whole story.

Anway, I digress.

Wally read a autobiographical essay he had written and a short excerpt from his most recent book. Then they had question time. It turns out, Wally has some very very rabid fans. A few women ran up to the Mike and proclaimed they were Delores from "She's Come Undone" and how had he gotten into their head. Other people discussed personal emails they had sent to him on specific dates. And there were the last crazy few who had spent hours finding common threads between his three books that even Wally didn't think existed.

But the last question was a good one. The woman said it was obvious to her that all his book titles come from songs. That got me thinking. I immediately realized the first one. I started to sing "Shes come Undone" in my head. The second book title I couldn't place. "I Know This Much Is True". Wally laughed and talked about for a month when he was finishing up that book, he couldn't get the old Spandeau Ballet song "True" out of his head. The next thing you know, half the crowd was singing the lyrics and bopping their head.

Made me laugh.

And now, I can't get the lyric out. I will be sitting here writing a report thinking, and then all of a sudden the phrase "i know this much is true" will go through my head. And of course I have to half sing it outloud. Thanks Wally.

Related?

It was pointed out to me that everytime I become popular with the boys, I get sick. Instead of psychosabotaging relationships, my body physicially reacts. It wants to try to see how disgusting it can be and test the man in my life.

Surprisingly, people seem to find me cute when I'm sick. Seriously. I'm all phlegmy and coughing up hairballs, and I'm told I sound like Kathleen Turner. They still want to meet up with me, but instead of getting wine, how about a cup of coffee.

Its very intriguing.

I don't want to be near a sick man. Ew. I would prefer they call me when they have their sinuses all cleaned out.

Anyway, last night I treated myself to some tom yum soup and pad thai from Sawadika. YUM. I love that place. It's on Campbell near 75 in the old Sushi Sake spot. The soup was nice and a bit spicey, and then the slightly sweet pad thai after. It put me in a good food coma.

You people make me sick

I don't know who you are, but I have a bone to pick with you. I've got gunk in my upper respiratory tract, and it wasn't there last week. I blame you!

I swear I had all these friends text me they were sick this weekend, but I don't really think you can catch a cold via text message. So, they are off the hook.

And what a day to be sick on. Its 30 degrees and raining. I keep saying I'm going to run to the Primacare, but I don't really want to leave the cosey indoors at the moment.

I will not be sick when I leave for Vietnam. I will not be sick when I leave for Vietnam. If I say it enough times, it will come true.