Thursday, December 31, 2009
Vietnam
Saigon was a blast. It's been a couple of months since my last trip outside of the islands, so this was much needed.
***
On our second day in Saigon, we took a day tour to the Mekong Delta.
We got on the bus, ready to settle down to a few hours of vehicular confinement, our lives apparently in the hands of an old driver with a love for beeping, a penchant for keeping one hand on his cellphone at all times, and a very loose understanding of the meaning of stoplights. Business as usual in the third world, of course. I live in the Philippines right now, so the traffic and the beeping andthe general video game flavor of the drive didn't bother me. I simply rearranged myself for what seemed like the 17th time, and tried to re-angle my body into a slightly more comfortable position.
It was in the angling and re-angling that I saw him.
Actually, I saw his shirt first. It was blue. A light blue the color of tropical skies and rich people's pools. A striking, look-at-me blue. The kind of blue I don't normally see on men.
My eyes travelled up to his face, pulled in that direction solely by the color of his shirt. I wanted to see what kind of face went with that that kind of blue.
He had a good face - strong, intelligient, handsome. He looked a bit European (German or Dutch, if I had to guess), but then I heard him speak and his accent was more American than anything else. His hair was tied back, which brought out the angles of his face. He looked strong, but in a quiet sort of way. He wore glasses, which I really liked. Without them, I may have pegged him as just another pretty boy out to see the world. But the glasses made him stand out. At least to me.
I smiled to myself and raised my head a little so I could see the color of his eyes. I had to hold back a tiny gasp. It's always a little disconcerting to realize that whatever it was you were looking at is actually looking back.
He was staring. At me.
Now, I know my own face. I'm not ugly, but there are girls with better eyes and better noses and nicer skin and nicer hair. I can be nice to look at on a good day, but even I know enough not to suffer under the delusion of being perenially pretty.
But he stared. Not just once, but throughout the course of the little tour. I know because whenever I tried to sneak a glance at him, his eyes were always there, as if waiting to meet mine.
And if nothing else, whether he meant it or not, he made me feel like I was some kind of strange, beautiful creature. And I really liked that.
I wish I had at least tried to strike up a conversation with him. (I was going to ask him about his unusual shoes, but an American lady beat me to it.) I wish he had been friendly enough to have said hello. I wish we could have shared a table with him and his friend for lunch.
And I really wish I knew his name.
***
We also had a few beers with a Swedish guy who was on tour with us. His name was Emil, and that night was a lot of fun. Back on the bus, I thought he would be one of those quiet solo types. As it turns out, he was a riot. And he stayed out two hours later than he should have. I really hope he made his tour the next day.
***
Saigon was different from what I expected. Not better or worse, exactly, just different. I liked it.
***
On our second day in Saigon, we took a day tour to the Mekong Delta.
We got on the bus, ready to settle down to a few hours of vehicular confinement, our lives apparently in the hands of an old driver with a love for beeping, a penchant for keeping one hand on his cellphone at all times, and a very loose understanding of the meaning of stoplights. Business as usual in the third world, of course. I live in the Philippines right now, so the traffic and the beeping andthe general video game flavor of the drive didn't bother me. I simply rearranged myself for what seemed like the 17th time, and tried to re-angle my body into a slightly more comfortable position.
It was in the angling and re-angling that I saw him.
Actually, I saw his shirt first. It was blue. A light blue the color of tropical skies and rich people's pools. A striking, look-at-me blue. The kind of blue I don't normally see on men.
My eyes travelled up to his face, pulled in that direction solely by the color of his shirt. I wanted to see what kind of face went with that that kind of blue.
He had a good face - strong, intelligient, handsome. He looked a bit European (German or Dutch, if I had to guess), but then I heard him speak and his accent was more American than anything else. His hair was tied back, which brought out the angles of his face. He looked strong, but in a quiet sort of way. He wore glasses, which I really liked. Without them, I may have pegged him as just another pretty boy out to see the world. But the glasses made him stand out. At least to me.
I smiled to myself and raised my head a little so I could see the color of his eyes. I had to hold back a tiny gasp. It's always a little disconcerting to realize that whatever it was you were looking at is actually looking back.
He was staring. At me.
Now, I know my own face. I'm not ugly, but there are girls with better eyes and better noses and nicer skin and nicer hair. I can be nice to look at on a good day, but even I know enough not to suffer under the delusion of being perenially pretty.
But he stared. Not just once, but throughout the course of the little tour. I know because whenever I tried to sneak a glance at him, his eyes were always there, as if waiting to meet mine.
And if nothing else, whether he meant it or not, he made me feel like I was some kind of strange, beautiful creature. And I really liked that.
I wish I had at least tried to strike up a conversation with him. (I was going to ask him about his unusual shoes, but an American lady beat me to it.) I wish he had been friendly enough to have said hello. I wish we could have shared a table with him and his friend for lunch.
And I really wish I knew his name.
***
We also had a few beers with a Swedish guy who was on tour with us. His name was Emil, and that night was a lot of fun. Back on the bus, I thought he would be one of those quiet solo types. As it turns out, he was a riot. And he stayed out two hours later than he should have. I really hope he made his tour the next day.
***
Saigon was different from what I expected. Not better or worse, exactly, just different. I liked it.
1:20:00 PM
