(no subject)
Yellow, everybody. I did manage to survive the last three months, believe it or not. After graduation I returned to my home in all my collegiate splendor, which just meant that everything was the same but I was terrified that suddenly I had to live a real life. Thankfully I was able to put off doing anything reasonably responsible with myself by departing nigh immediately for, again, the tropics. After a ridiculously awesome week at home it was time to board a 7 AM plane for Vietnam where two of the best people the world has to offer were waiting for me. I've been here about 60 hours but it seems to be shaping up to be amazingly fun.
Saigon, I now remember, is alive in every sense of the word. Every back alley has somebody selling, like, fishtanks or some shit, every nook has a little shoe shop (5x3x4 feet) with a loft above it that somebody (or 6 somebodies) lives in. Billions upon billions of motorbikes. The city doesn't breathe, it sweats and lounges. You're busy all the time, but you don't ever actually do anything. It's not even the annoying sort of busy, or the backpacker sort of busy. It's a busy I'd never seen before my time in Portland, and I'm really enjoying the ever living hell out of it. Kicking back with the best of friends with not a single responsibility in the world is a very pleasant lifestyle.
Getting back to these motorbikes, I've rented one. This process requires a passport, $3 per day, and proof of a written living will, because - honest to god - you may as well be signing your death warrant. Noone ever looks anywhere but forward. You take care of yourself and don't hit the person in front of you, and this somehow works as a system. You don't slow down for obstructions, you weave past them. Slowing down disrupts everything and will get you killed faster than anything else. I'm still working on that one. Compounding the already insane levels of danger associated with going ten minutes from my house (I live in a house with Andrew and some others) to Pham Ngu Lao, it's monsoon season. Those of you who were around 4 years ago should remember the rain in Malaysia for a comparison. Those of you who weren't, just picture rain that hurts when it hits you, that requires you have a ziploc bag because if you walked out in it to cross the street with your phone in your pocket there's a good chance it won't work anymore when you get to the other side. In driving to the internet cafe I literally at one point drove through an intersection (read: puddle) that had water up to right below my knee. You'd think if it rained that often they'd find SOME way of managing it, but this is the third world, and nothing ever works ever. Everything is dirty. Everything is difficult. Food is cheap. People stare.
I'm much more suited for the third world than the first. I'll miss you, but I just might never go anywhere first world ever again.
Saigon, I now remember, is alive in every sense of the word. Every back alley has somebody selling, like, fishtanks or some shit, every nook has a little shoe shop (5x3x4 feet) with a loft above it that somebody (or 6 somebodies) lives in. Billions upon billions of motorbikes. The city doesn't breathe, it sweats and lounges. You're busy all the time, but you don't ever actually do anything. It's not even the annoying sort of busy, or the backpacker sort of busy. It's a busy I'd never seen before my time in Portland, and I'm really enjoying the ever living hell out of it. Kicking back with the best of friends with not a single responsibility in the world is a very pleasant lifestyle.
Getting back to these motorbikes, I've rented one. This process requires a passport, $3 per day, and proof of a written living will, because - honest to god - you may as well be signing your death warrant. Noone ever looks anywhere but forward. You take care of yourself and don't hit the person in front of you, and this somehow works as a system. You don't slow down for obstructions, you weave past them. Slowing down disrupts everything and will get you killed faster than anything else. I'm still working on that one. Compounding the already insane levels of danger associated with going ten minutes from my house (I live in a house with Andrew and some others) to Pham Ngu Lao, it's monsoon season. Those of you who were around 4 years ago should remember the rain in Malaysia for a comparison. Those of you who weren't, just picture rain that hurts when it hits you, that requires you have a ziploc bag because if you walked out in it to cross the street with your phone in your pocket there's a good chance it won't work anymore when you get to the other side. In driving to the internet cafe I literally at one point drove through an intersection (read: puddle) that had water up to right below my knee. You'd think if it rained that often they'd find SOME way of managing it, but this is the third world, and nothing ever works ever. Everything is dirty. Everything is difficult. Food is cheap. People stare.
I'm much more suited for the third world than the first. I'll miss you, but I just might never go anywhere first world ever again.