It was simply there.

As a Guest

For a week, I lived here a bit like a guest.

My friend took care of the accommodation; all I had to do was get into bed. He drove me everywhere on his motorcycle—often several times a day.

He showed me the shop where it was worth buying odds and ends, the bakery with the delicious bread, his favorite restaurants, the night market with its great atmosphere, and a few good spots for tasty, cheap beer.

We split the costs and made decisions together, though I usually went along with his suggestions. We shared whatever we bought.

We spent two days sprucing up his boat together. And every evening after dinner, we’d sit down somewhere to have peanuts and beer. We talked for hours. On Sunday, we both remarked at the same time what a wonderful week we’d spent together. Monday brought the time to say goodbye, but I think we’re both certain we’ll meet again.

The Streets of Kampot

The city is a grid of streets laid out along both banks of a massive river. I explored the harbor area—which is poorer and more modest—as well as the city center designed for tourists.

I mostly got to know the streets from the back of a motorbike, so I skipped my usual walks this week. I didn’t mind at all.

I did, however, go for a long walk on Saturday. This gave me the chance to get to know the city in the usual way. I can now better see what makes Cambodia different from, say, Vietnam—at least in this part of the country. The streets are surprisingly clean and orderly. People are out on the streets here too, but the atmosphere in the evenings is different. They gather in larger groups and seem more active. I can’t quite put it into words. As I wrote in the introduction, I only have a feeling about it. The vibe is simply different.

The goal of my Saturday walk was to visit an aid organization. They were looking for someone to spend an hour and a half conversing in English with the locals. I discovered a very well-structured organization; they strive to help primarily in the field of education—not just for children, but for adults as well. When I visited, there was no one available to speak with. I wasn’t disappointed. I had given it a try. I’ll have opportunities elsewhere, with other people, to lend a hand. I had been curious and looked forward to talking with the locals. I ended up experiencing that in a different way.

I made quite a few “Happiness Interviews” in the city—including one with a local guy. He told me a lot about life there, and how the atmosphere in other parts of the country is quite different. It brought back memories of my experiences in Indonesia and Laos; we agreed that life is always different away from the tourist hotspots.

An Exciting Bus Ride

My bus set off early on Monday. I had prepared for a two-and-a-half-hour journey; it turned into five hours. I took a short series of photos: the first shows the driver examining the engine under the open hood; the second shows him lying underneath, peering out; and the third captures two people scratching their heads over a removed wheel.

The bus had broken down. Three passengers paid for a taxi and left. I decided I had the time to wait for the “rescue party” to arrive. I even tried walking three kilometers alongside the bus. It was an interesting experience.

I was heading to the city of Sihanoukville. Today—Tuesday—I am already here.

This city is beautiful, too, and it sits right by the sea. I’ve already had some special experiences over the past two days.

And I have a feeling that wonderful things await me in the days ahead as well.

The post 356. | Kampot and the vibe first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

Just like the past two days.

The Journey

I was quite tired on Sunday afternoon, so I needed a nap. However, I knew full well that trying to sleep then would be a mistake—I planned to wake up at 5:00 AM, and I know exactly how an afternoon nap pushes back the time I fall asleep at night.

So, I didn’t lie down. I worked on my “real wife”—at least, that’s how a friend of mine identified my laptop a few weeks back—until 4:30. Then, I took one last shower at the great hotel. By 5:00, I was already out on the street.

I had to walk 3.5 km to the bus. I waited there for half an hour. Then came another surprise: the bus actually departed on time. Everything is so different in this country. For starters, the travel agency employee gave a speech to the passengers—first in Khmer, then repeating the whole thing for the only Western passenger: me. He thanked us for choosing their company, outlined the stops, and even specified exactly where the bus would pull over. Honestly, I hadn’t been used to this sort of thing over the past year—precise information and punctual departures. On top of that, the guy politely asked me to please fasten my seatbelt.

I slept through the entire journey. I was so dead tired that falling asleep wasn’t hard. I woke up twice—once at the halfway stop. Then, at the words “Sir, we have arrived,” spoken right to my blank face.

Kampot

This city is very different. After Saigon—and the much friendlier Phnom Penh—this small town seems vastly more beautiful.

After getting off the bus, I messaged my friend to let him know I’d arrived, and he immediately directed me to a restaurant where we could meet. The place was called the “Magic Sponge.” It was a charming spot owned by an older man from Alaska. The restaurant wouldn’t be particularly noteworthy if we hadn’t gone back the next day. That’s when the owner, grinning from ear to ear, told us it was his last day; he was closing up at eight that evening to set off on a trip around the world. He had sold the place. Since the atmosphere was special on both days—and the food delicious—I responded instinctively: I was lucky to have experienced the vibe of the place during its final days.

From there, we headed to the chosen hotel—or rather, the hotel my friend had picked out. We ended up sitting at the reception for two and a half hours. The young girl on duty didn’t know when the boss would be back. We didn’t make a fuss about the wait; I chatted with a friend back in Hungary, keeping up our usual two-hour Monday ritual. But once we finished, we left the place. In the meantime, we had found other accommodation.

So, here we are now. It’s an excellent spot by the river. There’s a pool in the courtyard, though I don’t usually use pools—the last time I swam in one was in Ninh Binh. The shared room has twelve beds. The room is huge. So are the beds. The room—and the four adjoining shower stalls—are so great that I immediately thought it would be worth spending a whole week here.

We didn’t do much on Monday; we just talked, ate, and had some beer. It was perfect just the way it was.

The Boat

We spent the last two days—Tuesday and today—working on my friend’s boat. I had offered to help with the renovation, so for the past two days, I’ve been painting it. We’re enjoying each other’s company, and I share his delight in seeing the surroundings transform day by day.

Today, three young Cambodian boys played around the boat all morning. We’re working in a harbor where people live and work all day long. It was lovely to hear their voices; they spent the whole day giggling, playing tag, and having fun around us.

Then, they decided to take over the boat itself, claiming the deck as their own. They asked a million questions and chattered away, though, unfortunately, we couldn’t understand a word of it. Then, they discovered a common language: Spider-Man and Messi. We understood those names and could respond to them. At one point, the fun turned into the kind of wild frenzy that often comes with carefree play. One of the little guys jumped onto the freshly painted railing and then down onto the deck. His little soles left cute white footprints all over the surface. My friend wasn’t exactly thrilled about that. Luckily, I had explained to him yesterday why we needed thinner for the painting and for cleaning the brushes, so he had bought some gasoline this morning—which is what they use as thinner here. That gave us a way to clean up the footprints.

Interestingly, the work on the boat left me with sore thigh muscles—mostly because the boat isn’t balanced yet. This means it can rock quite strongly and intensely. My leg is working all day long to maintain balance, and it has gotten tired. It’s interesting: when I walk 30 km in a day, I don’t get sore muscles, but here, after just two days, I can really feel the muscles working.

On both days, we worked until around noon. Then a bit of rest, followed by a short nap. Then work in the afternoon. And in the evenings, dinner and conversation.

The Rain

It’s monsoon season here. It rains every day—hard and heavily. It’s a good thing I have a pair of slip-on sandals. I have Saigon to thank for them. I looked under the bed there when I first checked into my accommodation and realized the last time it had likely been cleaned was back in the Stone Age. Then, when I was leaving—as is my habit—I checked again to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind. Out of all the heaps of stuff I own. LOL. That’s when I found a pair of genuine Crocs. I kept them, thinking they might come in handy someday. Well, they certainly have now.

It rains so much that the sidewalk at our accommodation sometimes disappears, and we have to wade through ankle-deep water to get in from the parking lot.

We’ve done a lot of riding in the rain over the past two and a half days, since we have to head out whenever we want to eat or buy something. There’s no point waiting for the rain to stop here, though.

Fortunately, neither of us minds getting soaked to the skin several times a day.

The locals are very kind, and many of them speak English.

I’ll get to know the city better over the coming days, but based on my initial impressions, this place is likely to remain an unforgettable memory.

I am grateful to be here.

The post 354. | Kampot first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

It brings me great joy to start the day knowing I can finally write down the name of the city. From memory.

Just a few days ago, I found myself having to ask during a conversation: “Where am I, exactly?”

Well! Here I am. Phnom Penh.

Wat Ounalom Monastery

This is the first of the seven locations planned for today.

It’s nine o’clock, and I’m on my way to the temple. It’s 600 meters from the hotel. Fatigue hit me after just 200 meters. Now I’m having a coffee and getting ready for the first experience.

Actually, the second one. Because as soon as I stepped out of the hotel, a tuk-tuk driver approached me. But he immediately understood that I wanted to walk today, too. He didn’t press the issue. We did, however, chat for a few minutes—just about the world in general. I love that. I’m happy to pay for conversations like that with my attention and my time.

The coffee was delicious. It feels like 35 degrees out. I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt because I have three temples to visit today. The sun is already scorching. I set off beneath it with a smile.

Anyway, enough about my clothes. In the temple courtyard, I took off my shoes and socks and put on a sarong. Upon entering the first building, I greeted a woman and a monk with a *wai* and a bow. Then the woman signaled for me to take off my hat. I’ll try to pay attention to absolutely everything at the second temple.

The temple complex consists of three large buildings and several stupas. It is very clean and very orderly. If I recall correctly, these aren’t particularly old buildings. I lingered inside for a while; there is so much to see in these temples.

Because of that, it’s hard for me to say exactly how they differ from temples in other countries. There are many Buddha statues, but not really any other kinds. There are fewer offerings laid out. For instance, I didn’t see any food or drink. The curtain encircling the central space was something new to me. It is because of dozens of details like this that I say it is different.

I liked this difference. It was yet another form I got to discover.

I move on.

National Museum of Cambodia

On the short stretch between the church and the museum, I received two offers regarding how to spend my day. I quickly made it clear to the taxi drivers that I had my own plans. Only one of them threw out marijuana as a last-ditch pitch. He easily accepted that I didn’t want that either—it wasn’t just the ride I was saying “no” to. LOL.

The museum is impressive even from the outside. A beautiful garden surrounds the red building, which features slender roofs and elegant, airy columns. The whole structure feels incredibly light. The building’s red hue contrasts strikingly with the brilliant blue of the sky.

Photography isn’t allowed inside, so writing is the only option. My first memorable encounter was with Indiana Jones—or rather, a connection to him. I immediately spotted a Sankara Stone from *Temple of Doom* in the first display case. Of course, its real name is “Linga and Snanadroni,” but still—it was a fantastic encounter.

I saw countless small statues. Many were familiar from before, but seeing them in person was a different experience entirely. There were so many figures of Ganesha, Shiva, and Shiva’s bull; Garuda was my personal favorite.

I won’t list them all. It is a national museum, after all, and the exhibition spans many eras. There were so many fascinating things to see.

And plenty of surprises. I love those moments of recognition—like spotting what looks like a footprint of Buddha, only to discover it’s actually Shiva’s footprint.

The most beautiful part is seeing Buddha, Vishnu, Shiva, and dozens of other figures coexisting peacefully side by side—often labeled simply as “male deity” or “female deity.” Then I saw others taking photos. I decided to break the rules myself. I took a lot of pictures. I am sticking to the regulations in one respect, though: I’m keeping the photos to myself.

The museum was beautiful. In the section displaying the oldest artifacts, a guard told me to take off my hat. Repetition is the mother of learning!

After the visit, I bought a jar of pickles. That’s my lunch now. This is the second time I’ve eaten pickles since I’ve been living in Asia.

Royal Palace of Cambodia

My third stop of the day. It’s 12:30. I’m not making very fast progress. But that wasn’t the goal anyway.

I hadn’t planned for it, but my third stop is also my fourth destination. That’s because inside the Royal Palace lies the…

Silver Pagoda

This complex of two buildings is massive.

I stared in awe the whole time. The magnificent courtyard was a truly regal sight. My day is framed by a beautiful blue sky; that clear blue expanse appears in almost every photo. The intense heat doesn’t bother me at all. Well, actually… to be honest, the “feels-like” temperature of around 40°C and 78% humidity are a bit much for me today, too. I feel like I’m slowly roasting.

But the experiences make up for it. The courtyard at the royal residence is so vast I could walk there for hours. There are countless statues, trees, green spaces, and religious structures. The area is encircled by a cloister, with walls featuring hundreds of meters of painted narratives. Just looking at these wall murals could take up half my day.

And I haven’t even stepped inside one of the buildings yet. Some of the temples can only be viewed from the outside, while others are open to visitors. The throne room, for instance, commands respect even when viewed just from the doorway. In the areas where you can enter, display cases packed to the brim await visitors—it’s a temple and a museum rolled into one.

Beyond the grand halls, smaller rooms tell the story of the country. I really liked one small room where mannequins displayed the specific colors of clothing women wore at the royal court on different days of the week. Friday is for blue. It’s a good thing the sky doesn’t choose its color based on court etiquette. I’ve seen so much that I absolutely have to immerse myself a bit in Cambodia’s history tonight. This country is so much more than I had imagined based on my limited knowledge.

Independence Monument

It was on my way, so I took a look at the Independence Monument. My respect for the country keeps growing.

Tuol Sleng.

Genocide museum.

After visiting the War Remnants Museum in Saigon earlier this week, I arrived here with a sense of apprehension.

Tuol Szleng Genocide Museum

This museum is housed in a pleasant courtyard.

At first, I had pictured a small residential complex here. Then I learned that the site had started out as a school. Now, it is a museum.

In between, there was genocide.

Several buildings accommodated the people brought here. I cannot use the term “visitors,” because people did not come here of their own accord. Nor did many leave. Of the more than 16,000 people who lived here, only 12 survived.

At first—in the initial buildings—I wasn’t yet overcome by a sense of dread. I mostly saw empty rooms where I had to imagine people sleeping crammed together, piled on top of one another.

Then, the space gradually expanded. The second building contained torture chambers and interrogation rooms. Each one commemorates those who died there with a photograph and the original furnishings. The furnishing usually consists of a bed—complete with the original shackles used to chain the unfortunate souls, who deserved a far better fate, to the frame. The photographs were taken after the liberation, typically showing the room’s last occupant—who was already dead by then. Seeing these horrors made the air around me feel heavier.

Then I arrived at the halls where the suffering became palpable. And no, it wasn’t because of the skulls. True, I saw plenty of those, too. But it was the photographs that truly stirred up that oppressive feeling within me. To be honest, it wasn’t even the images of the dead that were truly harrowing.

For me, the real weight of this place lies in the people looking into the camera. Faces with stories behind them. Women, children, the young, the old. The beautiful and the ugly. The intelligent and the foolish. Faces of resignation, terrified gazes, angry grimaces. So many lives—all different, yet alike in one respect: someone had labeled them “guilty.” Oh, and there is one other thing almost all of them share: the images in these rooms are likely the last ones ever taken of them.

I felt an urge to write in the guestbook, just so there would be a Hungarian entry among the others. But I felt that the book already held so much bitterness; my own opinion wasn’t needed there. Besides, in the shadow of the gallows standing in the courtyard, I couldn’t quite find the right words.

Books

In the courtyard, I met two little boys who had escaped from here alive. There were four of them in total.

One of them passed away a month ago; I saw him in the form of his daughter. She was selling her father’s book. I didn’t have the heart not to buy it. I also felt an urge to hug the grown woman. I hope that meant more to her than the $10 for the book.

Then there was the other little boy. He is 92 years old now. I bought his book, too. He was in a wheelchair, so I just squeezed his shoulder. I don’t even know why. Perhaps so he could feel how deeply I empathize with him.

We became friends.

Over these few days, I’ve grown fond of this city.

And I feel closer to this country, too.

I still have a few weeks left in Cambodia. I hope this friendship will deepen further.

The post 352. | Getting to Know Phnom Penh first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

An easy journey, an easy arrival, an easy first day, and an exciting day today lie behind me.

The city of Phnom Penh welcomed me with a smile. Or perhaps I arrived smiling. It was a wonderful encounter.

Like a hot knife through butter

There were no unexpected surprises or unforeseen hassles during the journey this time.

I find it hard to believe myself, yet that is exactly how it happened.

In Saigon, the Highlands Café was 400 meters from my accommodation, and the travel agency was another 50 meters beyond that. So, on Wednesday morning—before spending a few hours working—I simply dropped off my large backpack at the office. That’s where I encountered the first surprise: I was told to be there just 10 minutes before the bus departed.

Ten minutes? Based on my experiences over the past year, I didn’t quite believe it, so I showed up 30 minutes before the scheduled departure time. It was unnecessary! The bus arrived at 11:58 and left at 12:00.

Admittedly, the trip took 7.5 hours instead of the expected 6.5, but that really depends heavily on traffic. Just as a point of interest, we are talking about a distance of 247 kilometers…

We made two stops. Both the driver and the attendant were friendly—which, incidentally, was another novelty.

At the Vietnamese border, there was a short wait (10–15 minutes) for the stamp. On the Cambodian side, I waited only 3 or 4 minutes to reach the official, who processed my passport in two minutes flat without asking a single question.

Suddenly, I was standing in Cambodia, hardly grasping what had just happened—everything had gone so smoothly and simply.

I slid between the two countries like a hot knife through butter.

What I saw from the window

Crossing the border, my first impression was that Cambodia is just like Vietnam.

Then—as we ventured deeper into the country—Laos suddenly appeared. Cambodia is like Laos. Eventually, I was completely confused, because suddenly I thought Cambodia was like Thailand.

I started paying closer attention. Then I smiled.

Glass bottles appeared along the roadside. Filled with gasoline. That’s Laos.

I spotted “The spirit houses.” That’s Thailand and Laos. I noticed the first temples—something more typical of Laos, yet also of Thailand.

The spacious, concrete areas in front of the houses were reminiscent of Thailand again. In Vietnam, there is hardly any space in front of most houses due to all the things piled up there. The sight of so much open space felt strange.

The rice fields, however, evoked Vietnam. As did the mountains.

After the border, I saw many Chinese signs. I wouldn’t say I felt like I was in China, but the question did cross my mind: where exactly am I? Then, Cambodian signs appeared—resembling Thai or Lao script.

I am no social scientist. But I do know that Thailand lies to the west and north of Cambodia; Laos to the north; and Vietnam to the east and south. So, perhaps my eyes and experiences were playing tricks on me, but my initial impression was that I was suddenly everywhere at once.

The country feels familiar. Even though I am visiting for the very first time. An important part of the trip was using the new eSIM (MegaEsim). I’ll write about my experiences later; for now, suffice it to say that there were no issues when crossing the border. First impressions are excellent.

Phnom Penh

I got acquainted with the city during a walk of a few kilometers.

I’ve already had a few very pleasant experiences.

The first is that vehicles actually stop when I cross the road. It’s incredible. When they see me crossing, they don’t speed up or swerve around me at all costs; instead, they stop and let me pass. Suddenly, I felt like no one was trying to kill me on the roads. I’m visible again. It’s strange. But I really like it!

The place is full of tuk-tuks. The drivers were another surprise. You only have to say “no, thank you” once. They accept it, understand it, and leave you alone. That’s incredible, too!

The third thing involves the streetwalkers. They greet me and invite me over, but they don’t grope me or drag me into buildings. They smile back when I politely decline their invitations. That’s strange, too—it’s almost odd that even they don’t encroach on my personal space.

The hotel where I chose a cheap room is incredibly good. It’s clean and spacious. The room is first-class; the bed is huge and very comfortable. The bathroom is spotless—equipped with shampoo, shower gel, and a mirror. It’s unbelievable compared to the squalid dives I stayed in during my 19 nights in Saigon. LOL.

My first impressions of Cambodia are very positive.

My Canadian friend

He was indeed there at the accommodation. We had parted ways last November. We were both overjoyed to see each other again.

We talked until we were exhausted; we had plenty to catch up on.

I woke up late yesterday. It didn’t matter, though, as the plan was simply to wander around together and enjoy the day. And that’s exactly what we did. We just went with the flow. The best moment was when we sat on the grass in a park, leaning against a tree, and talked.

My friend headed back to his boat early this morning—Friday. I bought my bus ticket yesterday, and I’ll be following him on Monday.

And I really will be living on a boat for a little while.

Blood donation

After waking up, I set out for a 5 km walk. I headed to the local blood donation center established by the USA.

I filled out the paperwork. I was immediately placed in the priority line, so I didn’t have to wait long to donate blood. Fortunately, that was the only “special treatment” involved in the event. I quietly donated 350 milliliters of blood.

I ate the delicious cookies I received in return, then walked back to my hotel.

It rains here every afternoon.

Fortunately, that doesn’t bother me.

The hotel is fantastic; it even has a dedicated workspace with comfortable chairs and tables.

Could a digital nomad be pampered any better?

I am certain that the first two days in Cambodia will be memorable.

The post 351. | The first two days in Cambodia first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

Reflecting on the past few hours.

And on the past four months.

I love Vietnam. Now, I’m thinking about why.

This is the one I know best

I think my answer is just that simple.

It’s true that it captivated me right from the start. After the bustle of Hanoi came Cat Ba, Ninh Binh, and then Sapa. And from there, more than a dozen other towns and cities. The North, the central region, and then the South. I’ve explored this country thoroughly, given the opportunities I had.

But I don’t really have much to compare it with.

I lived on an island in Thailand for three months. Admittedly, I got to know Koh Samui very well. But that’s just a tiny dot on the map of the country. I also lived in a Buddhist temple, in Chiang Mai, and—of course—in Pai. Yet, even taken together, these places represent only a small fraction of vast Thailand.

As for Indonesia, I saw parts of Bali and the tiny Gili Islands.

I traveled across Laos from end to end, but I didn’t cover as much ground there as I did here.

So, Vietnam is the country I can say with certainty—based on my own experience—is beautiful. I saw a lot of it. It revealed so much of itself to me. Out of all the places I visited, there were only two where I eventually felt I’d had enough. There is a strong correlation between the number of tourists and that feeling of “having had enough.”

Every country taught me something. A lot, actually. But I feel it was Vietnam that truly taught me what the digital nomad lifestyle is really like.

Lots of travel, lots of work. Shared accommodation. Simple local eateries. And the ability to move on when the time is right.

My heart is full of gratitude. I am living an extraordinary life right now. No matter how my life unfolds from here, the past year—and Vietnam’s role in it—has been life-changing for me. I might be wrong. But I only wrote this here out of habit.

Goodbye, Vietnam!

Saigon. For the last time.

For me, this will surely be a city of walks. I walked for 18 days here. 190 km. An average of 10.5 km a day. I’m satisfied.

I spent countless hours at Highlands Café. I think I’ve earned the “regular” badge. For a while now, the guys there have been able to predict exactly what I’m going to order. That’s just how I like it.

Today—my final day—I gave myself a day off. How ironic! A “free” digital nomad taking a day off.

I planned to visit five locations today. Whatever I miss, I miss. I decided that months ago regarding every future destination.

By showcasing these five spots, I’m letting go of this city. Tomorrow, I’ll be sleeping in Cambodia.

War Remnants Museum

I was already thinking about what I wanted to write about this experience while still at the museum.

I don’t want to—and can’t—write much about it.

In the courtyard, I encountered tanks, airplanes, a helicopter, and heavy weaponry. It was fascinating. But thoughts began to creep in: how many people had been killed by the very things I was looking at and touching?

Then came the section showcasing the prison system, also located in the courtyard. Here, I was deeply disheartened by the ingenuity applied to the destruction of human beings. I usually smile. I don’t think I did then.

Inside the building, there are vast, thematic halls.

War crimes, the effects of Agent Orange—to name just two. The mere names sent shivers down my spine.

I felt a constant knot in my throat and stomach. I often had to fight back tears.

It was in that second room I mentioned that I decided I didn’t want to write about this. Just a single word.

Horrible.

The last room offered some solace. For although the exhibition was dedicated to the memory of the many photographers—both Vietnamese and foreign—who perished in the fighting, it felt more human than the war itself.

I saw a great many magnificent photos. Not cheerful ones; most captured moments of deep sorrow. Yet, to me, they all seemed like masterpieces. Despite the pain they immortalized, they held—for me—so many genuine, natural moments. Those moments, those human gazes, helped prepare me to step back out onto the street.

Now I am sitting here in front of the café. My avocado smoothie is slowly running out. I am still not smiling. But that is all right for now.

I am heading to the Independence Palace. And I am waiting for that something that will bring a smile back to my day.

Independence Palace

I had arrived at a significant historical site.

The entire building felt so familiar. I had the constant sensation that I had seen it before—and I suspect that was no coincidence; the palace had likely appeared in many films.

I explored the place from top to bottom—from cellar to attic, as the saying goes. It was fascinating to see the styles and technology of sixty or seventy years ago within the labyrinthine cellar. I tried to picture the now-empty rooms as they once were, filled with radio operators, political officers, and security guards. I wondered how they would have reacted had I simply wandered in back then. I sought out every locked door and followed every staircase leading downwards to its very end. I thoroughly enjoyed looking around.

Then, I toured the upper floors. I admired the grand conference rooms and the furnishings, carpets, and artwork that exuded luxury. It seemed designed to impress the outside world and the high-ranking guests who visited—for the bedrooms themselves were quite ordinary. It was interesting to witness this contrast and to imagine what it must have been like to retreat from all that day-long splendor into a plain, everyday bedroom. I certainly would have enjoyed it.

I really liked the cinema, the restaurants, and the ballroom. I occasionally got lost on the upper floors, too, given the sheer number of corridors and turns, but I always managed to find the staircase in the end.

Finally, I reached the roof, where an American-made Huey helicopter stood. Here, I didn’t just see the traces of history; I felt like I was becoming a part of it, too.

On Saturday night, I happened to be walking in this area. Suddenly, I found myself at 22 Gia Long Street—or at least, that was its name on April 29, 1975. Today, it is known as 22 Lý Tự Trọng. Back then, American government employees lived here, and it was from this location that they were evacuated by helicopter. It is a very famous event in Vietnamese history; chances are, you’ve seen a photograph from that day.

And now—today, Tuesday—I am here at the palace where, the very next day (April 30, 1975), Saigon fell.

Helicopters played a role at both locations—associated with the memory of the Americans (and many Vietnamese who had collaborated with them) being evacuated.

It occurred to me that on Wednesday, I, too, will be “evacuating myself” from Vietnam. Though my story is far less dramatic: I am not fleeing, and I don’t have a helicopter.

Notre-Dame Cathedral Basilica of Saigon

This building is the odd one out among my excursions.

For one thing, I had already been here on the aforementioned Saturday night, so the sight wasn’t new to me.

For another, the building’s two main towers are completely encased in scaffolding for renovations, so from the front, all you can see is plastic sheeting.

Thirdly, I didn’t go inside then—at night—and I didn’t go in today either. It is open for two two-hour slots a day. I missed the window today; I spent far more time at the first two stops than I had anticipated. Then, by the time I arrived here, I was forced to take a break at the Highlands because my phone had died and I didn’t have a charger with me.

I had to decide whether to wait for Mass and perhaps see the cathedral’s interior then, or move on. I decided to move on. I don’t consider it “ethical” to use attending Mass as a cover for my curiosity. Besides, there was another pagoda on my list that I really wanted to reach before dark.

In this way, the cathedral ended up being just like its big sister in Paris for me. I’ve been to Paris twice, yet I’ve never seen the inside of that cathedral either.

I suppose this has all come together to form a story that has come full circle.

Saigon Central Post Office

Famous, iconic.

At least, that’s what I read about this building.

It is certainly an impressive building, both inside and out. It is stunningly spacious, beautifully decorated, and—in many respects—evokes classic French architecture. I wrote that sentence knowing nothing about architectural styles, so I apologize in advance if it wasn’t quite accurate.

What I meant to say was that being in and around the building gave me the feeling of being in Paris.

However, it currently functions largely as a giant bazaar. You can access postal services in the main hall, but even there, countless vendors are selling goods—perfumes, jewelry—and not the cheap kind, either. The building’s two side wings are literally like a bazaar, filled with thousands of different types of souvenirs.

None of that really appealed to me; I think I spent maybe 15 seconds in the side wing before turning back. Especially since photography was prohibited. What business did I have there?

Jade Emperor Pagoda

This is a very old pagoda tucked among lofty skyscrapers in the bustling commercial city center. It will surely be one of the most suggested travel destinations when you have a chance to visit the city.

That’s what I had read about this pagoda beforehand.

By the time I arrived, I was feeling a bit tired.

From the outside, the building looked so familiar that my first thought was, “I’ve seen this before.” There was a sign stating that proper attire was required for entry. I almost decided not to go in—I’d have to take off my shoes, and I was tired and feeling a bit lazy.

But I’d played this scenario out a few times before. And once again, that voice inside me spoke up, saying, “Oh, come on!”

I hadn’t forgotten to pack my sari in my backpack that morning; it would have been a waste not to use it. So, I kicked off my shoes, threw on the sari, took off my hat, and went into the pagoda.

It would have been a shame to miss it. It was unique—truly. I saw statues there of a beauty I hadn’t had the chance to see anywhere else. This was one instance where I actually “regretted” choosing to be respectful, as photography was prohibited. I would have loved to take a few pictures, but the little sign clearly said no.

So, I’ll carry the image of the pagoda in my memories instead.

Just as I will with Vietnam.

I love this country.

Even so, I’m evacuating myself in an hour.

The post 350. | Goodbye Saigon! Goodbye Vietnam! first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

Time and again, you read that “this isn’t for everyone.”

Here is the first instance where that applies to me: Saigon isn’t for me.

It’s too much! Goodbye!

Saigon is an anthill. And it’s hard to find peace—or maintain my peace—in an anthill.

I feel like the city has been testing my patience and inner calm ever since I arrived. It’s a tough challenge.

I see two paths.

One is to reach a state where even a city like this can’t get under my skin. That journey is still ahead of me, and I feel like I’m moving in that direction, though I haven’t quite arrived yet. For now, that’s a satisfying answer. The journey is exciting, though a little guidance on the best direction to take never hurts.

The other solution is to go somewhere that isn’t *this*. I’m leaving Saigon—and Vietnam—on Wednesday. I hope Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia, shows me a different side of big-city life.

A few days ago, mom asked if I was looking forward to leaving this place. At the time, I said it wasn’t really an option—or rather, that kind of anticipation wasn’t my focus. I was just adapting to the situation. Two days later, I realized: I *am* looking forward to leaving. That’s the second solution I mentioned earlier. LOL.

But I’m not looking forward to Phnom Penh just because it might be different. I met a friend on Koh Samui who lives in Cambodia now. We had talked about meeting up again once I was there. He’s currently living in Kampot, about 150 km from the capital. I told him a few days ago that I was arriving on Wednesday, and he immediately said he’d be waiting for me. He can’t wait for us to meet again. I feel the same way about it.

So, at this time in four days, I’ll be sitting on a bus—likely already inside Cambodia. I might write a summary of Vietnam. I’m not sure if it’s necessary, though; including this post, I’ve covered Vietnam in some way across 46 posts so far.

If I don’t write anything else: Goodbye, Vietnam!

Tension

I am currently reading a fascinating book about how the human brain works and how we influence one another. It is an excellent primer for the work I am about to start as an influencer.

Just yesterday, I came across a thought in it that was incredibly useful to me: the fact that I am kind shouldn’t stop me from defending myself. I also read—again, just yesterday—a crucial follow-up to that idea regarding my own behavior: if someone doesn’t understand a polite “no,” they need to be given a less polite one.

This serves as a vital form of self-validation for me. I really am kind when I turn things down a hundred times a day. But anyone who tries to push past that boundary needs to hit a harder wall. My kindness is something I extend to myself, and the other party can share in it if they choose. But if they cross the line, that kindness transforms into defense. And I cannot always defend myself politely.

I am forced to protect myself.

Navigating the sidewalks here is impossible for a number of reasons.

The sidewalk serves a different function here than anything I’ve known my whole life. Sales stalls are set up right next to the buildings—almost everywhere. Chairs and tables sit beside them. If there happens to be a narrow strip left for walking, it is almost certain that one or a dozen motorbikes will be parked there. And if there is still a bit of space left after that, a taxi driver will pull into the remaining spot to rest, lying right across the hood of the car.

On top of all this, the weather has been a bit rainy lately. I’ve written before about how beautiful the marble sidewalk is. But when it’s wet, you can’t really walk on it properly; it’s so slippery that I feel like I’m constantly about to face-plant.

If you can picture me waddling along this obstacle course—dodging everything and often walking in the street amidst oncoming traffic—let’s add a little more color to the scene. Say, someone coming straight at me on a motorbike *on the sidewalk*. And that’s still just the easy version. Because they come from behind, too.

What really cranks up the tension is when they actually honk at me. Get the picture? You’re walking on the sidewalk, and some moron gets annoyed because he can’t get past you.

Another favorite scenario of mine is when it’s obvious I’m right there next to them, yet they start moving their motorbike right in front of me. Or come straight at me.

Well, lately I’ve started using a new technique in these situations: I don’t step out of their way. I stop right in front of them. I spread my arms wide and ask with a smile (in Hungarian), “So, what the fuck is going on here?” Almost every time, they start smiling, apologizing, and looking at me like a deer in the headlights. Naturally, I step aside afterwards, but I’ve decided I’m not going to let this kind of idiocy slide without saying something.

The other day, I was navigating around what looked like the aftermath of a nuclear strike—right there on the street. Same old scene: three vendors, thirty motorbikes, and forty people milling about on the sidewalk. I stepped down into the road to get around them. Just then, a car appeared from the opposite direction, intending to park at the side of the road. I’m well aware that I’m invisible, but it still stung a bit that the driver maneuvered into the parking spot in such a way that, had I not stepped aside, I would have been hit. So, I passed him on the left and gave his folding side mirror a good whack into the parked position. I didn’t hold back the force of the blow.

To myself, I said: “I’ve got some pent-up tension from this city. Get out! Then we can talk it over!” Of course, he didn’t get out. Perhaps that’s for the best. I’m trying to avoid getting into a fight over the next few days—I swear. Still, if he *had* stepped out, I think we could have grounded that little bit of tension. It wouldn’t have been for lack of trying on my part.

Scams

Yesterday was an eventful day for two reasons.

I sat down at a small restaurant. The meal I chose cost 59,000.

I was so pleased when, along with the soup, I was served some cold cuts wrapped in bamboo and a small piece of local bread. I’ve written quite a few times about this kind of endearing hospitality.

When I went to pay, the young woman stated the amount: 75,000. I walked over to the large advertising board and pointed to the dish, telling her it was 59,000. Of course, she didn’t speak English, so I waited for her to type out what she wanted to say. Finally, a message appeared on her phone: “You have to pay for the wet wipe and the bamboo-wrapped snack since you ordered them.”

With a straight face, I told her I hadn’t ordered those items. I really dislike this kind of scam—and I certainly don’t support it. It wasn’t about the extra 26,000 cost; in monetary terms, that’s practically nothing. I simply refuse to play along with that sort of thing.

Her colleague saved the situation by—I assume—explaining that I hadn’t actually ordered anything else.

I received a kind gift. Yet, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. The idea was good, but the execution was botched.

Another place I definitely won’t be visiting again. The problem is, it’s not the first place like this.

On one of my first nights, I sat down at a street-side café opposite the coffee house. It’s a quiet spot with tables, and they stay open late. It’s a great place to sit and read comfortably after the Highlands coffeehouse closes.

“The coffee is 50,000,” the waitress said. Great. But when it came time to pay, her colleague quoted a total of 66,000. I told him, “Your colleague said 50,000.” He pointed to the menu. Sure enough, the coffee was listed at 60,000—plus a 10% service charge.

*Screw you guys.* That’s all I could say to myself. And that I’m never coming back here again.

You’re lying! You’re lying and whistling!

Zoltán Mucsi and Péter Scherer—who passed away in May—form an iconic duo in Hungarian media.

Most Hungarian readers are likely familiar with the scene. It can be found on YouTube under the title “Mucsi Zoltán Ne fütyülj!”

The scene takes place in a cemetery. One of the characters creates tension out of a moment of calm by suddenly screaming at the other, who had been speaking quietly. He screams at the other person not to scream, because doing so shatters the peace.

Why do I mention this?

At two o’clock this morning, I turned off my light and fell asleep.

At three in the morning, I woke up to the sound of three women screaming at each other in the room. On one hand, they were chatting as if they were out on the street; on the other, one of them was constantly yelling.

It wasn’t pleasant to wake up to this after only an hour of sleep. I’m already used to the man in the bed next to mine making phone calls every morning around 7:30—and not quietly, either. But waking up to that around 7:30 is one thing; waking up at 3:00 a.m. after just an hour of sleep is quite another.

I listened for a moment, hoping the yelling would end quickly. It didn’t. Then I poked my head out from the foot of the bed, expecting my appearance to simply put an end to the commotion. It didn’t. In fact, I couldn’t even get a word in; I just stared at the three women who were screaming non-stop.

One of them seemed to “reward” my appearance by turning her screaming toward me. I don’t know what she was shouting about, but the word “Vietnam” came up so often that I somehow got the feeling she was talking about me—maybe questioning why I was there, or complaining about what Vietnam is like; I really don’t know.

I stared at them for a couple of minutes, like a frog peering out of the grass. Then I lay back down, knowing I could fall asleep even amidst that kind of noise. But five minutes later, I stuck my head out again.

I looked at the woman who was doing most of the shouting. And I started yelling right back at her: “Stop shouting! This is a bedroom—don’t make a scene here! I want to sleep!”

I didn’t hold back. I screamed at her like a banshee.

She scrambled back into her bed in a split second.

After that, the room fell into such a deathly silence that you could only hear the air conditioner.

A few minutes later, I really had to fight to control myself.

I felt an overwhelming urge to burst out laughing.

That sudden shift to deathly silence was just so comical…

Just as it’s comical to have to scream at someone to get them to stop screaming.

I have four more nights to spend in that room.

I hope I won’t have to shatter the silence again just to get some quiet.

The post 348. | Saigon is not for me first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

The question arose: what is it that I no longer keep with me after a year? Of what I packed when I left.

I made a minimalist quick inventory.

What did I leave behind on the trip?

I took this picture 384 days ago. I packed it two hours before departure, and in the end, I didn’t make a list before.

So now this picture is the starting point for the inventory.

I still “live a minimalist life”, or rather “I am living an advanced level of minimalist living“.

Therefore, the negative side of the inventory is not a big task.

In the picture you can see a pair of jeans with a matching belt. I ended up not bringing this, I put it back in the closet after the picture was taken. There was a hair clipper in the package. I gave this to a hotel employee in Bali. Also in Bali I gave the two packs of cards and the Rubik’s cube in the picture as a gift.

I read the only book in the picture, digitized it for my notes. Then I left it on the bookshelf of my second accommodation in Chiang Mai, Thailand. Maybe one day another Hungarian reader will come across it and find it useful.

I brought a course notebook with me. This was only because I didn’t have time to digitize it in Hungary. I did this on the island of Koh Samui and threw the notebook in the trash there.

I also brought a pair of beach shoes with me. These broke on the first use. Or rather, this was its second use, because I had used them once before in Croatia. So they also ended up in the trash.

The sea claimed one of the socks I brought with me in Bali. I declared one of them a heroic death after one of the muddy incidents and buried it in a trash can.

Although they are not visible in the picture, one of the smaller bags contained my blood pressure medications. The trash can also ate them. Among the general medications, there was one that had since expired. I didn’t keep these either.

I also had two shorts. Both were badly worn during the trip. I had one of them sewn up in Vietnam, but I don’t use it. Regardless, I won’t throw it away, because it’s also a spare. I folded the other one into the bottom of my laptop bag. That way, there’s extra impact protection under my laptop. If I drop the bag harder on the ground, the laptop won’t dampen my carelessness.

What didn’t I use?

There’s only one thing I don’t use on a daily basis, but I haven’t thrown it away. It’s my sweater. I wore it once. When we went to watch the sunrise in Bali at dawn by a volcano. It was cold then. I could have done without the sweater, but if I had it, I would have put it on on the way there.

Regardless, I won’t throw it away. It’s the only thing I have that can come in handy at any time.

I also have a first aid kit. I haven’t had to use it once. Naturally, I’ll keep it.

What did I buy in a year?

Before the Gibbon Experiences jungle tour, I bought a pair of long sweatpants. They said I’d need them in the jungle.

I didn’t need them. So I only wore this item of clothing once. When I tried it on in the store. I’m not going to throw it away. I’ve been to cold places in the past, and I’ve been cold. It’s good to have a plan B.

I also have the sarung I bought in Bali in my backpack. I haven’t used it since, but I’m sure I might need it again. Especially if I actually go to India.

I’ve been to a Decathlon store once. I bought two socks and a new pair of shorts there. Since then, I’ve worn these pants day and night. I usually wash them while I’m taking a shower, and they’ll have time to dry by the next morning.

I also bought new beach shoes on the trip. I wore them twice. The last time was when I visited “Rục Mòn cave – Fell but don’t die”. It bled there.

Once, I thought I lost a sock during one of the washes. At that time, a friend of mine gave me a new pair of socks. He was already heading to Europe, so he didn’t need them.

Another time, I found a nice scarf in the forest. I put this away because it’s nice to wipe away sweat. I can say that it was a useful find.

A friend gave me a color-changing, neon light. I carried this around for a while, but the last time it broke in my backpack on the bottom of a bus. The backpack must have been gently thrown away.

I have three books. I took two from a bookshelf where I could get them for free. I bought one for myself a few weeks ago.

I now have two bracelets, which are new purchases from last year.

I also had two sunglasses. One is in my laptop bag, but I don’t really use it. The other was in my backpack. It broke there. I threw it away two weeks ago when I noticed that it no longer worked.

And of course there are the iconic headphones that I’ve written about a few times. The one I left Hungary with has long since been in the trash. I have the last copy I bought in my ears. And I have three in my bag right now. One that’s good, but I don’t like it. It’s my backup. There’s the one that’s broken on the right side. And there’s the pair that I lost the case for the last time. I’m going to throw those last two out when I go to bed tonight.

I found a pair of scissors here in Vietnam. The headphones made me think I’d take them out of my bag tonight. I thought I’d use them. I was wrong.

So, after today’s inventory, all I have to do is throw away a few things.

Balance

If I look at the big picture, the contents of my two bags haven’t changed much.

I occasionally throw out all the little things that I still had or collected along the way.

I gave away everything I found or received as gifts along the way.

The inventory confirmed that I only have what I use or really need in an emergency.

On 3 occasions, I only had my small backpack with me for days. I’m not saying that I would be able to live with even less in the long run. But this year also included the fact that I managed my everyday life with just one small backpack.

After a year, I still dare to say that I live a minimalist life.

Really.

The post 346. | After a year they are no longer with me first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

But before that, I might write a little about the little experiences. Or, in this post, a little more about the things that bother me.

So that they don’t get forgotten.

Big city, a bit empty

I’ve been living in the city for a week now as I write these thoughts. I’ve tried to get to know the area thoroughly. I’ve increased my daily walking average of 6.6 km from last year to 10.9 km in the past seven days. In other words, I’ve given the city 84 km to show me something “impressive”.

This hasn’t happened in equal measure. Either Saigon didn’t want to show me anything, or I’ve been blind the past few days. The temples are beautiful, but I think I’ve seen all the temples in the area. I’m exaggerating a bit, so I’ll tell you a little about the area.

The city has a strange quality. It’s as if I can’t go very far. For example, today I set off twice just going straight, so I get quite far. It’s quite natural during my random walks that after a while I don’t even know where I am. But today, both times, I suddenly found myself on the street where I live.

Plus, I found the place where – if I remember correctly – the bus dropped me off when I arrived here in Saigon. I was so happy! I thought I would have to walk a long way home from here. It turned out that the hostel is two blocks away.

I’ll try to just go straight on the weekend, but I don’t believe that there are long straight roads here anymore. LOL. I’m walking around the streets, I’m like a boomerang.

There are also a lot of shops in the area, and a lot of fancy restaurants. But I can hardly find a bench where I can sit down and enjoy the sunshine for a bit. Or even a small street food stall.

The vendors

Despite all my patience, all the politeness and respect I showed in my article “Behavior LEGO”, the vendors are starting to get on my nerves. I had to realize that these people don’t care at all about what I say. There’s always a standup that looks like a dialogue, with less than funny outcomes.

Today, for example, a sunglasses vendor was quite tiring. These people hang a huge furniture board around their necks with a string and carry it next to their bodies. The board is full of sunglasses hanging on it. The board is not only good for carrying and showing off a lot of goods. It’s also good for blocking the road with it.

So there’s no escape. They always start the wedding dance by saying “cheaper”. Not cheap, cheaper. I’ll figure out what it’s cheaper than. I’ve met all the vendors in the area, I think twice. So, I politely say, wai, bow, hand on heart and a huge smile, “no thanks.” Despite this, the good man keeps pointing. He takes off his own glasses so I can try them on. I tell him I don’t wear sunglasses. (Really, I don’t.) Then he takes out a white one. Thank you, no. He shows me the red frame, how slim it is. Thank you, no. After the 5th pair of glasses, he takes out the lighter. This lighter is so cute. You have to pull a little lighter out of it, drag it along the side and this stick starts burning. It’s really special. The little metal box even has Vietnam engraved on it. The only problem is that I’ve seen it twenty times. And I’ve said no twenty times.

After he understands with great difficulty that he doesn’t need the lighter, he goes back to the glasses. Today I found myself telling the man – although I doubt he understood – that I’ve heard this show so many times that I don’t want to continue it anymore. After my 10th nos, he finally gave up.

Two days ago, a shoe repair guy came up to me. I immediately told him that I didn’t want anything. But he – professional injury – immediately noticed that the toe of my shoe was torn. Before I could blink twice, he knelt down in front of me, grabbed my ankle and started pressing instant glue into my shoe. It was like a clever magic trick: I had nothing in my hand, voila, the glue was there. I had to pull my foot out of his hand. And after that, he asked where I came from. Damn, that’s the first sentence of the conversation, it doesn’t come after leaving it at the wooden statue.

My last favorite story was last night. I’m coming home peacefully. Headphones, zen, just my feet and me. Of course, the taxi driver stops me at the corner. Where am I going? I don’t bother with questions that I would have shot from the hip years ago, saying that it has nothing to do with you. I take half a minute to interrupt the lecture, and then I move on.

I tell the guy to go home. Why. Pfff. I know that in this city it can be difficult to understand why someone goes home at 11 o’clock at night. That doesn’t need explaining either, but I patiently tell him that I want to read in bed. He suggests something else.

I have a beer, he takes me to the best place. No way, I tell him. Why. Because I’m a big boy, and I know what I want to do. Now, for example, go home. But just one beer! That afternoon I managed to go far enough without getting involved with the house. Then, far away, I sat down and drank two beers. So I tell the squirrel that I’ve had two today, I don’t need any more. But it will be good, believe me.

Some other time. Then I thought that would be enough of this scene. But he changed tactics. How long have I lived here? Of course, I’m the stupid one for wanting to respond to these pointless attempts at dialogue. I tell him that I’ve been living in Asia for a year, and in Vietnam for 4 months. A victorious smile appears on his face. Then you can’t know everything. I tell him that definitely don’t, and I don’t want to.

After that, he delivered the final blow: I bet you’re not happy. Well, I had to end this show here. I put my hand on his shoulder and just said: you’d lose. Then I left.

Chopsticks

I have more pleasant memories than this.

In one of the small street restaurants, one of the owners was very nice. After I finished eating, he asked me how long I had been eating with chopsticks. I told him I had learned how to use them when I was a teenager. He asked me why. It was simply attractive, so I wanted to learn how to use them. He said I eat with them in a very professional way. I liked this attention.

I really like eating with chopsticks. In most cases, there is a box of chopsticks on the table. You just have to take them out. If there aren’t any, I’ve been given a spoon with my soup. In such cases, I feel a little offended and ask for a chopstick. There should be a limit to the touristy behavior. I’m kidding, of course, no offense. I just really like eating with chopsticks.

Yes, you have to eat the soup with a spoon here too. Or you can simply drink it from the bowl. Whatever you like.

The small vendors, who I have a hard time finding in the hustle and bustle of the many larger restaurants, are usually very grateful that I eat at their place. From this I can guess that most tourists do not choose these small street seats. If that were the case, it would not be such a great experience for them to sit there.

I feel better in these small places. Here, for example, they also notice that the two-handed handover of money is a sign of respect. In one place, the young waiter said to me: “I appreciate it, sir.”

Saigon is the second city in Vietnam that has shown me several things that do not impress me.

There are still 11 days and 2 hours for this to change. I hope that it will.

The post 344. | Saigon II. first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

In the article “Arrival in Saigon”, I left the story where I arrived on Friday evening and set off on Saturday morning to buy another pair of headphones.

Since then, I have spent 3 whole days and 44 kilometers walking.

I have something to tell you about.

The first days

My accommodation… Basically, everything is fine with it. For me. But there are elements of the environment here that would easily blow the fuse in the eyes of less accepting people.

There are 12 beds in my room. Now the company is mixed. I think there is someone in the room who lives in one bed as a lifestyle. In the middle of the room there is a completely pointless glass dining table and a kitchen cabinet. Plus, the door to the women’s room opens from this room. Under a printed sign “Men are strictly prohibited from entering”. The city still seemed modest here.

The room was probably converted from a small apartment into a shared dormitory. It also has a bathroom – built into the room. It’s 1 meter x 1 meter, and it has the toilet, the sink and the shower. Fortunately, I haven’t been in a traffic jam here yet. But I’m worried that if the need arises and I have to go urgently, there won’t be anyone there.

My bed is a lower bed. A plank bed, and a thin mattress. An elephant has probably slept in it, because the bed is sunken in the middle. So I can only sleep on one side. It feels like I’m sleeping on a ship that’s being stormed by the waves.

There’s a shoe display in the hallway in front of the room. There are an unreasonable number of shoes on the shelves and on the floor. More than the number of feet calculated based on the number of beds would justify. There is also a guitar (in a case) and a huge treble clef-shaped seating area. Plus a “no smoking” sign, under which everyone smokes inside the building with natural ease.

In Agoda’s system, you can mark that you want a non-smoking room. I wonder how they would solve this. Well, I have never seen anyone smoking in any room, but – as we know – the devil never sleeps.

Me neither. I leave the room in the morning, spend my days in the nearby café, in smaller restaurants and on the street. And I only retire to my bed around dawn.

14+ million souls

According to official figures, that’s about how many people live in the city.

People.

Another very common form of life is rats. I encounter them at every turn. Not only at night. During the day too. They run around everywhere. I’ve seen them in groups many times.

I’m not writing this because they bother me. Nor to hurt anyone. It’s simply a fact. The garbage is taken out at night, I’ve seen it many times. In the area where I live now, there are lots of small alley-like streets. It’s harder to take the garbage out in bags from there. But it’s easier to chew on it.

In addition, there’s a lot of garbage that’s not on the “to take out” list. So I’m not surprised by the presence of rats.

Let’s say, cockroaches either. There are a lot of them everywhere too. They’re more exciting. For example, I had to quickly learn not to put my backpack on the ground in the street anymore. I wouldn’t want to wake up on my deck to find a cockroach analyzing my dream.

I don’t find these creatures dangerous.

Unlike humans.

This species isn’t dangerous in itself. The approximately 9 million registered motorcycles and approximately 1 million cars they drive make them fearsome predators.

The traffic is incredible. Incredible chaos. Getting to the other side of the road here is truly bordering on mission impossible. It’s no coincidence that I get chills when Google shows me that I have to cross the road.

Toilet

Do as the locals do!

I got this advice from a friend who has seen the world before.

I saw a public toilet once during my 44 kilometers, but it was closed.

The whole city is one big public toilet, after all, you can’t close it.

I got an interesting answer to a question I asked this morning. It’s okay for men to pee in the street, but what do women do? THAT was a good question, and my answer is that I don’t know.

Well, I found out tonight. I was passing through a small park in the middle of a large intersection. Small here is not an exaggeration, let’s say with a 6-meter radius, waist-high vegetation. A woman walked in front of me. Suddenly I see her pushing down her pants. Luckily, she heard me sneaking up behind her, so we avoided the awkward moment of seeing what I already knew.

So far, I have only experienced the principle of “don’t look around, just drive!” in connection with driving.

Today, the realization almost landed on my chest.

I visited a local market, but I will write about that later in this post. The point is that I was already walking out of the market on an extremely smelly and poor-looking side street. In one of the shops, a guy suddenly turned his head and spat on the street. I was standing in the exact same direction. Only the low initial speed of the saliva and gravity were the reasons why I didn’t experience the experiential knowledge of someone else’s bodily fluid.

The guy immediately turned away and started laughing, and I even saw that he was already telling the story of almost spitting on a stranger. Let’s just say I laughed too, but there was no one to tell it to. Fortunately, I usually write such things. I’m still laughing about it.

Back to other needs!

I no longer have a problem urinating in places I would never have imagined. Let’s say between a tree and a parked car on a dark street. Or standing next to a fence, if it at least provides some cover from prying eyes. Which there are anyway, because no one cares if I urinate in the street.

But I still insist on some kind of cover behind the event, due to some seemingly stupid habit.

I have often felt that I am unnecessarily complicating my life with this shamelessness, or its falling wreckage. On Saturday night, I almost fought for my life to find something to hide behind. I really needed it, that’s the truth.

Turning a corner, I saw something that confirmed that I was too complicated. In the middle of the road (I’m not kidding!), there was a lit motorcycle taxi. It was parked on the median in the bend. At a 30-degree angle to the median. I think the driver was in a hurry, so he didn’t have time to park properly. But – feeling that it wasn’t safe – he politely left the lights on. Still, safety comes first.

It’s true that he was not only illuminated by the light of the electric pole he was standing under while urinating, but also by the light of his own motorcycle. I’m stupid, and I’m always looking for cover.

Walking Street

Since it was close, I went to a walking street that evening.

It’s not my world, I saw and felt that right away.

As well as the fact that people don’t go here for walks.

The number of scantily clad women dancing on tables placed on the street per square meter was quite high. The number of literary circles disguised as massage parlors was also quite high.

I had to save myself from the clutches of at least three women by walking back and forth across the street. I felt in greater danger here than during the low-speed saliva incident.

Fortunately, each woman only needs to say “no” ten times, and then they slowly finish the wedding dance, spiced with all the practicalities.

One woman made me laugh so much that I have to tell her story. She addressed me with the usual question of where I came from. I’ll just say that the battle is half lost if I answer that. But I told him anyway. I was wearing the same T-shirt I got for donating blood in Laos. He obviously just wanted to touch the blood drop logo on my chest with his few-centimeter-long artificial nails. While he was getting to know the image, he asked, “Thailand?” I told him, “Laos.” “Did you like it?” he asked. Yes. “And have you tried Vietnam?” then he winked so hard that I started laughing, because I had only seen such a scene in a movie.

In the end, we didn’t read Seneca together, because I was ready to leave.

But I found that this city is not shameless.

The first tour

Today I walked 17 kilometers in the city.

My itinerary was simple: Thiên Hậu Pagoda, Chợ Lớn, the Chinese market and Binh Tay market.

The pagoda was a real highlight for me. I have seen many pagodas in Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. This one was Chinese.

During the day, I ended up visiting about 5 such buildings, so I can tell you about my overall experiences.

These buildings are completely different from the ones I have seen so far. The temples can be approached from a small courtyard. The outer walls of this courtyard and the temple are extremely richly decorated. Small groups of statues, very beautiful colorful paintings, and carvings under the roof attracted my attention. When visiting each temple, I spent long minutes before entering the temple, there was so much to see. I was impressed by the detail and meticulousness that was shown here.

The roofs of the churches tell separate stories. The tiles themselves are works of art, which are then decorated with all sorts of – although I thought they were based on the same theme – sculptures and scenes. The roof itself is almost a separate performance.

The churches usually have a main hall and corridors surrounding it on two sides. Lots of incense burners are burning everywhere. There were huge, stove-sized incense holders everywhere. In addition, there are countless places where visitors place incense sticks purchased around the church. These are also used for personal prayer. I also saw incense sticks that I had never seen before. At first I thought I saw decorative elements on the ceiling. I thought of lampshades in the shape of a candy cane, about the size of two heads, winding in a spiral. Then I saw how they are placed on pre-stretched wires using long rods. At that time I also saw that they were smoking.

In addition, there is a lot of oil burning everywhere. They pour oil into oil-burning bowls by the liter.

And there are a lot of statues. Altars. Gold color. Offerings. In a form that surprised even me. For example, someone put a large piece of pork in the mouth of a tiger statue. But I also saw dozens of rice bags stacked on top of each other in almost every temple. And of course the usual offerings of drink, food and fruit.

Each temple offers hours of viewing. With the 5 temples, I have now gone quite far in the experience.

I thought I would go to the local market to quiet the buzzing of my brain.

I didn’t make it. It was a “everything you can imagine” market. Think of anything, you will find it here. Of course, I may be exaggerating. But the size of the market, the number of vendors, the hustle and bustle of people and the multitude of goods together could draw an infinite line.

I wasn’t here long. I quickly got tired of the hustle and bustle. This place has now been put in the “checked” category. I won’t be going to a place like this for a while.

I left the market towards the back streets. This was where the careful spitting happened. It was a tougher story to see the dilapidated, improvised stalls. Here I literally walked in stench and filth. This is not a tourist-friendly side of the market, that’s for sure. I liked walking here regardless.

On the way home, I looked at a small street that the AI ​​had previously said was a typical old Chinese street, worth checking out. It was definitely worth it. The irony of fate is that today (I started writing on Monday, today is Tuesday) I’m already living in a second hostel on such a street.

On my way home, I happened to find a street that would become one of my sights for the next few days.

Book Street.

Well, this is a real danger to my life.

Imagine a garage. With mountains of books. I’m not kidding! From floor to ceiling, so that you can hardly walk between them. Do you get the picture? Now imagine 10-15 such garages next to each other.

The idea of ​​going into one of them was tempting. But I didn’t dare take that step. I’ve been carrying two big books in my big backpack for three months. And last week I bought a new one. I couldn’t risk having a fourth one with me, because I’d get a hernia. And I didn’t come to Asia to open a library.

The city has a lot to show

These are the first few days.

There are still a few places I want to see, but my head is already spinning, so much experience.

Maybe Saigon just wants to ask: why would I hide it?

Maybe Saigon is not shameless because it is vulgar. But because it doesn’t really want to hide anything from me.

The post 341. | Saigon, the shameless first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.

It was a journey with little excitement and a little loss.

The Hungarian Restaurant

Mũi Né didn’t give me the experience of the second Hungarian restaurant.

I took a taxi to the part of town where my bus left and where the Hungarian restaurant was. I had to go to a café, that’s where my bus left from. The Hungarian restaurant was ahead of me on my way. I didn’t have enough cash with me to buy myself a Hungarian meal, so I had to find an ATM first.

It started to rain. It rains every day. And when it rains, it rains a lot here. I was forced to hide under a small roof and wait. But I wasted time. It had become a rule for me to always arrive earlier than the bus departure, because the departure time here is just informational information.

While waiting, I noticed a woman waving from a restaurant on the other side of the road for me to go there. I had to make a decision. I didn’t have time to go to the nearest ATM, go back to the restaurant, and then catch the bus in time. I accepted the invitation. I knew I still had enough money for fried rice.

I really appreciate the hospitality and problem-solving skills of the people here. The woman didn’t speak any English. All I wanted to know was if I could pay with a credit card. Since she didn’t understand the question, I didn’t feel like translating it, so I took out my card and showed it to her.

She immediately called someone. Then she gave me the phone to talk to this person. I didn’t understand, so I started talking to a stranger, assuming we both spoke English. I repeated the question. And she replied, “Sit down and eat something. We’ll figure something out!” This was such a nice gesture that I would probably accept it even if there was no other way to proceed. If I couldn’t pay by card and didn’t have enough cash, I can’t imagine what the solution would have been, but I would have trusted the person. Maybe I should have washed the dishes.

I showed the woman my last change, which was just enough for a rice and a Coke.

From there I hurried on to the bus.

I would have hurried. But I couldn’t. Instead, I thought a lot about the ancestors of the city’s architects. All the sidewalks are covered with beautiful, marble-like tiles. It’s really beautiful. But in the rain, it’s impossible to walk fast on them because they’re terribly slippery. This probably isn’t a problem for others because I’m the only one walking for miles here. And I’m faced with the fact that you can only go half-steam ahead.

Luckily, I finally got there on time. The bus, of course, left exceptionally on time.

On the bus

I got a ticket for a sleeper bus. So I fell asleep right away. The space was tight, but in the past few months I have become a black belt in living in tight spaces. I will slowly be able to fit in a space the size of a handkerchief.

I got off at the first stop, I was going to find the bathroom. When the bus stops at these places, they usually unload a big box of slippers so that you don’t have to take your shoes back. Which you have to take off when you get on the bus. In such cases, they always give you a bag to put your shoes in. At the end of the trip, I can look everywhere for the discarded bags.

Well, this time the box with the slippers was not there. So I had to go back to the bus to get my slippers. Which – to my greatest surprise – were dumped from my bed onto the floor. “Bus! Saigon! Bus!” From these words I understood that I had to change to another bus.

I think I will never understand this. Why can’t we do a three-hour trip on a bus? Or rather, I buy a ticket for a sleeper bus, and then I have to change to a seated bus 45 minutes before the destination. So why is this trip called a sleeper bus? Whatever.

Saigon is a huge city. I arrived in the evening, in the dark. The many tall, illuminated buildings were impressive. But I will write about the city another time.

The city and the accommodation

I set off for my accommodation.

After a few kilometers, I arrived.

A rather run-down hostel, where I managed to rent a room. The condition of the accommodation is always a bit of a surprise, because the pictures taken of it usually differ from reality.

This was not the unpleasant surprise!

When I got to the reception, I wanted to put my headphones in their box.

I left them.

Today, Saturday, it would have been a month since I bought these, my fifth headphones. I will not comment on this incident now. Anyone who reads my posts knows exactly that I have become a black belt in headphone abandonment.

Today I have to buy a new one, because unfortunately this device is so much a part of my everyday life that it has become an elementary necessity.

I took a long walk in the evening city.

I ate a cheap and very delicious soup. I sat down for an hour (until closing time) at my favorite Highlands Café. I met a lot of rats on the streets. A lot, I mean that.

I ended my walk with an exciting race. I saw a long line of military personnel walking on the other side of the street. A military policeman on a motorcycle closed the line. They were marching.

I decided to make a little race for myself. I left the entire column behind. Moving meter by meter, I slowly reached the end of the column. At that moment, life passed me back to the starting field. The traffic light was green on their side, red on mine. They left me behind.

But I didn’t give up. I put the car into gear and finally left the entire line behind. Right at the corner leading to my hostel, I won the race I had invented, which no one was interested in. It was a good game.

I worked in the hostel until 3:30 in the morning, then went to sleep. My bed is comfortable. A bit rough, but I slept well.

So it’s Saturday morning.

I opened my laptop to see what the exact model of my headphones were.

Oops!

I also accidentally wrote this post in a nice little street cafe.

I’m going to go and buy a new device now.

And I don’t have much hope that I’ll keep this one.

The post 339. | Arrival in Saigon first appeared on Digital Nomad Blog.