So, I’ve reached this point, too.
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.
Buy me a coffee?
If you enjoyed this story, you can buy me a coffee. You don’t have to – but it means a lot and I always turn it into a new adventure.
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