Living in Vietnam, my emotional barometer usually reads somewhere between wonder/bemusement/wtf. On Thursday night I found myself dancing with a feather duster in the vampire bar. Right now I am in a coffee shop listening to a Vietnamese girl’s acoustic cover of Enrique Iglesias. And the antics that happened in between were all equally absurd exercises in juxtaposition. I went to Ninh Binh and saw some of the most breathtaking natural landscape in the world, but the cost was having to participate in a variety of torturous “team-building exercises” like feeding people yoghurt while blindfolded and something else involving a box that contained condoms and a knife and a lighter… Later I almost got stuck on the roof of our ridickidonculously fancy resort. And the next day I rode a bicycle (for the first time in like eleven years) in the pouring rain, through an obstacle course of cow poop, all around that previously-mentioned breathtaking natural landscape. Then I went back to Hanoi, and at the night market a baby punched me in the head and then a feisty grandma hip-checked me into a belt stall. And then a cockroach climbed up my leg. And this morning I made spring rolls.
Ugh, writing things out makes it seem like a crazy dream, right? But it all happened, I swear!