My friend P, and her husband M, are in Vietnam, sweating through a very non-white Christmas season. The white stuff wouldn't last a second in Southeast Asia if it ever managed to head that way. It's broiling hot, she says.
Between the heat and the fumes from the "hundreds of thousands of mopeds that fill the roads at all hours," on the streets of Can Tho, a big city on the Mekong Delta, P felt a little woozy.
She emailed me from an Internet cafe, another thing that's difficult to indulge in when you're traveling with others. They either have to want to use email too, or you have to make them wait for you, or you have to arrange to meet them somewhere when you're done.
And then you have to make sure you're done when you said you'd be done or you're making them wait. Details, details, that you don't have to deal with when you're on you're own.
Anyway, she wrote that for the afternoon, she was "boldly going solo" for two hours. With someone she called a "guide in training." So she had the company of a Thai local. "It's more interesting because I can ask the questions I want to ask without M going off on his tangents."
See, my faithful readers, even the person who's nearest and dearest to your heart, that traveling companion you supposedly can count on, can get in your way. Or on your nerves.
It's not always a blessing to have that familiar person by your side, as I've said before.
"My guide-in-training and I--Lee--though it's probably spelled Xlyieie or something (spelling is a challenge here)--walked through the 'supermarket.' A big outdoor market under an awning with live fish trying to jump out of pans of water and many different cuts of meat sitting like slabs on a tray and trays of heaped-high vegetables (some of them unknown to me.)
"And oh, those delightful, tiny little bananas--love them. When we were on the river in a dhow this morning (guided tour), you could see how people live. Many of them work and sleep on their boats. The wash is hanging from a line on the boat. A little stove is at the rear. Sometimes you can see the hammock slung and someone taking a nap.
This is exactly my problem. I tend always to feel rushed or rude when I'm with others. Either I choose not to linger the way I'd like to over certain things, or I do linger and feel like I'm holding someone up. And that makes me uncomfortable."I am enjoying the time solo since I am more interested in seeing in detail how people live and when you travel with someone who is less interested in the domestic life of people, you get rushed."
"Now that I am walking around back streets, I can peep into people's homes. They are pretty wide open because it's hot here and I can see how no matter how poor they are, they have a TV. On the river, I took several photos of the boats with the laundry hanging off the bow.
"But on land I feel so intrusive. It is their home! And I am a stranger. A mighty big one." (It's not that P is so big, she says, as that the Vietnamese are so small.)
"The kids are so cute and friendly. They call out 'hello, hello' unless they are trying to sell you something like lottery tickets. The Mekong Delta women look so elegant in the pajama-like pants and mandarin tops. They wear those conical hats with scarves across their faces. (For beauty, the guide tells us. That is, to protect their beauty.)"
I'll pass along more if P ends up solo again.
And has the time to write to me with the details.
Photo: 1. Waterfront, Can Tho, by Adam Jones 2. Floating market in Can Tho by Doron
Hi Ellen,
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Posted by: Brittany | March 22, 2010 at 07:22 PM