I was just going to wait to put anything up here until I returned from Vietnam, but then I thought to myself that it would just be too much all at once, like eating a ten pound bag of candy in one sitting. Therefore I’ll serve it up to you in bite-sized doses. The photos, however, will have to wait.

 DAY ONE. Rode in a minivan from the tour office in PP to some dock in the middle of nowhere. Dock actually consisted on a board propped up at a gradual angle against our long, yellow, rusty vessel. Passengers included, in addition to a couple other Americans and the Khmer guide, Japanese, Korean, Australian, Irish, German, Israeli, British, and South African. Had some nice talks with a few of these, namely an American guy named Peter and the two Irish guys. The Irish guys are taking the better part of a year to travel the world, and in India, met up with the Israeli and invited him along. Took most of the day to get to our destination just across the border, Chau Doc. It began pouring the minute we docked. We’re talking monsoon. After dinner Jon and I walked up and down the semi-lit streets in the rain, soaked and getting wetter, and just having a good chat.

DAY TWO. Met up with the rest of our group, though they were doing the tour in reverse and therefore were on their way to Cambodia today. We got in these little canoes and were paddled through a floating village by women with cone shaped hats. People live in these floating houses their entire lives, although they sometimes pick up and head downstream. They harvest fish in cages between the houses. Kids learn to swim at young ages. Stopped for a visit in a Cham village, one of many small pockets of this Muslim minority people group, scattered throughout Vietnam and Cambodia. “Friendly Muslim,” our tour guide told us. “Not suicide bomber.” The rest of the group headed off in the opposite direction and Jon and I, along with two guides, got in a minivan and went to visit Sam Mountain, which allows for a great view of the Cambodia border. At the base of this mountain is a statue of Lady Xua something. I don’t know the correct spelling off hand. The guide says he prays to her for a Mercedes. “Who else do you pray to?” Jon asked. Tour guide said, “I believe in myself. I believe in hard work.” He paused, then added, “My god is tourism.” Money, and the insatiable desire for more, is the driving force behind everything in Vietnam, I had been told earlier. Later, on the road, we went over a bridge where everyone was standing around. Suicide. Sobering. We stopped at a crocodile farm where I enjoyed throwing cashews at full grown crocs. Hit a couple of them on the head. Body tingled as we walked away, imagining my arm in a crocodile’s mouth. Ate lunch at a roadside stand next door to croc farm. Fish soup that tastes like spicy fruity pebbles. Checked in at hotel in Cantho. Explored. Bought ice cream in a mall. Bowled a game. Started off with three gutter balls but then pulled myself together and finished with a 105. Free massages in leather chairs in the department store. Saw no other foreigners in this city of half a million for two hours. Then saw some tall people with white skin and cameras. I correctly guessed they were Dutch. Followed them into a temple. A friendly monk missing teeth showed Jon and I the ashes of good Buddhists. He asked if we were Buddhist. “No, Christian,” we said. He took us around to the front and took two dragon fruits off the altar and gave them to us. “Gift,” he said. We then tried to think to the book of Acts to remember if we are allowed to eat food sacrificed to idols after all. My recollection was yes. Jon ate his. Mine sits in front of me in the internet cafe, for later consumption.

Time to go.