Bicycling in Ho Chi Minh City

Day 2:
MI time: 11:20 a.m.
Local Vietnam Time: 10:20 p.m.
Date: August 18, 2008

After enjoying curry veggies and reice at our Indian Restaurant, we jumped into our internet cafe ready to send out our first blog. Well, almost ready anyway as soon as I am finished painting you a picture of today with my words as a paintbrush. If I could paint a picture of today it would be vibrant and chaotic with lots of colors.
We started our morning at seven a.m. The hotel (Ha Vy, $10 a night with fan) provided us with free breakfast. I really thought it would be rice with fish, but to my delightful surprise breakfast was a bread roll, strawberry jelly and peanut butter. Oh and coffee with sweet condensed milk. I only put a couple of drops in mine, but apparently, the same canned condensed milk we use for baking purposes is used for everyday coffee.
We both stared at the huge cardboard boxes in the hotel lobby. Steve's box had a huge cut in the side. On mine the metal mount on the tire was poking through the side of the box. What if our poor bikes did not survive the journey in good health? To our delight, ripping off all the tape revealed the same enjoyment as opening christmas presents: joy! Especially when we discovered how easy putting together the bicycles was. We even gave them a quick test run. The experience of riding my bicycle in Ho Chi Minh City for the first time is a memory that I will not forget. Steve had just tightened the seat and squeezed the front tire. "I think your bicycle is done," Steve said.
"Then I will give it a test run!" I stated.
"You're crazy, unless you wanna get killed you better be kidding me!"
"Actually, I am serious. I will just go to the corner and back."
I carefully veared to right out of the hotel lobby, hugging the right side of the road as much as I could while a parade of motos circled around me. I did exactly as I had read in the Lonely Planet Guide Book about "how to walk in Ho Chi Minh City." Go in a straight line without sudden movement so as others can easily go around you. Five minutes later, I arrived safely at the hotel and it was Steve's turn. After five minutes of cycling up and down the supposedly "low traffic" street in front of our hotel we were done biking for the day! We both felt funny from the 11 hour time change and overwhelmed with the constant motor bike parade. We spent all day walking and practicing how to cross the street! Crossing the street with a CONSTANT flow of mopeds reminds me of an ATARI game I used to play as a kid where the player was a chicken and had to cross the street. Each time you successfully crossed the street you would advance a level and the traffic would become more intense. So here I was in Ho Chi Minh City; a chicken locked into a video game crossing the street at the most advanced level. We stood there at the curbside waiting for a break in traffic. Five minutes passed. Still a steady flow of chaos. Then a local stepped beside us. She waited for maybe ten seconds and stepped into the street. We locked hands and became her ducklings, following her closely. I felt stuck in a beehive with ZZZ of the motors engulfing me. We kept a slow pace as they all zoomed around us. I sighed in relief. We had made it acrost our first street. My relief lasted only a block as we aproached another intersection. We acted as ducklings once again and follwed a local Vietnamese closely at a slow steady pace. Once, I looked to my right and saw a swarm of mopeds and froze! A mistake! BEEP! BEEEEEEEEEEEEP! The moped swerved rapidly, avoiding me. Note to self: Never stop! Keeping a steady rhythm helps the moped drivers anticipate to veer slightly to the right or left to avoid me. Stopping throws them off. The next intersection, we were "big kids" and crossed the street all by ourselves! We held hands and just walked real slow, almost pretending NOT to see the traffic and we made it!
FIRST STOP: market. One of my teacher friends at Lincoln teaches a lot about Vietnam and requested that I send her some typical things. So my first interaction with locals besides with the taxi driver and at the hotel was at the market. We entered the huge cement structure and were welcomed by a myriad of clothes, bags, fruit, vegetables, meat, fish, oysters, rice, cashews, sandals--you name it! Peaople beckoned us to look and enter into their stalls. I felt overwhelmed. Steve and I walked in silence.
"Aren't you going to buy something for your friend?" Steve asked.
"I don't know how to!" I exclaimed, wide-eyed. We continued window shopping /wandering through the market two or three times until I had picked out in my mind exactly what I wanted to buy. Some really beautiful plates caught my attention. They reminded me vaguely of the plates they used in the Japanese restaurant in kalamazoo called Sushia. I also had in mind to buy some of the bamboo hats that all the local women were wearing. Wall hangings depicting typical scenery were also a must have.
"So yes, Steve," I stated, "These are the things I decided on. Now all we have to do is step out of the shy stage and actually buy them." We walked up to a lady and asked, "How much are the plates."
"duakuwanquozua!" She replied or something to that effect. Steve and I smiled blankly at her. Then we had a brighter idea. We walked up to her plates and pointed at them. She came to us with her calculator and typed the number 120,000. With 16,000 dong to a dollar, we figured the price to be under $10. We smiled at her, picked up her plates, and nodded yes. She uynderstood and packaged up the plates for us. Little by little with a series of pointing and smiling, we managed to purchase all of our items. On the tourist street, we became best buddies with the indian restaurants, and ate just like at our favorite restaurant in Kalamazoo called Saffron for under $5. We enjoyed rice, naan, curry and vegetables. And then a big boo boo. AFTER the spicy indian cuisine, I felt like something juicy and sweet. Anyone that knows me knows that I absolutely love grapes. So I found some in a supermarket.
"Teresa, maybe the grapes are not the greatest idea. The guidebook always says peel it, boil it, or loose it, " Steve Said
"No, no, Esteban, these grapes are fine. They are bagged and from a supermarket. I will even wash them with some of your distilled water."
Well, as it turns out Steve was right. No more grapes for me.

Lets just say it as sweet as possible. That evening I was up with the hershey squirts.