For those of you who aren’t aware, I was in Vietnam from April 28th- May 7th 2008. It was Golden Week in Japan, so we had a few days off from school. A lot of people head to Thailand, and that was my original plan as well. But after talking with my two travel partners, Mike and Mitch (2 other teachers here on Tsushima), we decided to visit Vietnam instead. We had planned to visit Cambodia and Angkor Wat as well, but soon realized that 10 days would just not be enough time.
I had always had a vague interest in visiting Vietnam, but had never really looked much into it. It seems to often be overshadowed as far as tourism goes, by its neighbor Thailand. But once I cracked open my new Vietnam Lonely Planet I was enthralled. The various cultures, the natural beauty, the food, it all called out to me. I quickly came to realize that 10 days wasn’t even going to scratch the surface of this country.
With this knowledge in mind, I began to hack away at our itinerary, narrowing the scope of our travel. The book didn’t exactly give a glowing description of public transportation in Vietnam, so I assumed that it might be difficult to travel far, fast. We would find out first hand just how slow going it could be. There was so much that we wanted to see but we all agreed that we’d rather really get to experience one or two places, rather than zip through dozens without being able to enjoy them.
It was decided that we’d limit our travels to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), the Mekong Delta and Phu Quoc island (which is south of the mainland, and actually closer to Cambodia) since we all wanted to also get in some beach time. This is really only the very south of the country. But even 10 days was too short for this. I easily could have spent a month or more doing the same trip.
The anticipation built as our trip neared. Things had been kind of slow at school, and I was itching for a change of pace. Not to mention some warm tropical weather! Thanks to the forecasted weather of low to mid 90’s, I was able to pack everything I needed for the 10-day trip into one medium sized backpack. Tank tops and shorts don’t take up a lot of space. And the Rainbow sandals I was wearing were all the footwear I would need.
We were all giddy as we boarded our Cathay Pacific flight from Fukuoka. We had short layovers in Taipei and Hong Kong before reaching HCMC (Ho Chi Minh City). We really didn’t see much on our layovers mainly just your typical airport terminal duty-free shops. There was one really neat native arts store in Taipei with some great - almost Polynesian sounding music playing over the speakers. I looked through their CD display looking for one with a “now playing” sticker on it. Finding nothing, I asked the girl working at the counter about the music. I found out that I couldn’t buy the CD, because apparently not only did it sound like Polynesian music, it was in fact Polynesian music. It was the girl’s own music from her personal collection. I still don’t know what indigenous Taiwanese music sounds like.
We arrived in Vietnam right at sunset. It was a cloudy evening, but the sun broke though in spots and illuminated sections of the landscape and water below. It was a beautiful site and unlike anything I had seen before. Rice paddies, coconut palms, rivers, crowded roadways, densely packed apartments, crumbled remains of buildings being overtaken by vines--- we were definitely not in Kansas anymore.
Exiting the plane we were met by our first blast of humidity and heat. And it felt good. After having gone through a winter in Japan, I now know for sure that I am a warm-tropical weather guy. We made our way through the terminal and tried to locate the currency exchange. After a bit of struggle we found it and got our massive stack of Dong (the Vietnamese currency). Mitch had arranged for a cab pickup, and through the crowd we saw the sign for Mr. Lloyd. Our driver took our bags and just like that we were off into the Saigon night.
If you’ve never ridden through the streets of HCMC, I don’t ever want to hear you say you've seen crazy driving. Tijuana? New York? Tokyo? L.A.? Dublin? Bangkok? HA! They’ve got nothing on the streets in Vietnam. In theory you drive on the right side. But it’s more like you drive in the middle until someone in a bigger vehicle forces you to one side. And at the very last instant of course. It’s quite a rush actually. The traffic is mainly comprised of scooters carrying one, two, five (!) people and various odds and ends such as chickens or TV sets. But you also have plenty of bicycles, cyclos, regular cars and semi-trucks, and of course pedestrians. My best advice is to just sit back, relax, pray, and put your faith in the driver. Not much more you can do. And actually once you accept the fact that these people seem to know what they’re doing; it’s quite enjoyable and entertaining to watch. You’re constantly amazed at all the various things being carried on scooters, and the number of people you see packed onto them, and just how close they come to the car.
Eventually we arrived safe and sound at the AnAn Hotel. We checked into our very decent room, dropped off our stuff and then went out for food. The speed of life in HCMC is insane. There’s the constant buzz of scooters and chatter of people on the street. There are endless side streets with little street side restaurants and shops. I got the feeling that nothing really ever closed.
After first getting some fresh squeezed OJ (for about 25 cents) we went into a little street side cafe for some amazing fresh spring rolls, green papaya salad and fresh pressed sugar cane juice (which by the way is fantastic, if you’ve never had it). After dinner we walked some more around our area. Well, I say ‘around’, but it was more like a straight line. We just kept going straight. We had just got there, and after being on a plane all day, didn’t really feel like getting lost. But there was plenty to see down the main drag anyway.
The next morning we had breakfast in a bar/cafe down the street from our hotel. Mike and Mitch sampled the French influence with crepes and omelets. I stuck with the local stuff and had an amazingly good bowl of chicken pho. If you’ve never had pho, you owe it to yourself to find a good Vietnamese place and order some immediately. For those of you in Arizona go to Dragonfly in Mesa, ask for Mike and tell him Joey sent you.
After stuffing ourselves for way too little money (we were each spending maybe $4 total for multiple glasses of fresh squeezed juice, Vietnamese Coffee, bottles of water and of course the food) we went looking for bus tickets to take us down to Can Tho and the Mekong Delta. There ended up being a place right next to our hotel where we were able to book tickets for that afternoon.
As we neared our destination, the van was loaded onto a ferry along with many other vehicles and scooters to cross over the Mekong River. While on the ferry we made an interesting observation. Apparently it’s not only on the streets that people drive insanely. As our ferry neared the other side of the river, we noticed another ferry coming our way. Just as we were saying, “there’s no way that’s gonna hit us”, “Wham!” the other ferry clipped our side and the two boats bounced back from one another like an open ice hockey check. A few scooters fell over and people looked about anxiously. But once we realized we were no worse for the wear, everyone broke into laughter and smiles. I assumed this wasn’t the first time they’d experienced such an occurrence.
Safely on dry land and out from the sardine can-like confines of the van, we were faced with our next challenge. Where were we gonna stay and just where the heck was the river front area of Can Tho?! According to the Lonely Planet map the main river front area that had all the hotels was only a ¼ mile walk from the bus station. We set out on foot in the direction that we believed to be the right way. And it would have been too, if the bus station hadn’t been moved in the last year and not noted in my 2007 edition of ‘Lonely Planet Vietnam’.
As we walked further into the night, and the distance grew to well beyond a ¼ mile, we stopped to consult the book and try to get our bearings. As we stood scratching our heads and hypothesizing about where the river may be, a woman seemed to materialize out of nowhere and ask us where we were going. I walked over to her and explained that we were trying to get to the riverfront. She kind of laughed and said that we were basically walking in the complete wrong direction, and that we were probably confused because the bus station had been moved about 5 miles away from the riverfront. She asked us where we were staying and we told her that we had no reservations, but that we wanted to stay down by the riverfront. She said she’d get us a cab and the next thing you know she’s on her mobile phone calling a local taxi company.
While we waited for the cab to arrive we chatted with her about where we were from, what we did, etc. Her name was Nga. Kind of pronounced like ‘nyah’. When it didn’t seem like the cab she called was showing up, she walked out into the middle of the street to flag one down. Eventually she got one to stop and directed the driver where to take us. We thanked her for all her help and assumed that was the last time we would see her.
However as we pulled up in front of the hotel that we had randomly decided to stay at, we saw Nga waiting out front to meet us. She wanted to make sure that we could get a room. As Mitch set up the room I talked with Nga a little more. I mentioned that we wanted to take a tour of the Mekong Delta and the floating markets tomorrow, and asked if she knew where we could do that. We were in luck because she just so happened to be a booking agent for trips and tours around the area. And she had a younger cousin who could take the three of us on a guided tour of the delta tomorrow morning.
After a little polite haggling, we agreed on a price and were told that Linh (pronounced ‘ling’) would meet us downstairs at 6am the next morning. We were also only able to book the hotel for one night although we needed it for two. Nga told us that while we were on the tour, she would find another hotel for us. Maybe she was getting a commission from the hotels and tours she booked, but certainly she asked for no money from us. Even if there was a commission tacked on to our fees it couldn't have been anything great. It’s hard to argue with nice, clean hotels for $20 a night. Nga was nothing but kind and helpful to us. She was our Can Tho Angel who totally saved our butts.
6am in the lobby and right on time Linh walked into the hotel. Nga had told us that she had a “very beautiful cousin who gave tours of the Mekong Delta”, and she wasn’t kidding. I guess we hadn’t really believed her. I think maybe we were expecting a rice paddy hat and traditional garb. We were all shocked to see a very pretty 20-year-old college student wearing designer jeans and a cute little pink and white sweater walk through the doors. But hey, we weren’t complaining.
After a round of introductions she led us down to the riverfront where we climbed into a long narrow motorboat. I’m not completely sure of the system, but it seems to me that a booking agent finds the customers and hands them over to a guide. Then the guide hires a boat and driver. Kind of an intricate system but it all worked out fine. The boat was wide enough to sit two people side by side. It had a canopy over the top that kept the intermittent sprinkles off of us.
We motored up the river to our first of a handful of floating markets. I bought a fresh coconut to drink and a durian to share. Ah durian, the king of fruits. You've probably heard of them by reputation. Their olfactory offerings have been described as lightly as 'pungent' to as severely as 'rotting flesh'. As this was my first durian experience I admittedly was a little apprehensive. The image of Andrew Zimmern the host of the Travel Channel show “Bizarre Foods”, gagging and spitting out the gooey yellow blob ran through my head. This is the guy who ate rancid curried camel meat. On the other hand I was also aware that one of my travel and writing heroes, Anthony Bourdain, loves the stuff. I was hoping to agree with his take on the fruit. I wasn't too concerned that the ladies on the boat who were preparing my stinky spiky fruit seemed to find great amusement and surprise that I wanted to eat this thing. Living in a land (Japan) where the locals almost piss themselves in disbelief when they see that I, a white American can deftly manipulate chopsticks and enjoy raw fish, I'm used to the assumption that Americans only eat hamburgers and pizza and dislike anything different.
Finally we were presented with the quartered football sized fruit. The eating process is a scoop the goo, extract the pit from your mouth, and enjoy the custardy goodness kinda thing. It really does have a custard like texture and flavor. A really strong mango custard with a hint of gasoline aroma is probably the best description I can give. This really doesn't do it justice so you should try it for yourself! Don’t be put off by the smell or the rumors – it really is delicious.
Once the tide was high enough, we ventured up some side streams that wound through little villages perched on stilts at the waters edge. There were all types of tropical fruits growing everywhere: coconuts, water coconuts, papaya, mango, mangosteen, dragonfruit, citrus and huge jackfruit trees. If you’ve never seen jackfruit it kind of looks like a yellow-green and bumpy Mr. Potato Head, that’s the size of a birthday balloon. You would not want to linger too long beneath one of those trees. Adorable little darkly tanned children would come out from their house to wave and shout hello as we slowly motored by. Covering their faces and loudly giggling, they surprisingly turned shy and bashful when the cameras came out.
We stopped for lunch at a small garden cafe located on one of the many channels of the river. The food was simple and tasty and the beer was cold. You can't ask for much more than that. We wrapped up our amazing tour of the Mekong Delta around 4pm. Nga had called us to let us know where our new hotel was. It was just down the street from our other place, and this room was on the 5th floor overlooking the river. Nice.
After a massive feast of a dinner on a rooftop restaurant overlooking the riverfront, we got down to the task of arranging the next leg of our journey. The next morning we needed to get from Can Tho over to the port town of Rach Gia, where we would catch a ferry over to Phu Quoc Island.
As we struggled at the front desk to try and explain what we needed to the receptionist, a man stepped out from the shadows and in a low voice asked me if I needed to get to Rach Gia. When I said yes and that we also needed tickets for a ferry, he said that the only way it was possible to make the ferry on time was to hire a private car and leave at 4am. He said that the bus would not make it on time. After our prior experience with the ‘bus’ I tended to believe him. He also said that is was a problem because all the ferry tickets were sold out. Apparently it was a Vietnamese holiday (40th anniversary of the reunification) and many people were heading to the island. However, he had a friend who worked for one of the ferries who could get us on the boat. He also had a friend who could drive us to Rach Gia in the morning. All of this would cost $50 per person. The three of us quickly powwowed and decided that we really had no other option and what the hell, let’s go for it.
We gave him the cash and he hand wrote a ‘receipt’ on a folded up piece of paper. He assured us that all we had to do was show this to the man at the ferry and he would give us tickets. We were skeptical but cautiously optimistic. Again, we had no other options.
4am rolled around way too soon and we groggily groped our way down the stairs. We were happy to see that at least the driver was there waiting for us, along with our ‘fixer’. We shook hands, tossed the bags in the back and set off. Despite being so early there was still traffic on the road and apparently enough to warrant the driver literally leaning on the horn the entire 3 hour drive. I was exhausted but with all the jostling around on the bad roads and the constant honking of the horn, all I could manage was a sort of half sleep.
The noticeable absence of the horn brought me out of my half-conscious state. We were in the town of Rach Gia and slowly driving through a small side street. Our driver was craning his neck to the left and right obviously looking for someone. We slowly rolled to a stop next to a middle-aged man in a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. The driver rolled his tinted window down halfway and the two men exchanged a few words. Three tickets were passed through the window. The window went back up. The driver took some money from the center console. The window went down a third. The money was passed out to the man on the street. The window went back up. He passed the tickets back to us, smiled, and we drove off.
He let us out in front of the dock. We shook hands, thanked him and gave him a tip. Now whether our transaction had been totally legal or not, we don’t know. But what we did know was that it was a gorgeous sunny morning, we had made it to Rach Gia, we were standing in front of the ferry with legitimate tickets in our hands and we were off to Phu Quoc Island. Life was good.
As we prepared to board our vessel we saw why we may have had luck in securing these particular tickets. Compared to the high-tech larger jet foils docked around us, our boat had the shape of a bratwurst in a hotdog bun with two straws sticking vertically out of the back for exhaust pipes. Not the classiest of rides. We were stuffed in and we began to prepare for another long trip with our knees wedged firmly between our chests and the seat backs in front of us. With a sputter and a moan and a few loud bangs and a shudder, we were off.
After about 30 minutes I decided that I couldn’t handle the sardine-can thing again, so I squeezed out and made my way outside to the stern of the boat. I found a little unoccupied corner on the port side and leaned back against the rail. It was loud and the exhaust fumes were pretty strong, but I could stand up or sit down, or jump if I wanted to. Not to mention I had sunshine and could watch the scenery go by. It was far superior to being stuffed inside the bratwurst.
When we got off at the Phu Quoc dock, we lucked out again with randomly meeting the right person. I think in Vietnam, if you just stand and look a little unsure of where you’re going, someone will come and help you. And sure enough Ngyuen walked up to us and in a strangely Australian sounding accent (though he claims to have never been there) asked us if we needed a taxi to Long Beach, which is the main tourist beach area of the island.
He had me sit up front in order to talk to him, because he liked the fact that I was from San Diego. He originally thought I was from Hawaii (I’ll take that!). As we chatted, I asked him about the likelihood of the three of us finding a nice bungalow on the beach. Well he said, he knew a great place and would take us there. A short while later we pulled up to a beautiful grove of coconut palms with a handful of cute little bungalows nestled within. It was all situated just above a lovely stretch of beach. He asked how this looked. Without looking too excited, I asked to inspect the bungalows first. They had palm thatched roofs, tile floors, a bathroom, a fridge and big beds with mosquito nets. All that one needs in a beach bungalow.
Since there were three of us, and only two beds per bungalow, I inquired as to the cost for two. We could hardly believe the price. For the two bungalows situated next to each other, we could have them both for $15 per night. Total! As in $7.50 per night for each bungalow. Could we have them for 5 nights? Yes? Great! We’ll take ‘em! As we excitedly tossed our bags into our new digs I asked Ngyuen where we might go about renting scooters. He said not to worry about it. He knew some people and he’d have them bring the scooters here to us in about 30 minutes. True to his word, a half-hour later we heard the scooters come down the driveway. The price of $5 per day was agreed upon, we had handshakes all around and the keys and helmets were handed over to us.
We were giddy with our good fortune. All that we had wanted we had. Worries about finding hotels, catching buses or ferries, or being crammed into said vehicles were over. We had five days of nothing but lounging in a tropical paradise and doing whatever the heck we felt like. Life was great.
I could go into long detail about everything we did for our 5 days on Phu Quoc, but it would in no way adequately convey the feeling that we had when we were there. The descriptions would seem inadequate because there’s just no way to capture the feeling with words. But I will tell you that we had a blast zipping around exploring the island on our scooters; enjoyed swinging in hammocks reading books and draining cold bottles of Saigon Lager (a tasty brew); swimming and body surfing in the warm salty sea; getting daily hour-long full body massages for $3 (I was a big spender, I’d tip another $3); becoming instant regulars at the Eden Bar (the bar/restaurant next door to our place), either playing pool, drinking, eating, or chatting with the staff (usually all of the above); playing with the dogs that followed us around the property; and watching the gorgeous sunsets from our west facing beach.
Needless to say it was hard to leave. But leave we must, so we caught an early morning flight on a 1940’s style passenger prop plane back to HCMC. The only flight we could get was the first flight of the day at 7am. So when we arrived in HCMC we had a whole day to kill. Our flight back to Japan was the next day at noon.
Luckily we were able to check into our hotel in HCMC when we arrived at 9 in the morning. We dropped off our bags and went out for breakfast at the same restaurant we ate at our first time there. After breakfast, we went back to the hotel and lounged around while discussing our options for the day. We briefly considered touring the Reunification Palace, but we all agreed that sightseeing with a bunch of European senior citizens didn’t sound all that thrilling. Instead we watched a National Geographic special called, “Thunder Beast”, which was a highly dramatic documentary about the relationship between wolves and bison in Yellowstone National Park. Riveting TV.
After our English language TV fix, we decided to do a little shopping and work up an appetite for lunch. 30 bootleg CDs, 12 bootleg DVDs, 4 bootleg sunglasses, 1 bootleg North Face bag, and 1 hammock later, I was ready for lunch. Feeling more confident in our navigation skills, we ventured down some side streets to look for a place to dine. My attention was immediately grabbed by a sign that touted an upstairs bar and pool table. We had all become pretty addicted to pool after our time spent at Eden Bar on Phu Quoc. The place was called “Hoa Mai Coffee.”
The manager/hostess who was standing in front of the bottom floor dining area, called out for us to come over and eat. I asked her if we could use the pool table upstairs. It was only about noon, and she said they usually didn’t open the upstairs until 5pm. But, she’d open it for us anyway. Special foreigner treatment I suppose. We wound our way up a wrought iron spiral staircase and waited while Yuki (the manager’s name) unlocked and lifted the metal roll-down doors. Inside were a few bar tables, a very nice pool table and a cozy 8 foot long bar. I immediately felt comfortable.
The three of us had the place to ourselves (with Yuki coming up and hanging out too) until the owner and bartender arrived at about 4pm. While Mike and Mitch played pool, I sat at the bar and talked music with the owner and taught the bartender how to make different shots and drinks. The bartender was Yuki’s younger sister and had only been bartending for about 6 months. She was a quick learner and made a very good muddled margarita for me.
Around 6 o’clock the bar began to fill and by 7, Mike and Mitch were ready to head back to the hotel for a little bit. I didn’t want to leave, but I was a team player and went back anyway. I figured I could make sure I was all packed and ready to go for the morning.
Once back at the hotel, the guys said that they were ready to call it a night. I of course was not. So after making sure everything was ready for the morning I bid good night to my tired friends and ambled back to Hoa Mai Coffee. Before I left the guys reminded me that our cab was coming at 8am. I assured them not to worry; I would be back in time.
Back at the Hoa Mai, things were jumping. There was a large group of young Japanese professionals there, and they were excited to find out that I lived in Japan. They insisted that I join them for a few drinks. As they began to fall into that peculiar state of Japanese drunkenness where the groping begins, I managed to excuse myself and went back to my seat at the bar. After my years bartending, I find that I ultimately prefer talking to the bartender more than the other customers. Yuki had also come upstairs and joined in the conversation with her sister and me. Yuki was off of work at 11pm and offered to show me around HCMC. Having really only seen the airport, one main drag and a couple side streets, I was anxious to get a tour from a local.
A little after 11 and Yuki and I were walking through the bustling HCMC night. Like any proper big city, Saigon doesn’t know the difference between weekend and weekday, day and night. It is always moving. We checked out a few cafes, clubs and bars. One particular dance club was satirically named, “Apocalypse Now.” We had a good time at the clubs but the real fun started when we were strolling through a park.
We heard quite a ruckus coming from the large fountain in the middle of the park. As we walked over to investigate we saw that all the noise was coming from four young girls who were swimming in the fountain. It sounded like there were about 10 of them. They were jumping off the 4-foot ledge into the water, splashing, swimming and screaming. When they saw us they let out a loud volley of “Hello’s!” They clamored up the ledge, grabbed our hands and pulled us toward the water. They obviously wanted us to go swimming with them. It was a hot humid night, so Yuki and I looked at each other, shrugged, set aside the things we didn’t want to get wet and jumped in! The water was cool and refreshing. Pretty quickly it became determined that I was to be the human ladder. I just stood by the wall and boosted the girls to the top so they could run and jump off. I tried jumping myself, but found that a 4-foot drop into 3 feet of water can be a bit uncomfortable for someone of my stature. I decided to stick with being the spotter.
Shortly after I asked Yuki, “Can we get in trouble for swimming in the fountain?” A group of policeman showed up and broke up the fun. It was nothing serious just more like, “How many times have I told you young whippersnappers to stay out of the fountain!” We were all laughing as we scampered away dripping water behind us.
As we all walked along together, I asked the girls what they were doing out at 2 in the morning. With the help of Yuki translating they explained that they went around to restaurants and outside bars and clubs to sell packs of gum, tissues and lighters. They had to stay out all night until they sold everything. And even if they sold everything, often they would be re-supplied and sent back out. It broke my heart to hear that. I figured if they were gonna be out all night, then so would we. And if we were gonna be out, we’d need to eat. I asked the girls if they wanted to eat and they enthusiastically replied yes. Yuki took us to an outdoor restaurant that she knew was open and we took our seats at a long metal folding table in red plastic chairs under a faded blue tarp.
The girls looked a little nervous about ordering at first, and were sort of looking at Yuki with questioning eyes. I told Yuki to tell them that they could and should order absolutely anything they wanted. It was all my treat. It was great to watch the girls’ confidence in ordering grow. They started out timidly, but once they saw that I really meant for them to splurge they had the wait staff hustling! The most assertive was the youngest girl who was probably about 9 years old. She would grab a server by the arm and point to different things on the menu. She even ordered a couple things for me! All the while during the feast, they were playing with my camera as well as insisting on dancing. They taught me the Macarena and I taught them swing dancing. It was a fantastic dinner party at 3 in the morning.
When we could stuff in no more, we contentedly rolled out into the street. The girls wanted to know if we could take a taxi. I assumed it was to take them somewhere that they needed to go, so I said sure. As we all rode together in the taxi the girls acted like they were on a thrill ride! They were standing on the seats, jumping around, leaning out the windows and yelling. I can’t say that I have ever been so excited about a taxi ride before. When the cab dropped us off, I quickly understood why the girls were so excited. They didn’t want to take a taxi somewhere; they just wanted to ride in one. It really was a thrill ride to them. No one in their families had a car so riding in one was pretty exciting. Then the question came that kids everywhere always ask, “Can we go again?” We flagged down another cab and rode back to the same place that we started from.
As the sky began to turn that pre-dawn cornflower blue, we said goodbye to the girls. I asked Yuki if they would finally be going home. She said that they still might be out for a little while longer. That’s the reality of their life, but I was happy that we were able to give them a little break and for a while let them just be kids.
Yuki and I sat in a park and watched bats and swallows catch bugs from the air and from the surface of a small pond. Throughout the park there were old men and women practicing Tai Chi, stretching or walking. It was a peaceful scene and a nice place to watch the sun come up while we waited for my hotel to re-open at 6am.
As the city stretched and said good morning to another day, I said good night to Yuki. I thanked her for showing me a local’s perspective of the city and wished her luck in life. And with that my time in Vietnam ended. From there it was just a formality to walk back to the hotel; calm Mike and Mitch with my presence (they’d doubted my return); catch a cab to the airport; fly to Hong Kong, Taipei, Fukuoka; ride the overnight ferry back to Tsushima; drive 1.5 hours north to Hitakatsu; shower, shave and show up at my desk at school at 8am.
Vietnam changed me. It was something completely new and unlike anything I had ever experienced. It opened my eyes to new ideas and further ignited my passion for travel and exploration. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this, but more than anything I hope it inspires you to make your own story. Vicarious living is a poor substitute for the real thing. And as I said before, words can be powerful but they can never truly capture the feeling you get when you set out on your own adventure. So get out there. And experience something.
