The Curious Case Of The Missing Contact Lens Case

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Unbelievably my contact lens case is missing. Again. After an epic search of Saigon to replace the one I had left behind in Phnom Penh, I am back to square one. I am utterly convinced that the maid in my hotel in Hanoi threw it out.

I wear contact lenses every day and have for years. It is as integral to me as my toothbrush, which was also thrown out, by the way. That is at least forgivable as it was in a squished cardboard sleeve that could easily be mistaken for garbage.

I can only surmise that whoever is cleaning my room does not know what a contact lens case looks like, nor what it is for, and once again I am reduced to using two water bottle caps to store my contacts in. This is not a big problem, until one needs to travel.

After searching fruitlessly through department and drug stores in Saigon, when I finally stumbled upon an eyeglass store that had what I needed I felt like I had won the lottery. I practically wept with joy at the sight of it and briefly considered forming a cult to worship the lady who sold it to me.

And now after an all too brief and mercurial relationship my contact lens case is gone again.

Rest assured I shall never forget its hourglass figure, or the way the threads of your lid meshed perfectly with your circular torso. I'll always remember how left was white and right was purple, the colour of royalty.

Alas, we'll always have Saigon, no one can take that away from us.

I have accepted the fact that while in Asia there will never be another like you. I have stoically accepted the fact that the best I can do in Indochina is two water bottle caps.

Now I will settle for fashioning a lid on my water bottle caps using scotch tape, but using this retrograde receptacle is the equivalent of dating a crack whore after knowing Marylin in the biblical sense.

Farewell contact lense case, surely you were the wind beneath my wings.

Now does anyone know where I can find some scotch tape in this town?

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The Joy Of Getting Lost

"Not knowing where you're going is the best way to get somewhere you've never been" -J. Peterman

It happened in Bangkok. It happened in Saigon. And now it is happening in Hanoi. I'm learning to live with it.

I am not particularly directionally challenged, but the labyrinthian nature of these cities makes it very easy to lose oneself. However, once I admit to myself that I am hopelessly lost, it is easy to embrace. Lost is lost, and there are no degrees of being lost. You are either lost or you ain't.

The Old Quarter of Hanoi is the perfect place to get lost. Lord knows I try and remember the way back, but after about the fourth turn, I'm done. I do take some solace that I have yet to take a taxi or moto in this city without the driver having to seek directions from a third party. Its not just me.

On the upside, my nightly ritual of getting lost has led me to finding two places listed in the Lonely Planet that I wanted to get to. Tonights serendipitous find was Mr. Minh's Jazz Bar.

Mr Minh is the capo de capo of jazz in Vietnam, a virtuoso sax player who decided to open a bar to keep the fledgling Hanoi jazz scene alive. Tonight I was hopelessly lost yet again when I stumbled upon the red neon of Mr. Minh's establishment. Suddenly, I don't give a good godamn where my hotel is. (like the remote, its around here somewhere) I saunter in, delighted.

For the next two hours, I am treated to the finest jazz that Indochina has to offer. My advice to you is Get Lost! And my deepest gratitude to Mr. Minh and his band for sharing their prodigious gifts with me.

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North To Hanoi

I board the 7pm train out of Saigon. I have booked a "soft sleeper" ticket, meaning I will be in a berth with three other people.

I find my berth and walk into something completely unexpected. My cabin mates are a family consisting of a husband, a brother in law (I presume)  a very pregnant wife and a cute as a button four or five year old girl. Mercifully she is incredibly well behaved. None of them speak english, and I feel like an uninvited dinner guest.

To make matters worse I have the top bunk. Keep in mind that there is no bar or dining car. My options are to lay on my bunk or stand in the hallway. Thats it. The train pulls out and I feel like a kid who has been sent to his room without any supper. As the train pulls away into the darkness, its endless clacking and gentle rocking soon put me to sleep.

The next morning I wake up at 6am with the sunrise. Shortly thereafter we pull in somewhere and I dash off the train to get a coffee. With all due respect to my Italian friends, the Vietnamese make the best coffee ever, and I am deeply grateful for that.

I hop back on the train to discover that smoking is permitted pretty much everywhere. Things are picking up, I think to myself. We roll on as the sun begins to peek over the mountains. The scenery is an endless montage of ultra green rice paddies and jungle foliage. We pass by villages that appear empty. I soon deduce that this is because everyone is out working in the rice fields.

Eventually the train winds its way to the coast and I let out an audible gasp, overjoyed to see the ocean. And on we go.

I have taken to hanging out in the hallway, smoking with the rest of the bad kids. I strike up a conversation with a few young and very affable Vietnamese guys. At one point I find myself talking hockey with a Russian gentleman. I laugh at the oddity of talking hockey on a train in Northern Vietnam. Indeed, it is a small world after all.

The young girl in my berth and two other young boys have taken a shine to me. We communicate as best we can, which isn't very good at all. At one point a young man acts as interpreter, so I can actually answer a few of their questions.

Eventually we settle on a game where they come running up to me, frantically wave their hands and shout "Hello!". I reply in kind which sends them running down the hall in gales of laughter. This amuses all of us for about 45 minutes. As you can tell, there isn't much to do.

However the scenery rolling by is truly captivating and it climaxes with an ascent into the mountains, just south of Hue. Hundreds of metres below is the rocky coast,desolate with spectacular waves. I quietly thank myself for kicking my own ass onto this locomotive. This is what I came to see and all aggravation, deprivation and discomfort melts away. Simply unforgettable.

As day gives way to dusk I hunker down in my bunk once again. The train stops here and there. People get on, people get off. I wake at 4am with a strange feeling. We are stopped, and there are a lot of people getting off. Suddenly it hits me. My train does not pull into Hanoi at 4pm as I thought, it is pulling in now. I quickly gather my things and disembark.

It is the middle of the night, my hotel reservation is not valid for another nine hours. I'm tired and dazed. I light up a smoke and stare out into the darkness, pondering my next move from the stillness of the train platform. The words of a wise friend pass through my mind, "still here, still alive".

I stamp out my smoke, pick up my bags and move forward into the darkness of the Hanoi night.

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Tick Tock Stock

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I had this moment in Ghana, and now I'm having it here. Its the attack of the ticking clock, the realisation that deadlines are approaching and goals are unmet. Throw in my own propensity for procrastination and the stage is set for a familiar refrain.

I am sitting on a patio in Saigon, quaffing a few cold ones. A stark glance at the calender has led me to do some soul searching. I am seriously considering ditching Hanoi from my itinerary in favour of a move south to some beach somewhere. I tell myself that it keeps me closer to Bangkok, where I must return to fly back to Toronto.

Then I have an epiphany that almost makes me slap myself in the face. The thing that spurred this entire journey was an article extolling the virtues of the train ride between Saigon and Hanoi. I've come so far and I'm so close, yet I'm actually considering throwing in the towel. I finish my pint, find a travel agent and book a ticket for the following day.

You can't get out of it now, can ya Stock? What a fool.

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Watching The Game

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So after a fruitless search for a contact lens case to replace the one I left behind in Phnom Penh, I throw in the towel and find a small watering hole filled with locals. The place is jammed and I am squeezed into a chair by a wall, using a tiny footstool as my table.

I am the only non Vietnamese person in the joint, which suits me just fine. You don't find places like this from the window of the tour bus. The reason the place is packed is due to a Thailand-Vietnam soccer match, part of an Asian tournament. Of course I am cheering for Vietnam, given my burgeoning respect for the people here and my secret crush on the city of Saigon. Plus the waitresses are devastatingly charming.

Thailand scores in the second half to take a 1-0 lead, and the energy in the bar sinks like a hot air baloon with a very large leak. In the final seconds of regulation Vietnam is awarded a penalty kick, which is successfully executed. The place explodes in bedlam, and I find myself joining the crowd on its feet in celebration. I am glowing with happiness, not for myself, but as an expression of delight at the exuberance around me.

The game ends in a draw, but it feels like a victory. I stumble out into the Saigon night, greeted by a parade of cars and scooters honking and waving flags. For a brief instance I feel like I am back in Toronto during the World Cup.

It may be hard to see sometimes, but there is so much more in this world that bring us together when compared with the few things that keep us apart. I guess its all about perspective.

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Bright Lights, Big City

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After a few days of self imposed convalesence in Phnom Penh, I am feeling well enough to travel, but not necessarily well. I catch a late morning bus headed into Vietnam, destination Saigon.

It is about a six hour trip, including the border crossing. After clearing the frontier Saigon should only be a few hours down the road. As the bus drones on into the late afternoon, I begin to doze off, wishing I had a Snickers bar.

Suddenly I wake up and the scene around me causes my eyes to bulge out of my head. I must admit that I had not really done a lot of research on Saigon, which is why I was utterly unprepared for the scene that I awoke to.

It is rush hour, and as we navigate our way through the major urban intersections, it is apparent that the scooter/motorbike rules here. At each red light they idle eight across and thirty deep in all directions.

Saigon makes Bangkok feel small and easily out bustles New York. As for quaint little Toronto, you're very cute,  but fuhgetaboutit.

I have developed a system for crossing the clogged streets here, which I call the Pray n' Go. The fact that there will never be a clear path means that you must conquer the crossing a few feet at a time, trying not to be rattled by the traffic as it swirls around you in all directions. During one such crossing in particularly heavy traffic I was becoming very flustered at my inability to get across when I heard a friendly voice say hi to me. It was a man with his wife and young daughter. He held out his hand to me and motioned for me to take it. He led me across the street and gave me one of my sweetest memories of the trip. Those are the kind of people you run into in Vietnam.

Saigon is a truly magnificent gem, and why anyone would bother with tourist addled Bangkok and all its false nicety when they could be here is beyond comprehension. Viva Saigon!

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From The Theoretical To The Real

So in a few weeks I am going to points unknown. Passport? check. Vaccines and meds? check. Plane ticket? check.

One month of my life soaking in as much of the human experience as I can.

From the bloated and fat sex tourists of Bangkok, to the magic of Angkor Wat, the despair of  the Killing Fields and S-21.  Saigon, Phnom Penh, Hanoi, Halong Bay and Hue and god knows what in between.

Its the adventure of a lifetime, and I am so blessed that the stars aligned to give me this opportunity. Hopefully, I'll find the right moment to give back along the journey.

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