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HCMC continued:

I forgot to mention that on our way to the botanical garden we crossed a formidable (even by Vietnamese standards) half-dozen-lane-or-so divided highway without a crosswalk for kilometers in either direction. That was “interesting.”

After the botanical garden we met our host for an excellent Japanese lunch, picked up our guidebook (for its all-important map), and set about walking. A lot. We walked up and down Dong Khoi, a ritzier tourist street, and gawked a bit, eventually running into the cathedral. The post office was open so we enjoyed its benches and my partners wrote postcards (being gifted with a memory for addresses which I lack). After that we made a long trek toward the backpacking quarter, where after extensive misnavigation (remember that memory I lack?) we found a recommended institute for the blind where said blind give what are supposed to be very good massages. Claudia’s supposedly lived up to the reputation, but the other two massages were decidedly worse. I think I just got bruises. Oh well.

We (sorely) picked our way back to the market and then back toward “home,” where we had dinner at “Skewers,” a transparently foreign business with artsy, insubstantial portions and rather frightening service. We were stared at intently at every moment, including the addition of the tip to the charge slip. Also, dessert involved some of the thickest “crepes” I’ve ever seen. A quick google reveals that the place is considered chic and highly recommended. I’d agree it isn’t bad for Ho Chi Minh, but it’s so thoroughly outdone by Morgantown’s Mediterranean all-stars (Voyagers and Mercury) that it isn’t funny.

We finished killing time at the Wild Horse, a nearby bar with hilarious “Western” decor and even worse music from a cover band. We arrived early enough the hear the guitarist jamming away on some classical guitar, which was really quite good, but before long the band was set up and pumping out Wild West theme music, “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,” and whatever other incongruent/eclectic (same thing, different name) hits came to mind.

At 3:00 a.m. local time this morning my mobile woke me up. As it happened, the ride to the airport took only 15 minutes with the streets empty, so we got to sit for a while. I knocked back a final iced coffee and watched the end of some random English football match.

If you remember my bitter complaints about the liquid check from HKG to SGN (going away from the United States), you might be amused to know that passengers were freely walking on to the SGN-HKG leg (which continues to SFO) with water bottles in their hands.

Immigration and customs (everything gets X-rayed going in and going out, there’s no “green channel” in Vietnam) were a breeze as the guards were too tired to even spend much time carefully observing the reflections in my passport. The flight was pleasant enough on a freezing cold 747, as we snagged seats in the exit row 35. This is an exit row’s exit row: spacious, ancient, a bit drafty, and in United’s Economy Plus too (any advantage from which was dwarfed by the exit space, which was wide enough to fit a herd of Americans four abreast). It was definitely an upgrade from our seats in rows 61 and 62 (the final rows in Economy Minus) on the way down.

The food was tolerable though pieces were unidentifiable: the omelet, for example, looked like a roll of bread. It was OK, though. The plate with three wedges of fruit included dragon fruit, which I got my first good taste of. Tastes like a very weak kiwi. Looks much more interesting (before peeling, anyway) than it tastes.

Hong Kong airport really brings out the advantage of the Hong Kong Residents line. I was through before the bags were out, and HKG gets bags out fast. With some buses and a lucky break, I was in the second half of a lecture before the professor remembered to pass out the attendance sheet.