It rained today. The first time I’ve seen it happen since we arrived. There have been signs, wet pavement, ponchos, but I’ve never seen it, just arrived after the shower passed through.

We went to Ben Thanh Market. The rain pounding on the tin roof as we wandered around inside. “Madam, Madam” every few steps a new person trying to catch our attention. Expressing the slightest bit of interest in something sent people scurrying your way.

Aisle upon aisle. Fresh fruit, silk, t-shirts, more buddhas than I’ve ever seen in one place. Jewelry, purses, shoes, meat, rice, coffee, fish. Anything you might possibly want can be yours here, for a price. I do not bargain well. I knew this already. In italy I was the street vendor’s favorite. Here, more of the same. I paid double what I should have for one thing, others, I think I did ok, but who knows really. It’s like monopoly money, there are so many zeros on everything it’s hard to remember just how much I’m spending, but even the most isn’t really that much.

For lunch we visited the backpacker’s area there was a vegetarian restaurant there my sister wanted to try. We turned into the alley and it was like a different world opened up. It was a world away from our experience. We walked into where I would have been, had I come alone. Everyone was foreign. The restaurants were italian and mexican serving pizza, burgers and fries to the misplaced westerners. Rooms were $8. The people, much simpler. Students, vets, young people. A far cry from the rich housewives and canadian/american families at my hotel.

People warned me there were lots of beggars. I hadn’t really seen any until we ventured into the true “tourist quarters”. A constant stream of people asking us to buy things while we were eating in a restaurant. Beggars coming up for spare change. We wandered awhile, then hopped a taxi back inside the gates. Truely I am a princess in a castle, but I escaped for awhile.

I went west towards what should have been, if I could read the hastily marked map I’d gotten from the hotel, towards some pagodas. Friendly motorbike drivers warned me to cover my necklace lest someone rip it off my neck – thus making me paranoid my entire walk. I hit a roundabout with more traffic than I had seen before. I tried to avoid it but realized after walking halfway down the street there was no way to get to the pagodas except to cross it.

I stood for awhile, mesmerized by the sheer mass of bikes and cars. People on motorbikes looked at me as if I was crazy. Silly foreigner can’t even cross a street. Bigger than a four lane highway with more traffic and fewer traffic laws. I stepped into the street and crossed, slowly slowly slowly, I made it without becoming a traffic accident.

The pagodas, when I finally got to them, were beautiful, dilapidated, smokey, and warm. Not the quiet sanctuary I had found yesterday but a low hum of people, bells and praying amidst clouds of incense. I sat in the courtyard for awhile, taking it all in then wandered out. I got lost in the city, not sure where I was going, not too concerned. Avoiding the motorbike drivers who couldn’t understand why I’d like to walk instead of ride. Every once in awhile an old man would want to chat. Smiling, toothless, telling me about his relatives who moved to Santa Ana, California or asking where I was from.

More than once I just stood on the street corner, intending to cross but temporarily hypnotized by the sight and sounds of so many motorbikes flowing across taking their riders all over the city. It’s easy to fall into a sort of trance watching.

The sun was setting so I hopped in a taxi back to the hotel to wash the grime off my face and feet before heading out to a mexican/italian/western restaurant to celebrate cinco de mayo. My vietnamese chicken quesadilla looked the same. Salsa, sour cream, guacamole. Flour tortilla. The salsa was sweet in a way I wasn’t used to. The guacamole a little different. The tortilla had an odd crunch. Different, interesting, not necessarily, “good”. But I had my tiger beer and celebrated cinco de mayo in a country half way around the world where mexican food shouldn’t even really exist.