On Saturday, it was exactly two months since I left London. That fact dawned on me whilst I was sitting on a warm, but very windswept, An Bang beach with Hoi An Patricia. Patricia is French by birth, but maybe more San Franciscan by dint of her 35 years residency there. She also travels alone and has a grown-up daughter who lives and works in Madagascar. We’re staying at the same hotel here in Hoi An and have been bumping through this town together for the last couple of days. We’ve eaten an absolute ton, or at least I have whilst Patricia has watched, and we’ve tried on all the clothes in all the shops. I love the way the Vietnamese dress and have long been looking for the green light to wear pyjamas in the day time.
After being buffeted around the beach a while, we decided to go to the legendary, Ms Ly Cafe, for lunch. And, despite having spoken about adopting a rule to Always Use The Bathroom Before Ordering as part of our decision-making process, we sat down and immediately set about scarfing a plate of the local speciality, white rose (delicious little shrimp dumplings), washed down with Larue beer. We didn’t even ask where the bathrooms were. And it was only after we’d eaten more white rose, a papaya salad and some fresh spring rolls, that Patricia remembered the rule. She returned with a mischievous smile and told me I needed to use the bathroom, even if I didn’t. I was nervous. The food really had been delicious. So off I went, led by one of the many waitresses in bubble-gum coloured shirts, to the back of the restaurant and directly into the chaos of the kitchen.
It was extraordinary. There must have been a dozen or more pink shirts absolutely crammed elbow to elbow into this tiny, pot-banging space. Waitresses and chefs and chefs and waitresses. It was impossible to tell the difference. If indeed there was any. In one corner there was a woman squatting on a little step-up landing eating a bowl of noodles in such a way that it looked like she might have spent the morning on a windy beach too. In another corner, there was a small mattress and bedding, although no one was sleeping. Those noodles could have been breakfast. And crouching on the floor at the back and just outside the loo, as it happens, was a woman mixing green salad leaves in a big metal bowl. It really was quite a scene.
At first glance, the kitchen appeared totally disorganised, but as seems to be the Vietnamese way, once you stop a while and take in the whole picture, there is usually a system in place and a good, working method to the apparent madness. These systems however seem to require a lot of shouting, as was the case here, and the chatter was loud and lively as the women worked furiously. They paid me absolutely no mind as I walked through and I could have happily watched them forever.
Afterwards, I found myself acknowledging that this was a rare view I might not have had if Patricia hadn’t prompted me. But I also realised in that same moment, that although I’ve been travelling alone, I haven’t ever felt like I’ve been missing out nor have I felt isolated in any way. In fact, the behind the scenes moments where I’ve felt like a privileged witness or a lucky last-minute guest have been plentiful. Like the day in Koh Tao when Pod called me across from a quiet moment in Koppee to the roof of the dive school. That day, I spent the afternoon with the dive instructors making climate-change banners. And the next morning I was gifted a New Heaven Conservation Team t-shirt and piled into the back of a truck to join the whole dive crew and their friends, with banners, in a plastic clean-up walk of the town. I felt part of a community rather than someone just passing through.
Travelling solo is easy. And fun. And I didn’t know it would be this way. Some people told me I was brave for making this trip alone but I didn’t feel brave. I said it a million times, I was apprehensive but I was doing it anyway. But none of the things, or feelings, I feared have materialised. They were all just imaginings. Mostly, if I want to be alone, I have to actively seek it out. And those times when it does just happen along, I’m grateful for it.
This morning I said goodbye to Patricia at Da Nang airport. She was flying north back up to Hanoi, whilst I headed 940 kilometres south to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon). I have two nights here and it’s really just a pit-stop before I leave Vietnam for Manila on Wednesday. But I’ve made my second logistical travel error. And this one might be of more consequence than my ferry confusion in Koh Tao.
Over the last couple of days, I’ve spent a fair amount of time trawling the internet working out onward flights, visas, accommodation and the rest. I don’t mean to complain but it definitely is my least favourite part of this whole adventure. There are times when my head spins with it all. I had already booked a flight from Saigon to Manila before arriving in Vietnam as it can be problematic to arrive in a country without an onward ticket. But I hadn’t got as far as working out where I would stay in the Philippines or even which island or islands I would move on to. Manila, apparently, is no city to hang around in. And in any case, I’m ready for the ocean and am hoping to find somewhere to dive again. It was also time to settle on a date and book that all important flight to Australia for Christmas. And again, having an onward ticket would mean a hassle-free entrance into the Philippines.
But I fudged it. I was looking at dates around one month on from my arrival into Manila, as that is how long a visitor visa is valid for, whilst also trying to find the best deals. And I must have got caught up in bagging a bargain (to offset all the massages), or I lost my mind for a minute, because I’ve booked a flight to the Gold Coast on December 16th. That’s 4 more days than a visa will allow. So I’ve now spent some more boring internet hours trying to figure out my options. I’ve gradually come to the conclusion that I’m going to have to wing it and apply for an extension once I’m there. And if you know me, you’ll know that my nerves are already jangling at that prospect. Although I’m sure it will be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?
Turns out travelling solo isn’t always easy. Right now, a reassuring co-pilot would be ever so nice.
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