My dear readers,
I left Ho Chi Minh city to the din of a thousand social media posts telling me to #stayhome; passive aggressive photo filters and overtly aggressive “dampen the curve” graphics duly informed me that I was irresponsible and childish for moving more than a meter outside my home. Feeling rather judged, I did what any self-respecting adult would do: I turned off Facebook notifications and boarded that plane.
In retrospect, I must admit this was perhaps a tiny bit foolish: 12 hours after I arrived in Sydney, Vietnam announced no more visas would be granted, and all foreign nationals who had visited or transited through the EU would be banned; 6 hours later, Australia announced that henceforth all international visitors would be subject to a mandatory 14-day self-isolation (I’m extremely lucky I missed the cutoff for that one). I lived my next 3 days in Sydney in constant fear that Vietnam would one-up Australia and ban all international travelers, period.
In spite of making it back to Vietnam without any government-imposed quarantines, this trip still cost me in the way of work: 24 hours after I left Ho Chi Minh, my workplace announced that anyone traveling by plane or train would be subject to a 7 day work-from-home period. (There goes all my domestic travel plans….) Of this I had been forewarned, but not the other surprise announcement - from now on, our workplace would be split into 2 teams, Team A and Team B. The teams would alternate stretches of work-from-home and office work, with the intent of total isolation between the two teams. This is a practical strategy, as it means that if one team has a case of coronavirus, the other team can still carry on the business….for me, however, it was also quite devastating, as most of my friends are on the other team, and I may well never see them again - ever. I knew saying goodbye would be hard, but I thought I had a month to prepare. This unexpected announcement led to more emotions than I’ve ever shown in the office - including, possibly, some tears - and the realization that I love this place and these people, and I’m not ready to go.
So I dragged my shattered emotional state with me through the boarding door and plopped down in a window seat, determined to sleep even a little on this 9 hour redeye to Sydney, Australia. Alas, it was not to be; from the man next to me farting the entire flight to the child screaming 5 rows up, the night flight was anything but peaceful, and I arrived wild-eyed into the Sydney airport (to be honest, I’m surprised they let me through immigration given the state of my hair).
After a lovely experience on the Sydney metro - America, you have a lot to learn from literally everywhere else in the world - I plunked my stuff down on my bed, showered away my inhumanity, and set off to Glebe Market with a few other girls I met in the hostel. My first venture outside informed me I was woefully unprepared for Australian weather: instead of hot, sunny, and full of shirtless Liam Hemsworths walking around, the weather proved blustery and cold, with more umbrellas than surfboards. Even our destination market had disbanded, and we squelched down the street to find some food. We stumbled into - would you believe it - a Vietnamese restaurant. The other two girls wanted to go, so I rolled my eyes good-naturedly and taught them how to use chopsticks and to not be afraid of fish sauce. The Vietnamese food was passable, but nothing compared to Ho Chi Minh. In general, however, Sydney has quite a vibrant international food industry, which served me well over the ensuing days.
Above: Sydney food (Sri Lankan, Malaysian, and Vietnamese [nowhere close to VN!])
After a few more stops, I felt exhaustion tugging down my eyelids, and I plodded back to the hostel for a much-needed nap. I accidentally fell asleep in the middle of a conversation and woke up 2 hours later to a room full of girls ready to head out for the night. I joined them in their quest for beer and dancing, and quickly realized that I have forgotten how to dance - or, more realistically, have always been a terrible dancer. Regardless, we had a lot of fun, and the night ended with some gas station pizza and girl-to-girl confessions: classic traveling behavior.
Above: pizza confessions
My two primary companions consisted of a girl from Spain (Alex) and another from Britain (Izzy), both in the middle of long adventures overseas. Izzy was highly entertaining, being only 19 years old, very funny and sarcastic, and full of opinions like “men with beads - they’re the keepers, hippie men” and wild stories. She is far more brave than I: at the tender age of 17, she camped out overnight in front of a West End theater that had a sold-out show she was desperate to see. The producer happened to drive by and felt so guilty that she put Izzy on the guest list. I would have turned away the second the tickets sold out.
The next morning I headed to Bondi Beach to begin the famous Bondi to Coogee Beach Coastal Walk. I conceded to the demands of my feet and put on my ugly sneakers for the walk - this, dear readers, sacrificed all of my pride. I imagine this ~2 hour walk is far more pleasant when it isn’t raining buckets outside, but I enjoyed myself nonetheless. I walked from beach to beach, constantly taking off and putting back on my coat and folding and opening back up my umbrella to the tune of the clouds up above. The coastline retained its rugged beauty in spite of the variable weather, and I found myself enjoying the walk and the gossip I overheard from all the Americans I inadvertently walked behind (“oh my god, Sally, did you hear what Chloe said about Ben?”)
Above: Bondi - Coogee beach walk
That afternoon consisted of more sneaker wanderings and thus no classy pictures, but lots of pictures of the Sydney Opera house half-obscured by mist and wanderings around places called Paddington and Hyde Park and Newcastle (really, Sydney, you couldn’t have some original names?).
Above: dreary opera house
The night passed with some Netflix - I tried to have the comedian Hasan Minhaj cheer me up. He’s quite funny, and his Netflix special also includes a good deal to think about regarding racism and immigration; I absolutely support people using their platform to speak up about important issues, but in the moment this did not exactly make me feel any better. I went to bed sad both for my personal situation and for my country’s treatment of immigrants, and woke up to grey clouds threatening my prebooked hiking tour of the Blue Mountains.
Alas, these clouds did more than threaten: they deluged us the entire trip. I met my guide in the coolest van I’ve ever laid eyes on, and we proceeded to drive 2 hours up the mountains in search of better weather. In the meantime, I learned more about my fellow hikers, including a couple that perfectly embodied the American hipster movement. They aptly hailed from Portland, and true to form, introduced themselves as authors and musicians. This, I soon learned, really meant “zookeeper who writes an essential oil blog” and “unemployed guy who can play guitar.” The self-styled authoress sported too little hair, having shaved off the bottom half in a most unflattering manner, and the musician too much, with the much-reviled man-bun atop his greasy head. The most amusing encounter occurred when I used the word “bedraggled” in a sentence and was horrified to learn that the authoress had no knowledge of its meaning. I later caught her reading the non-ironic textbook “Faeries and Elementals: A Beginner’s Guide”, and it all made sense. Faeries are never bedraggled.
The musician too had his share of woes: his girlfriend waxed eloquent about the mega pop band One Direction and spinoff individual artist Harry Styles. The poor sucker had to back her up in her preteen music taste and agree that yes, dear, Harry Styles is a true artiste with music that spans across all genres (it’s amazing how they managed to make even teeny-bopper bands pretentious). As a musician himself, this must have particularly stung his pride. However, when the conversation turned to the evils of fame, and he declared that “when - I mean, if - I become famous, I’m going to hide my face on stage so I can still live a normal life”, my internal eyes rolled 360 degrees and all my pity disappeared.
Above: hipster van, generic picture of man bun stolen from internet
Finally I escaped the van and the hipster couple, only to find an even worse fate in front of me: pouring rain, and a hike. We began our hike downhill, which meant that the entire way down I dreaded our return. The majority of the hike was pure stairs, including a horrifying bit on the edge of a cliff. Fortunately, the intense fog screened us from any sight of the rocks hundreds of feet below us, and we proceeded in blissful ignorance but without, sadly, any jaw-dropping pictures.
Above: hiking down the falls. In the last picture, there is a sheer drop hundreds of feet down that we couldn't see at all, so I googled another picture to give you an idea :)
We reached the bottom of the stairs to find the bottom of Wentworth Falls and our socks completely soaked. We clambered around the slippery rocks awhile while our guide rushed back up the cliff to make us barbeque.
Above: Wentworth falls from below feat. squelchy Lauren
We struggle-bused back up the stairs - I stayed behind a middle-aged woman whose stopping every 30 feet made me feel better about my resting every 20 - to find our guide well underway with salad, sausage, and kangaroo BBQ preparations. The kangaroo was an unexpected touch, and quite delicious, I might add. I did feel a little bit bad, but less so after learning that all meat is provided by the 1-2 million kangaroo culled by the government every year. Learning this fact inspired a quick Google search, which informed me that many of kangaroos' natural predators (Tasmanian tigers, dingoes) have been exterminated by settlers. Our guide entertained us with stories of Australian slang (for instance, "esky" apparently means "cooler" [ie icebox]) while the girls among us warmed our hands by the grill and the men pretended not to shiver.
Above: kangaroo barbeque, gals warming our hands by the fire
After our delicious barbeque lunch, we drove around to a few more stops, including to a kangaroo park without a kangaroo in sight, and a few lookouts on the lower blue mountains where we finally escaped the clouds. Our tour ended at a brewery where I chatted with my fellow hikers, drank a fair bit of hard cider, and pet the puppies wandering about the brewery. All in all, an excellent tour, despite the rain.
Above: hi Mom!
I returned back to my hostel to learn from my terrified roommates that the EU was considering shutting its borders due to the coronavirus, and most of the European travelers in the hostel were frantically calling airlines and parents and travel insurance to find their way home. My small problems and hundreds of dollars in lost flights due to the new work-from-home policy paled in comparison to the thousands of dollars and months of plans disrupted. 2020 is not a good year for a gap year for traveling.
That night, Alex and I cheered on Izzy at an open mic at the Hard Rock Cafe, where we learned that a) Izzy is a fantastic ukulele player and singer, b) she will be famous someday, and c) we will have known her before she is cool - who’s hipster now! We stayed through a few more performances, none matching Izzy’s, and walked home to alternating bad American and bad British accents. It was a lovely night.
The next morning I woke early to explore the Royal Botanical Gardens, and take some non-foggy pictures next to the Sydney Harbor skyline. Fortunately I met the most patient of German men who clearly had experience taking pictures for girls - he gave me a veritable photo shoot, with different angles, lighting, and backgrounds - thank you, German dude, you are a legend.
Above: proof of visit in lieu of my passport stamp (why doesn't Sydney stamp??)
I then turned my attention to the Royal Botanical Gardens, where I meandered for the next 3 hours. It’s a veritable oasis in the middle of a massive urban center, and with every corner I turned I felt some measure of peace restored to my soul.
After this final adventure, I said good-bye to Sydney and made my way towards the airport. As I sat in the terminal, half-expecting the Vietnamese government to close the border at any moment, I realized that while my extended Australian weekend had been wonderful - I missed Vietnam. I missed the chaos and dirt and - yes, even the cockroaches - of Southeast Asia. The wide and well-paved roads, excellent public transport, and clearly marked and well-observed crosswalk were - well - a little bit boring. I fully understand that these characteristics are virtues, and that developing countries strive for this type of infrastructure - but at the same time, I’d hate for Ho Chi Minh to become just another big city. I don’t know how to separate a city’s character from its flaws, but I hope that as Vietnam develops, it stays special.
As I shut my computer, finally done with this exceedingly long blog post, I am preparing myself for a week of boredom and loneliness while I work from home. I have resolved to spend my extra free time being productive and running, practicing guitar, and deleting the 1,204 spam emails informing me of every CEO’s Covid-19 policy (eTrade, you are literally an online only company! - really, Progressive? I didn’t even buy your insurance!), but the realistic side of me fully expects an increase in my Netflix and Grab food delivery activities.
Honestly, though, with the new work schedule and enforced isolation, I anticipate a melancholic last month in Vietnam. The coronavirus has taken so much from so many, and my small miseries cannot compare to the loss of life and financial instability the virus has brought to so many - but for me, the virus has stolen my joy. We’ll see how I fare in this final month - hopefully the tone of these posts remains upbeat - and who knows, maybe I’ll discover my inner introvert (very, very far down).
Here’s hoping the world handles this crisis with grace, generosity, and goodness - and that someday soon, we can all meet again.
