I am liking where I'm at, and I'm aware of this joy at every moment, except when I have to make a left turn, or go around the traffic circles, on my bicycle. In these instances I am terrified and my mind is a near blank, a breathless, wordless prayer: please don't hit me. (I'm afraid to bike in Long Xuyen alone. Who will take care of me if I pass out from holding my breath too long while trying to avoid an untimely and grisly death?)

Maybe it's a pity that this happiness has nothing to do with place; possibly I am not experiencing Vietnam on a deeper level, however you or I define that. It feels extravagant to admit that Vietnam is incidental; I wouldn't have come here this time had it not been to be with Minh. I hadn't seen him in three years. I didn't recognize his voice when I called him from the bus station to pick me up. Smiling, but awkward and confused, I stepped back from him when he arrived, was relieved that he didn't try to hug me. Had I really come all this way, when we might not know each other anymore?

Where I'm at: there is nothing finer than hanging out with Minh, than attacking each other with sharp words, crude jokes, raucous laughter. Nothing better than no expectations of what to see or do or eat, just this is my life, it happens to be in Vietnam, you are welcome to it. Thus, this may be the most prolonged and simple joy I've experienced during these six months of travel, and perhaps I can't really define being in Vietnam now as travel, because of where I'm at.

Home.