FOMO Anonymous

Hi, my name is Don and I have FOMO.

                        Hi Don!

It’s been six hours and thirty-five minutes since my last excursion…..

                        Oh man….. you’re sick, finished, there’s no hope for you! You may as well just give up and go to try and find another add-on excursion; there’s not another regular one ‘til tomorrow!

                        That’s how the regularly scheduled 12-Step program for those of us with FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) usually starts because no one offers any support because no one really wants to get cured!

                        When we first looked at the Itinerary for this trip we thought, “Gee, there’s an awful lot of ‘Free Time’ that seems to be scheduled in here.”  What we didn’t know is that we needed to read between the lines and where it says:

             ‘Your Tour Guide may have some suggestions for you during this time period’, we should have inserted, ‘Your Tour Guide will schedule another Local Event, prepare the transportation, and arrange for a meal during this supposed Down Time that you may have been looking forward to…. of course, your participation is COMPLETELY optional.”

                                                FOMO!!!

            And off we go on another adventure that can only be arranged (or even fathomed) by someone who has roots in their community. In our case, Phil has these roots sinewed into the very fiber and soul of his tour regions and this is exactly what we were looking for.

                        For example.

                        The other night we set out on a local ‘Tour’ that needed to be accomplished by using one of those larger, little golf carts, the ones that can hold about eight or so, depending on how ‘friendly’ the group has become! The plan was to get on the river, go upstream to town where all of these festive boats ply the waters using tons of hanging lanterns as decorations as they cruise past the equally festive shoreline. I am hoping that some photos can exemplify, (hopefully) about, at least 10% of what we saw because it’s impossible to show you this stuff for real! Then we were to be dropped off somewhat near the restaurant that would be dinner for the night. The ‘somewhat’ ensured that we would be able to amble through the local Night Market before arriving at our waterfront restaurant. Timing is everything because the mask of darkness is essential to the sights of this nightly spectacle.

                        Off we went, it’s about 75 degrees or so, very comfortable for whizzing around on the cart. The reason that we need the cart is that soon we found our way onto roads that no bus could ever negotiate…. these ‘paths’ wind in, and around, bayou-type environments that are the basis for the topography around the river. Agriculture is on everyone’s doorstep, as they all have gardens in one form or another, some for sustenance, some for business.

                        Peanuts are one of the favorite crops that are grown here. I did not know, nor had I ever given any thought to the fact that peanuts are a root-type plant…. The little guys spend their developing lives underground until they get harvested and mature into the ultimate alliance with some grapes…..peanut butter!

                        We screeched to a halt (metaphorically) in front of a rather imposing-looking home way down by the water. Imposing because it is both tall and relatively new. This area is a crazy juxtaposition of homes/shacks/hovels that are quite comfortable existing as neighbors to themselves, no judgment offered, nor taken….. at least in public. This is because the usually well-to-do have one of those state-affiliated connections that helps pave the way for some of the perks of life around here. In this case we were standing in the front of the home of Phil’s ‘Grandmother’  As it turns out, wherever we go in this thousand-plus mile long country, we meet up with one of Phil’s ‘relatives’. “This is my sister, (cousin, aunt, uncle)”, etc. has become a hallmark of an introduction, always given with a knowing smile. We now get it. The truth is that Phil has such a disarming and charming way about him that you can tell that the relationships that he has cultivated along these Vietnamese backroads of life, are genuine. The Locals feel very at ease with him, and this is obviously to our advantage as that cultivation of friendships is easily passed along to us, his troop of travelers. We gain access and insight into the daily lives, and past histories of, these genuinely forthcoming folks.

                        ‘Grandma’ is 93-years old and as cute as button. She lives in this home that her son built for her as he cannot be around as much as he would like to help take care of her. The other reason that she has this place is her husband’s affiliation with the VC (Viet Cong) that underground organization here in South Vietnam whose sole purpose was to irradicate our soldiers and those of the South Vietnamese Army, from these very soils. Remember, this is still a Communist-based government that won their civil war. ( I wonder where we’d be if, in our own case, the South had defeated the North back during our Civil War in 1860’s?)

                        “To the victors belongs the spoils” could not be a more apropos statement in this case. From respect, to pensions, and special favors, the current government seeks to keep a separation of, and exultation of, that victory. She and her family are the benefactors of that position. But that was over sixty years ago and as we all know, unless a coup or other more immediate result/action takes place, these wheels of history turn at their own pace, but turn they do. I will tell you that the feeling that I get while here is that those wheels are moving a little faster now, lubricated by the once hated term of ‘capitalism’. That Red Capitalism that I spoke about previously is very, very much alive and the population can feel its effects. These feelings are the seeds of change that get planted and cultivated just like the peanut plants that are sitting underground under our feet. Who’d have ever thought that a group of Americans would be welcomed into a country that we once fought to have defeated or at least divided.

                        Our visit concluded, we scrambled (a relative term as we all are in that seniorly-challenged age group) back into our chariot and continued on. As we got closer to a point where we would rendezvous with our boat, we chanced upon a man with the cutest little water buffalo. Well, at least he looked kinda cute, I’m sure that his mom thought so, and apparently so did Phil. Always on the lookout for another experience for us Phil, called out to the man who was ‘working’ the young cutie around a small patch of land. We were encouraged to join the man and beast for introductions. The guy and his wife thought it was a hoot as they encouraged us to climb upon the critter to have photos taken. The lady even took off her typical conical hat and placed it on the ladies for this photo op. Their smiles and obvious enjoyment of our smiles and enjoyment were all the payment that was needed to help forge a meaningful relationship between our two cultures.

                        This is where the fun part of the evening started. Abandoning our wheeled vehicle, we trudged through the bayou on a well-worn path that led us to a questionable facsimile of what could be very loosely termed a ‘dock.’ Clambering aboard we were introduced to the ‘Skipper” for our less than Three-Hour Tour. It was still light out, but the sun had set as the Plan was unfolding on the waters in front of our bow.

Apparently, it is a custom to have a shot of whiskey, or in this case we ended up with a local Vodka which had a very nice flavor to it. This was my first introduction to Vodka, and it went rather well. …. but I will not be ruining any good Coca-Colas with additions of this libation. The usual toasts were given, and then consumed, with a few more added just to make sure that the boat, and fun, were underway.

In the distance, those lights that I referred to before were getting more and more distinct as we approached them, kind of sneaking in the back door of the party. That coveted cover of darkness was soon complete, insuring our acceptance into the Fleet of Fantasy. This was not the captains first cruise as we soon found ourselves surrounded by a squadron of incoming vessels that looked like a version of the swirling Teacups’ s at Disneyland. Each ‘saucer’ had its own coxswain, and it was worth it just to see us try and get aboard a vessel with no keel, no determinable center of gravity, and an incredibly shallow freeboard. These baskets are traditionally used down here to hold the gathered fish, or fronds, or whatever of what it is that is being harvested at the time.

                        They are somewhat unique to Hoi An, the city that we’re presently in, and they had their roots set down in the French Colonial era as the locals argued that they were not boats (which were taxable under French rule) but were simply baskets. Genius! These are still made the traditional way with strips of woven bamboo, but instead of being sealed with water buffalo dung, are sealed with a resin of sorts. The guys that pilot these baskets are quite skilled at spinning them around (hastening and heightening any lingering effects of our libationious toasts) and dancing around the edges which makes them sway and dip back and forth.

                        Dramamine anyone? 😊

                        No worries! No ‘ralphing’ occurred as the rides did not last long enough to garner the effects of the descripted motions. Safely back aboard we continued up the river to the sounds of ABBA  blaring out of some loudspeakers. I believe that some more Toasts to ABBA were given, and then consumed, because some dance-like behavior broke out amongst the crew and passengers.

We were soon safely woven into that rainbow like fabric of lanterns and lights that was now surrounding us. We were an integral part of the scene that was visible from the equally festive shoreline!

Up, and then back down the river we sailed until we arrived at our destination of the public dock, a few feet away from the equally festive Night Market. A stroll through this collection of live fish, cut produce, fried locals (food!) and ubiquitous chachkies, eventually led us to our Dinner Destination.

                        There is a very real part of us that longs for a good cheeseburger and fries as the steady diet of the local cuisine is taking its toll on us. It’s not that the local food is not good, its that we are trying in vain not to eat the seven-course extravaganza that gets spread out in front of us with acute regularity.

I could say that “It’s all the same”, but it is, in fact, not!  While the spring rolls, summer rolls, pork/bacon lollipop type things, bok choy-based salads, calamari, really good rice, and various beef and chicken dishes all have a familiar resemblance to previous editions, it seems that each place we go has its own iterations of the same. This makes us always say, “This is really good!’ and then the ensuing comparisons start being bantered about as each meal has its own advocate amongst us.

Translation: It just keeps getting better and better as we go along.  

            It was just a short amble to where our patient golf cart was waiting for us, and we arrived back across the river to our hotel just in time to make that night’s meeting of FOMO’s Anonymous.

                                    Everyone happily attended.

And then promptly signed up for the next unscheduled excursion.