Since we first mentioned that we were planning a trip to Viet Nam, our friends Nona and Grael were right there with us. They were game for the 20 hour plane ride, the 14 hour time zone change, the increased gut bacteria population. And best of all, they were also up for all of that with a small child. Their boy, Conrad, is 16 months old, and like Mimi, well traveled for his age.
Conveniently, my boss had some meetings out of town, so our office was closed for the day. That allowed me to join Aimee and Mimi for the trip to Da Nang airport to pick them up. As excited as we were, I had to keep reminding myself what I felt like after flying for 20 hours with a baby. We were going to be impressed if they even had enough energy for a hug. And we were impressed. They were in remarkably good shape after their journey through Los Angeles and Hong Kong, and even little Conrad was wide awake and taking it all in.
After swapping stories about diaper cream, blowouts, and well-timed luck, we met up with our pre-arranged car and driver. But this was next-level car planning. We now had a fixer. Every good adventure story always has the same key character, the local fixer who knows the lay of the land, and can prevent problems before they happen. And now we had our own fixer in Long, the owner of the nail salon on our street.
Like most people we have met in this country, Long is genuinely nice. The dozens of times she said hello to us as we walked past her shop were not entirely just to get us to stop in. So with each trip down the street, our conversations got longer and longer. Between her broken English and our extremely broken Vietnamese, we got to know each other a bit better, and she wanted to help make our trip smoother. After just a few days in Hoi An, we were going to Long for everything from dining advice to how to find a crib. She came through on everything, including leaving a solid wood crib at our front door when we were out at dinner one night.
So now whenever we need to solve a problem, we go to Long first. And that's not as crazy as it sounds. In Viet Nam, particularly rural Viet Nam, everyone does everything, and everyone has a cousin that does the few things they don't. Most every restaurant in Hoi An doubles as a travel agent, and will also do your laundry for $1 a pound.
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| Our favorite bakery will also arrange ground and air transportation. |
A few minutes after Nona and Grael's arrival, we heard a familiar mispronunciation of my name. "Meo! Meo!" Long was running over to us with two people by her side. One helped load their luggage onto a cart, and the other one introduced herself with flawless English. She was an off-duty tour guide from the same small village as Long. Long had asked her to come along on the 30 minute drive from Da Nang to Hoi An to tell us the history of the region. It was a fascinating conversation, and a nice addition to the already luxurious ride home. And all this for less than I usually pay for a taxi to my office in Da Nang. It's good to know people.
Back at the house, we quickly realized that babyproofing for a nine month old is not the same thing a babyproofing for a sixteen month old. But after a few necessary modifications, both babies were able to run free.
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| Conrad, it's up and over when you want to sneak out. |
The rest of the day was spent like our first day in the country, with lots of coffee and walking for no other reason than to not fall asleep. Dinner was at one of the reliably delicious restaurants in our neighborhood. The owners had already fallen head over heels for Mimi, and they positively lost their mind when we told them that we'd be bringing two babies to their restaurant for the next couple of weeks.
The adult son of the owners walked over to me as his parents played with our kids. He said that his parents tell him daily how much they want him to get married and have kids, and he appreciated us taking the heat off him for a bit.
Nona and Grael did great a great job shaking off the jet lag, but it was an early bedtime for everyone.
The next morning, I rode my bike to the market to buy the day's eggs. Breakfast was an omelette with nothing in it from further than a few miles from our house. Most of the day was spent walking around Hoi An looking for a bike seat for Conrad and a few other essentials. Aimee and I got a bit of satisfaction finding a store that we had been searching for during much of the last week. We got a lead that it may have a can opener for us. It didn't, but at least we could cross one more shop off our list.
Dinner was at another nice neighborhood restaurant. The food was as delicious as we've come to expect, but the conversation was on a different topic. An oversunned couple in their early twenties was sitting across the restaurant from us. We rolled our eyes when they audibly referenced their last trip to Ibiza, and we made fun of their cliche'd stuffed backpacks and near-comical thriftiness after spending at least $1,000 on airfare to get here. But really, we were making fun of earlier versions of ourselves. As we bounced our babies on our laps, we recalled previous trips to Argentina, Nicaragua, and Paris, and imagined the judgement that we'd be getting from young Myles, Aimee, Nona, and Grael. "Arranging a car from the airport? I could get there on the back of a motorcycle for a dollar. And your house has its own toilet? What a waste of money."
I imagined telling earlier me that the real adventure isn't making your way through a developing country on a dollar a day. It's making your way through at any price with 20 pounds of human strapped to your chest. We'll just try to make sure that Mimi's not the one with diarrhea on this trip.
