Searching for Dong

The flight(s) from YVR to SGN were more manageable than expected. Faced with a seat at the bulkhead that sacrificed both leg room and personal television, I went to plan B: 2 gravol and a glass of white wine. I woke up 12 hours later in Taipei.

My first day in Ho Chi Minh City was spent filming at a girls’ orphanage with a team of HOW (Helping Orphans Worldwide) volunteers as they drew with, cuddled, blew bubbles at, and pretty much just loved like crazy a group of young girls.

You may hear people referring to the “vietnam war” — in many cases, they’re talking about the bubble fight that I lost miserably at the Lotus Girl’s School. Those girls are tough. They beat the shite out of me with bubbles, and I have greasy film all over my camera gear to prove it.

As we headed back to town, a dinner location was decided upon and I heard myself say aloud, “Sounds great, but first I need to pop out and find some dong.” I spend the majority of the uncomfortable silence that followed reminding myself that, although “dong” may be the vietnamese currency, it’s also slang for penis. Is that a dong in your pocket or are you just…. oh never mind.

Today was a day off for the volunteers, so I accompanied Hillary — the Executive Director — to the children’s hospital. Awesome. Cute. Great. Perfect.

This was followed by an ambitious trip to the “Chinese Market” — a large “wholesale market” that presumably services “retail markets” — in search of paper lanterns. Well, it’s too bad we weren’t looking for EVERYTHING, because we would have found it. I stumbled into a giant stall that only sold plastic plants and fruit. All I could think as I looked through the rows and rows of… stuff, was that one day we’ll run out of oil and wonder, “Why did we have to make all of those fucking plastic bananas?”

Closing tidbit: if I were ever to fall out of a window here, my sole concern would be getting electrocuted. I find it improbable to think that I may reach the ground. See below.