We've settled into Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), and it's not half as hectic as we were expecting. Everyone we talked to said it was worse than Hanoi, but it seems everyone we talked to was smoking something. There are wide sidewalks here, and traffic lights, and a lot less honking of horns. And, we found a supermarket! It was very exciting, after seeing nothing of the sort for weeks. We loaded up on goodies.

I was reading a book I bought in Hoi An called "In Siberia" by Colin Thubron, but I left it in the taxi when we got dropped at our hotel here. The blurb on the jacket reads that this guy was one of our greatest travel writers, which is a load of hooey. But I think I can do a pretty good imitation now of his style of writing, so I will describe our final day in Hoi An as he would:

We slept in on our final day, then camped out under beach umbrella to soak in a last lingering look at the majesty of the wind-swept ocean. The weather began to turn, and Marjorie internalized it; her illness an unhealthy portent for the trip ahead.

The car arrived to take us to the airport. He drove us down a street in the proximity of the hotel that had lurked nearby, invisible to our concious minds, perhaps visible only to those who sprung from the native soil. The road was an artery for the local village; each motorbike a corpuscle, carrying life-giving sustenance to those who dwelled there. Nearly half the houses were painted sky-blue, in defiance of the weather, as if to say to the Fates, do your worst. We will subsume you and rise above.