The Return

I am back in Vietnam, in Hanoi this time, and I’m excited to have the chance to be back here. I’m comfortably ensconced in my hotel room, thanks to an early check-in. I managed to sleep on the plane so I’m quite hopeful that I’ll make it to a reasonable bedtime, thereby minimizing that whole jetlag/shock to the system thing that comes with an 11-hour time difference.

Friday was a crazy day, as things piled up unexpectedly. Of course, since time always seems to compress and the number of things you have to do in that time expands before trips like this, perhaps it shouldn’t have been so unexpected. I had booked myself a morning at the spa, as a relaxing treat before I left. It was a spectacular idea, and virtually the only time I felt truly relaxed all day, and next time, I may do the same thing, as long as I don’t wait until the night before to pack. So, in retrospect, while the spa was a terrific idea, salsa dancing the night before was possibly not, as it resulted in me beginning my packing at midnight-ish.

I admit that my time-management skills are somewhat lacking.

I was really happy that I got to see my friend Sarah that morning, as she was to head into the hospital to have a c-section that afternoon. I was hoping that I’d be able to see her, and her son Ethan, before I left, because to miss them by all of 30 minutes or so because I needed to be at the airport would have sucked royally, and it was going to be cutting it really close. I also wanted to see my friends Charlie and Marie, who had just returned from their honeymoon, and I had to be at my parents’ house by 2:15 so that they could take me to the airport.

I brought the brand new suitcase that British Airways bought for me, after demolishing the one that went before it. The only problem with the big and roomy suitcase is that it is wicked heavy when full. And I didn’t even fill it, really. I realized just how heavy it was, when it made me lose my balance walking out the front door, causing me to whack my chin on the door frame. Feel free to laugh – because who the hell does this really happen do? That’s right – people like me with spectacular coordination. The result of my natural grace is a deep purple bruise on my chin, complete with swelling, that’s about the size of a nickel. And it is dark purple. There are even some tinges of royal blue in there. Quite lovely, really – if it weren’t on my face. (Although, it’s on the underside of my chin, so while I still don’t understand how that was the point of contact, at least it’s not as obvious as it could be.)

I made it to a quick lunch with Charlie and Marie, fresh from their honeymoon in the Canadian Rockies, which I completely forgot to ask them about because I was clearly in highly self-absorbed mode (truly very sorry about that, guys, and I do want to hear all about it!). It was great to see them and I’m glad we made it just under the wire. An even closer call was me getting to meet Ethan Scott Rezer, Jeff and Sarah’s son, born via c-section on this past Friday. He, and his melon-like head (the reason for the c-section) are absolutely beautiful and perfect, and even though it was only for a couple of minutes, I am so happy that I got to see him. Unfortunately, Sarah was still in recovery so I couldn’t see her, but I got to give the proud new papa a big hug, and then I sprinted off to my parents’ house.

We made it to the airport in decent time, and I wheeled my way around to the international check-in counter. The line was looooong, but I’ve heard that it’s been worse before, so I was just hoping that I’d make it through relatively quickly. I had no control over it (I hate when that happens), so I decided to just…well, just hang and wait for my turn, which finally arrived. Thanks to some things that my boss wanted me to bring, the suitcase weighed over 75 lbs. Off the top of their heads, does anyone know the penalty fee for a suitcase that heavy?

Oh…about $325.

I found all this out by the time I got up to the counter after waiting in line for an excruciatingly long time (about an hour, which isn’t really that bad – but when you’re trying to get halfway around the world, your options are both limited and expensive if you miss your flight). The woman who ended up helping me was doing everything really s-l-o-w-l-y, and said that if I could take four pounds worth of stuff out of the big suitcase, the fee would drop to $25. Had this fee been something I would be responsible for myself, I would have considered it, but the massive security line, coupled with the knowledge that the projector my boss wanted me to take the Vietnam was responsible for the extra weight, made me quite sure that I didn’t care if my company had to pay the fee, I just wanted to get to my gate and not waste time futzing around redistributing weight.

I made it to my gate more quickly than I thought I would, but still had all of 30 minutes before boarding started, and I had arrived at the airport a full 2 ½ hours before my flight was scheduled to depart. Oy. I settled into my seat, and noticed a very cranky old French woman sitting in the same center row as me, arguing with the flight attendant, because she apparently wanted the aisle seat, but it was being rightly occupied by another gentleman. I could follow most of the conversation (all in French), which ended with the flight attendant telling the woman that she was welcome to get off the plane if she refused to accept her seat assignment. Yeeowch. Once the cabin doors closed, it was clear that the flight was not quite as full as originally feared, and Mme. Cranky Pantalons was able to move to a window seat a few rows back, which placated her. The row that I was in was virtually empty, except for the guy at the other end, who asked if I minded if he stretched out to sleep, since he had a conference in Paris the next morning. I said I didn’t mind, as I hadn’t planned to sleep much anyway. It was an overnight flight, but so was my flight to Vietnam, and I knew that I had to sleep on that flight, if I was to have any hope of readjusting my body clock quickly.

The flight itself was uneventful. I stumbled off the plane into Aerogare 1 at Charles de Gaulle airport – possibly the ugliest airport terminal in the entire world. It is hard core ugly. A nightmare of 70s modernist architecture, it’s all concrete, popcorn ceilings, and orange upholstery. I had a long layover at the airport, in a different terminal, and was pleased to find that Aerogare 2 is much nicer, and far more aesthetically pleasing. Clearly, I don’t care *that* much if an airport is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen or ugly as sin, since I don’t plan to spend much time there in the grande scheme of my life. I had several hours to kill, and decided to stroll through some boutiques and find a café for some pain au chocolat, because even at the airport in France, it was still likely to be better than what I found in most places in the US.

The best thing, hands down, about getting to the airport so ridiculously early was that they upgraded my seat to business class for the Paris to Hanoi leg of my trip. Even though it turned out to be the same actual seat as they have in coach (I think), I was tremendously grateful for the abundant extra leg room. I realized that you can only pace up and down the same 10 shops so many times before the sales folks start to look at you a little strangely, but that’s what happens when you have a seven hour layover. I finally got a large bottle of water, my pain au chocolat, and grabbed a seat by my gate, settling in to read. As the afternoon approached, my eyelids were seriously heavy, and I was delighted to get on my plane and settle into my seat. I watched a movie and after they served dinner, I decided it was time to sleep. I actually managed to sleep for about 4 hours, which amazed me. Although my ability to sleep through just about anything is legendary, I was awoken at one point by the girl behind me whacking the back of my seat repeatedly. I couldn’t quite hear her explanation as to why it was necessary for her to be doing this, given in response to my “why the hell did you wake me up???” glare. But I wasn’t all that interested in her response, to tell you the truth.

It was an amazing sight to fly into Hanoi from the west, over the mountains. The early morning fog hadn’t fully lifted, and it filled the channels between the hills in some places. I could recognize the government buildings with their creamy, butter yellow walls and red tile roofs, from the air as we flew in. In contrast to the Ho Chi Minh City Airport, the Hanoi Airport isn’t at all close to the city center, so the scenery when flying in was markedly different. As with last time, I sailed through immigration and customs quite easily, and the driver who had been sent for me was waiting with a little sign with my name and my company’s name written on it – I felt so official and stuff. I didn’t, however, look remotely official, wearing jeans, a nondescript white shirt, and my running shoes. My parents had, very kindly, picked up a new pair of running shoes for me, which I wore on the plane. They’re the exact kind that I needed and wanted, but unfortunately the Asics designers were having an off-year, and they really are the most spectacularly ugly shoes I’ve ever owned. Would you put silver and yellow together? Me neither. However, I can’t run without ‘em, and my other running shoes were badly in need of replacement, so it’s fortunate that I don’t care a whole lot how I look when I’m exercising.

It’s hard to articulate my limited impressions of Hanoi so far, but it’s definitely different from Ho Chi Minh City. I’ll probably do a better description of it when my brain has cleared a little. I am now sitting in my hotel room, marveling at what travel can temporarily do to my body. I can barely see my freaking ankle bones, because my lower extremities are feeling possessive of whatever water I’ve been drinking – and I made a point of drinking a lot of water, kids. Whoo-ee. I’m going to locate the hotel gym and see if I can go for a run to normalize my system a little. Even if it’s only for a few minutes, I want to do something. Of course, I know nothing about the gym, so I’m hoping that it has a treadmill. But it’s a relatively swanky hotel, with a nice, comfortable bed (thank goodness) so I suspect it’ll be okay. The fact that my body thinks it’s almost midnight is starting to catch up to me, so I have to do something. I think a nap may be inevitable…