The Philadelphia

In David Ives' one-act play "The Philadelphia", the main character is mystified by his inability to get anything he wants - the news stand does not have the Times, the pharmacist seems never to have heard of Asprin ("I'm sorry, we don't have that, sir."). His buddy explains that he's fallen into a Philadelphia, a metaphysical state wherein one can only attain the opposite of what one wants. I seem to have fallen into a similarly off-kilter existence here in the Mekong Delta. I've been on too many constrictive and dull tours in the past few weeks, and when planning my foray into the Delta I could not bear the thought of being on a planned tour for several days. My hotel in Saigon offered tours through Delta Adventures, and also a direct bus service to many delta cities, including the city of Can Tho which I has slated to be my first stop in the region, whence I would explore the delta by boat trip, visit some floating markets, and move on from there, footloose and fancy-free. So I asked my hotel to book me on the direct bus to Can Tho, a mere 3 hours and $8. Next morning, I get on the bus along with a handful of other western tourists, and 20 minutes outside of Saigon, a guy gets up with a microphone and says "welcome, ladies and gentlemen, on Delta Adventures 3-day Mekong Tour!" I started laughing to myself a bit because, hey, come on, life is funny, and the best laid plans....etc etc.

After ascertaining that this tour would at least be winding up in Can Tho eventually that day, it seemed fine to be to join the boat tour then, since I had been planning on more or less doing the same thing the next day. And though we would be getting to Can Tho in 9 hours rather than 3, most of that time would be spent in a riverboat. After a few weeks of being rather chilly and rained-upon, the weather was perfect: hot and just a bit humid, clear as can be and the air (relatively) fresh and exhaust-free. My map showed a few main river arteries running through otherwise solid land, and I wondered how we were going to get all the way to Can Tho that day, having to go up and over and back down, but I did not realize what the delta really is: more water than land. Imagine a piece of burlap, with the threads as the rivulets and the spaces between the threads as the land. Everything seems to flow together seamlessly, however, with innumerable little bridges, large bridges, and thousands and thousands of boats: steamers and rowboats and motorboats and sampans. With all these tight waterways, it was surprising to come out upon the main tributaries themselves: the Lower Mekong like a superhighway, after the watery back-alleys we'd sailed through. Can Tho was surprising as well. I'd expected all the settlements would be small riverine hamlets, but this was more or less a metropolis, flanking the river and rising high up from the water.

On with the Philadelphia. Still feeling like a strange hanger-on, I followed the tour group to the hotel where they were staying, figuring it was easier to check into a hotel right away than shopand around. At $6, it was by far the cheapest place I'd stayed in, and at first glance, the crappiest, with the whole front entrance under construction, drywall dust everywhere, no A/C (gasp!), and bathroom down the hall (double gasp!). I asked the desk attendant how much more it would be to upgrade to a room with A/C ($4), and how much more for an en suite room ($10). That sounded reasonable, so I said I'd like one of those rooms. He looked at me with mild surprise. "We don't have any more of those rooms available." Well, at least I know how much everyone else was paying for those cool, en suite rooms. Having checked in, I went upstairs to my room. The door was already open, so I went in without the key, dropped off my stuff, and headed down the hall to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. When I came back, I couldn't get the door open, couldn't even get the key in. I went back downstairs and sad I was given the wrong key. The (very kind) man behind the desk looked around for a while, picked up a massive cluster of indistinguishable keys, then sort of shrugged and picked up a screwdriver. So there we were, breaking into my room (with alarming ease). All worked out well and as it turned out, my room was fine and I slept better than I have in a long time, and it was clean and quiet, which is really all I need. And at $6, you really can't complain.

I was not out of the Philadelphia yet, though: the next morning, already quite hot, I headed off to the waterfront for breakfast. I had an excellent iced coffee (ice! I love it! I always say a little oath to the god of ice to keep the god of dysentary far hence! [polytheism is so great that way]), then decided I wanted some pho which, good as it is in the middle of winter, is somehow even better on a hot morning. It's like drinking tea in India: something about raising your body temp to closer match the heat of the day. I saw a great big cafe/restaurant encouragingly named "Pho Hong Ngyuen". Sounds good! I sat down and told the waiter I did not need a menu, I just wanted a bowl of pho bo. He asked me to repeat myself and I did, and he squinted with this rich, oddly charming expression I have come to see on a lot Vietnamese faces (usually when I say anything in Vn), skeptical and borderline offended. At last he said "Pho Bo?" I said yes. He said, "Oh, we don't have that, madame." Sure enough, I could find it nowhere on the menu. I thanked him and left, stood outside the place for a moment, staring at the sign that said, in great big letters, PHO. Finally I found another restaurant that offered Pho, although, just to be sure, I paced back and forth a few times trying to see what the people inside were eating. Success, although I could not get a bottle of water.The fellow who brought me my soup proceeded to select a pair of chopsticks for me, polish them off, put them into my right hand, and then a spoon into my left. (Though I do spend many of my hours feeling grossly inept, I could have figured out that much at least. Still, I found it very kind that he helped me out.) There's way fewer westerners here than anywhere else I've been in Vietnam, which means I get stared at a lot, which is not so bad. The trade-off is that there's fewer offers of motorbike rides, peanut candy, shoe shine, etc, which is fine with me. So the moral of this story is: be prepared to bend at every turn with aplomb and humor, or just plan your trip earlier than the day before. It's been rather a fun comedy of errors. I do thank the god of being-able-to-laugh-at-yourself that I am able to laugh at myself, and circumstances, and I do it more than frequently. However, I really do hope that the bus ticket I've purchased to take me to Chau Doc this afternoon really does take me there, and straight there, but who knows what might happen in a Philadelphia?