We arrived in Ho Chi Minh City too late to do–or eat–anything interesting. It was a Saturday night, so we thought we might go to a bar, but by the time we got our bearings, it was midnight, and the bars were closing. I was glad for it, because I was wearing my comfortable clothes from the plane, and the women leaving the bar were dressed in little black and red dresses. J was disappointed, but we went to the Circle K and it had WiFi. We ate instant noodles and shrimp chips and looked up articles on the best beer to drink in Vietnam. We liked the Saigon Special better than the 333.
Our hotel room at the Iris was small, but fine for the night. We only needed it to be near the airport. There were plenty of pho places around, but we didn’t know how to order and I was worried about getting food poisoning before our flight to Phu Quoc, after what happened in Cambodia. (I got food poisoning and was wretchedly sick for 24 hours.)
The next morning, the cafes were open all over the neighborhood. We asked for a suggestion from the front desk and she said the place across the street was excellent, and offered the security guard’s services to help us cross. There were no traffic lights and not a little traffic, but J managed to get us across just fine. I had a baguette with fried eggs and J had the beef and green peppers with French fries. We each had coffee and it was excellent Then we crossed back again and walked down the street to another cafe where Jeremy ordered an iced coffee while I finished my cigarette. When I got inside, I realized we were in the same franchise we’d just left, just a shop on the other side of the road. The coffee was really that good.
After Vietnamese coffee, I was most looking forward to a real banh mi sandwich. The were available the Circle K between six a.m. and ten p.m., but I didn’t think that a convenience-store banh mi ranked as an authentic on, even in Vietnam. When we landed in Phu Quoc, we had another coffee at the airport cafe, and ordered a banh mi sandwich to go with it. It was made with lettuce and mayonnaise, and they microwaved it, and it was horrible and I was mad that we’d spent any money on it at all.
J had booked us a room in a beautiful little resort that had a number of little bungalows around a pool. It being the end of the off-season, he got the room for very cheap. I message them ahead of time to let them know it was J’s 40th birthday, and when arrived, they had prepared a mango panna cotta and written “Happy birthday, Jeremy” very inexpertly. Because you can’t stick candles in panna cotta, they were stuck to the table with a bit of melted wax in a ring around the dish. It was all very cute and the extra effort was much appreciated.
That night, we ate dinner in the resort restaurant. Afterwards, we drank the mini bar beers and beers from room service. Everything was so cheap that it felt like we were rich and famous.