In June, I flew east to Europe to visit my brother and sister-in-law, who are currently living in Zurich, Switzerland. If a family member or good friend lives in Europe, I will visit, freeload, entertain, and take to happy hour. This is to be expected. Such victims were my brother and his wife. They turned out to be incredible hosts and even though they worked during the day, I was easily able occupy myself by galavanting around the city or often day-drinking by the lake. 'Twas a glorious fortnight in Switzerland. But as I tell my story to others, at this point people start shaking their heads, maybe you included. After two weeks in Zurich, I met my mother in Nice, France for another stressful week of leisure. It actually was the best time, and even though our travel styles are a bit different by now, we managed to see much of the area and slowly lounge on full bellies. After another sad goodbye, I left my family in Zurich to meet up with some good friends in Bavaria. We first spent a night in Como, Italy, and in one day we had breakfast in Italy, lunch in Austria, and dinner in Germany. A foodie's dream. We beer-gardened in the countryside and also partied in Munich for my friend's birthday. Another burdensome week. I, myself, am shaking my head at past-Jon again. It was an unreal holiday. However, I've learned something about myself. At separate times throughout the trip, my brother, sister-in-law, mother, and friends called me an alcoholic. I find it a bit presumptuous, but then again I was on vacation from my vacation and drinks are a big part of culture. And the beer is much better in Germany, by the way.
After a month in Europe, I flew east again (stopping in Dubai) to completely circumnavigate the world in just two months, and arrived back in Vietnam. Within a day I was in the classroom and within a week I am completely settled, with my Euro-chocolate souvenirs already almost gone. Once again, it feels like I never left, but in a completely different place. This is the grail of a world traveler, and I am so fortunate to have been able to live my passion. Overall, in two months I visited eleven countries, tried speaking five languages, and gained 14 pounds. I'll be completing a life achievement soon, too, by applying to get extra pages for my passport. But, you never realize how much you'll miss a place until you leave for so long, and I was relieved and happy to be back in the heat and intensity of Ho Chi Minh City. I even missed the kids on Saturday early mornings. It's felt so good to be back, so much that I decided the beer is much better in Vietnam, by the way.
Vung Tau, Viet Nam
Zurich, Switzerland
Colmar, France
The Matterhorn, Zermatt, Switzerland
Nice, France
Antibes, France
Villefranche Sur Mer, France
Monte Carlo, Monaco
Tour de France fly-by, Nice, France
Neuschwanstein, Bavaria, Germany
Heaven
*I owe any surviving readers at least one humorous anecdote. After leaving 'Nam for a long amount of time, I almost forgot how insanely ridiculous it can be. I went to get a needed haircut the other day, in order to tame the nappy beast nest that developed on top of my head. Unfortunately, Mano Mano, my previous upscale hair salon, had closed while I was gone. I was a proud member with a card and everything...probably the only time in my life I will be a member of a hair salon. So I found a new place, although it was just a small barbershop with only three chairs and a few locals sitting around. A big fan in the corner cooled the room and also blew hair all over the floor, and a TV was blaring a Vietnamese soap opera. The owner shepherded me into a chair and the barber came over. I was hoping to receive a quick and simple haircut... but those adjectives are seldom used in Saigon. The barber began fine-trimming my hair, using scissors when anyone else would just use a buzzer. I was already growing impatient, but it was turning out to be a pretty intricate haircut. After deciding that the ceremonious clippings were done, I sat up ready to pay. But the owner came over and quickly shoved me back to lay down. A woman came over with a knife. I then realized that I was about to be shaved... my first street-side hot shave. I had been hesitant to indulge in this Asian novelty, but since it seemed imminent, I obliged and tried to enjoy. (Not that my grasp on Vietnamese could have stopped it from happening, anyway.) The woman covered my face with hot shaving cream and began minutely hacking at my facial hair. Never before had someone put a knife to my throat, and thank goodness I didn't have to sneeze. She did a very comprehensive job and shaved parts of my face that I didn't even know could grow hair, such as my forehead and below my eyes. Again I sat back up ready to pay, but only to be forced back down again by the owner, who had assumed the role of my personal supervisor. I braced myself for the next stage. I turned my head to the right and saw a different woman wheeling a rickety cart over with a tray of 1950s neurosurgical-looking tools. This is when I broke. I quickly sat up and said "không, không, cảm ơn!" and waved my hands, realizing that they were going to use these long needles and throngs to clean my ears. The girl slightly bowed and turned the cart around to go back to the scary room it came from. Almost immediately, the owner pressed me back down into my seat again. Taking things into his own hands, he showed me a small vial with white cream in it and proclaimed "it good, it good!". He proceeded to rub it all over my face and then apply white strips of linen over it, so that I now looked like a burn victim. It was a fitting metaphor for the fiery destruction of my dignity and trust in barbershops. I was left to sit for another solid 15 minutes while the solution dried on my face. At this point, it was over an hour time in this damned chair. Finally, the young surgeon girl came back over, this time without any equipment. She started to pull the bandages off to peel away the cream. I never knew my skin was so loose and leathery, so it hurt like hell... and because she was irritating my eyes, I had tears completely streaming down my face. It was very comical for the employees and why not be laughed at in this ludicrous situation? The hair from my face, the skin from my nose, the water from my eyes, and my self-respect were already gone, so I had nothing to lose. My traditional facial was then completed and I was FINALLY able to stand up and pay. I was so happy that is was all over, as I had to be at work in 30 minutes, that I tipped them 20,000 Dong and got out of there quickly. I left crying, still in pain, and with a small suspicion of Hepatitis, but I don't have any rogue hairs on my cheek bones and I gained an eternal appreciation for Q-tips.
