This one time, I went to Vietnam.
A grand time was had.
A grand time indeed.
So much fun in fact, time there was seemingly on fast-forward.
Tick. Tock. Tick tock. Ticktocktick. And the trip was over.
Upon returning to the States, time remained fleeting as Vietnam was hastily packed away in a travel chest in a room, deep within the ‘SE Asia’ wing of the longterm memory travel bank.
But a couple of holes were jabbed into the travel chest, before closing the room door, so Vietnam could breathe.
8 months later and Vietnam has snuck out of the holes, slipped under the door, and now floats up and down the travel wing like some ethereal apparition.
8 Months later and it’s still hot and humid and the sunsets are still jubilantly spectrum-defying.
8 Months later and there’s an Old Quarter scramble to find bun cha or bahn mi—locally—anything to feed the sense memory pangs.
The tastes are close, but are not Vietnam. The smells are close, but are not Vietnam.
Not Vietnam, so daydreams overlay reality, cars and trucks become motorcycles and bikes, street lamps become palm trees, cement turns to sand—Dollars to Dong. We’re rich? We’re rich!
The smiles enrich. The culture enriches.
8 months later and Vietnam has become a welcomed, permanent haunt.