Heading west to east and the road bumps in between
Istanbul is historically, and literally, known as the bridge between east and west and we were viewing it as such in our own journey. We flew into the city at dusk, just after the lights below had come on and the city was awash in warm, glowing light, softly illuminating the buildings from beneath them. The city was expansive; stretching over rolling hills and spilling out from the banks of the Bosphorus for miles.
We stayed in the old town on the side of the city that sits on the European continent surrounded by stunning blue mosques, Egyptian obelisks, and extremely historically important once-churches-turned-mosque-turned museums.
In the morning light, with the seagulls distantly cawing, we could see the stunning Blue Mosque from our hostel room balcony. Hazy in the distance, it’s tall, thin minaret towers broke through the morning fog like something out of a dream. I’d never seen anything like it.
There were very few places we went in Europe that were not conquered by the Roman Empire. And they all had the ancient ruins on display to prove it. When we started our European tour, I didn’t realize how much of it would be a Roman Empire tour; there was a twinge of poetry to leaving Europe behind where the Roman Empire ended. Of course, Istanbul, like every city we visited, is much more than the Roman Empire, but it’s been a fascinating through-line of conquest and shared history between dozens of nations.
In previous newsletters, I mentioned that when Rome fell around the fifth century, the empire split in two and fell in the west but continued as the Byzantine empire in the east, with Istanbul (then Constantinople) serving as its capital for more than a thousand years. The name Byzantine was only given to the empire in the east a hundred years after it fell in 1453 to create a distinction between the cultural differences of the Roman Empire that we think of today (anyone see Gladiator II yet?) and the Roman Empire that continued its existence in Turkey for another one thousand years. The Byzantine Empire was distinctly different from the Roman Empire based in the eponymous city in two key ways: they spoke Greek and they were Christian. While it may be hard to imagine now as Istanbul is home to so many stunning Islamic works of architecture and a 90% Muslim population, Constantinople was once the center of Christendom with the most important church (now turned mosque and museum) in the world. (Fun fact, this building was home to the largest dome in the world until the Florence Duomo dethroned it). The Roman Empire living out it’s days in Constantinople for another 1000 years made the renaissance much more likely; when the Byzantine empire fell in 1453, the philosophers, scholars and artists fled to Italy and brought with them their knowledge of the classics-which to them was just daily life.
The interconnectedness of our path through Europe, and being able to see the repercussions of what we’ve learned in the flesh/canvas/brick right in front of us has been one of my favorite aspects of the trip. My AP High School European History class could never.
All that talk and we didn’t even go into the once-world-famous-church-now-modern-day-mosque-museum, the Hagia Sophia, because the entry fee was pretty steep. Instead, we roamed the old town marveling at the strange but familiar residential architecture, jam packed into the rolling hills of the city, the ancient monuments, the chaotic -but much more refined than Marrakech -Bazaar, and the stunning Blue Mosque.
this is not *the* Blue Mosque, but another stunning one
Where Christianity excels at painting human figures in their churches as a show of worship, Islam believes that depicting living figures is God's prerogative alone and is therefore full of stunning patterns and floral motifs. It’s on no better display than at the Blue Mosque in Istanbul. A peaceful, serene and stunning place that manages to leave little between the worshipper and their god, despite- or because of-the simple but mesmerizing patterns inside.
This *is* the Blue Mosque
While the history and architecture of Istanbul is fascinating, it's easy to forget it's a 2700 year old city (making it the oldest and largest, with a population of 16 million, city we’ve been to). We took one of the many ferries down the straight, crossed over onto the Asian side of the city and spent a morning exploring the hip neighborhood of Kadikoy. Kadikoy is on the sea and full of cute, cozy and trendy cafes, book shops, shopping and international and Turkish restaurants. The sloping streets lined with shady trees and retro street cars running down the center of them put us in mind of the most picturesque parts of San Francisco.
As the budget tightens and the trip lengthens, we had very little time in Istanbul (which is pricier than many of the places we’d been visiting). We hope to go back one day to see more of the stunning landscapes and fascinating historical sites. After two quick days and an expensive DHL package homeward bound, we were off for Singapore.
We chose Singapore more or less out of convenience and a desire to explore their world famous Changi Airport. The airport was every bit as glamorous and jaw dropping as it seems on social media with the highlight, of course, being the Jewel of Changi, a 130 foot tall waterfall in the middle of a tropical jungle, encapsulated in a glass bean and surrounded by a 6 story luxury mall.
The jaw dropping sights continued after we left the airport and explored the ultramodern, advanced, devastatingly humid tropical city. A dizzying and delightful mix of temples, churches, markets and skyscrapers, Singapore seems to be a futuristic utopia, living at least 50 years ahead of the rest of the world-the parts we’ve seen anyways.
Singapore surprised us by being one of our favorite cities we’ve been to so far. Similar to Copenhagen, Singapore seemed to be created by centering the mutual success of everyone that lived there. It was easy to exist in; with easy access to anything we should need, an abundance of safe and affordable food and water, interesting and beautiful sights, and, -best of all-cheap, freshly squeezed, orange juice vending machines on every corner. With all that in mind, a few days later, when we needed to pivot and spend less time in Vietnam, we took an opportunity to spend two weeks over Christmas and New Years in Singapore watching a lovely little rabbit in exchange for free housing. I’m excited to share more about Singapore after we have the chance to live like a local in it.
Remember last week when I said we’re getting real loosey-goosey with making plans and accommodations? Well, I almost had to eat those words as our flight to Singapore (booked with points) got approved a mere 72 hours before we were set to leave and our visa to Vietnam was approved less than 24 hours before we were set to enter the country. The hurdles didn’t stop there though.
Once the visa was approved, we were unable to print it- their website was down with no information on when it would be back up, apparently a frequent occurrence-a requirement for entering the country. Okay, great. “It’ll work out. The website will come back online”, I said to Grant, riding out that faith I have in us and surrendering to the complete and utter lack of control that we had.
I was right. We got the visas. We boarded the plane. As we were taking our seats, I got a notification that our accommodations for the week had been canceled by the host and there was absolutely no recourse we could take (may I take a moment to strongly recommend against Booking.com). We landed in the country, booked a hostel for the night while waiting in line at passport control and figured it out with only a handful of my choicest swear words.
The view from our Ho Chi MInh apartment
Where I lost my faith in myself, and us, and the trajectory of the trip- possibly humanity for a moment there? It remains to be seen-, was hours into the most violent case of food poisoning I’d ever had that I got from the first meal in the country.
Before landing in Vietnam, we’d read about the prevalence of food poisoning and travelers' diarrhea here. The sanitation standards aren’t at the same level as westerners are accustomed to and there’s incredibly high levels of e. Coli in the water and contamination through unhygienic practices. I obsessively poured over articles on how to avoid succumbing to the infiltrating bacteria: wash your hands constantly (but but don’t use the towels to dry them), drink only bottled water, decline all ice, eat at places where you can see the kitchen, don’t eat at places where the person who handles the money cooks your food, don’t touch your face, eat hot broth as its been boiled for a long time, avoid raw vegetables as they’ve likely been washed in contaminated water, price doesn’t matter-expensive places can get you sick just like street vendors. The list goes on.
On our first day, we followed those rules, nervously arriving at a place that was recommended by a fellow long-term traveler in the hostel and 3,436 other people on Google reviews. We each got an entree, a drink, and an appetizer all for less than $10. The restaurant met all the criteria, the meal tasted great, and we left feeling a little more confident than before. Using the same logic, we went to another place that night and had another great experience for less than $7.
Within just a couple hours, I had transformed into the girl from the exorcist, convulsing in the bathroom. When I could catch my breath in between wretches, voluntary and involuntary tears streaming down my face, I begged Grant to take me home.
Hours later, when I had nothing left to give and was half asleep, delirious in the uncomfortable, unfamiliar Airbnb bed, something worse than the bacteria in my gut had taken hold in me. I suddenly felt deeply, psychologically unsafe and terrified. If we did everything right and I still spent the night with my head in the toilet and days recovering, how can I trust anything here? How will I feed myself for almost a month? What will happen if I get really sick?
The food poisoning had morphed into a psychological monster in me. Weakened by the illness and lack of appetite or food, I stayed in bed for three days.
The longer I stayed in bed, the further I got from the city, from the trip, from the purpose of it all. I withdrew, closed myself off, hardened to everything around me. I felt trapped; panicked and spiraling about how we could survive in a country where our accommodations don’t have kitchens and we can’t trust the food out. I was mad at the city for making me so violently ill. I was mad at the travelers who, when I asked for guidance on not getting sick, shrugged and said “it’s a part of traveling Vietnam”. I was mad at the universe for not protecting me this time. Strangely, passages from The Metamorphosis, which I haven’t read since high school, flitted through my mind. I desperately wanted the trip to be over.
No restaurant is spared from the possibility of giving you food poisoning it seems. Not even a restaurant made famous by Anthony Bourdain, with lines wrapping around the corner, and more than 12,000 “5 star” reviews. With a little more digging, we found that this restaurant has previously been temporarily closed for giving more than 140 people food poisoning at one time and has hundreds of reviews from people claiming to be made sick by the restaurant. The landscape for safely eating for the next month looked bleak. Looking at the prospect of traveling in more rural parts of Vietnam, and navigating the confusing and potentially hazardous food supply we decided to cut our time in Vietnam short.
It feels like a humbling failure. Was it my own arrogance or just a misrepresentation of Ho Chi Minh City online that made me think I could easily travel here? It’s an emotional anguish to be surrounded by food that looks delicious and safe, and likely, a lot of it is, but the anxiety and dread of not knowing if this is the bite that will send me to the bathroom for days, ultimately, was too much for me to carry for almost a month. I realize this may bias you against ever coming to Vietnam or Ho Chi Minh City and I hate that possibility. This wasn’t the city for us, but it could be for you. Millions of tourists visit Ho Chi Minh every year, they can’t all have as shit luck as me.
On the one-and-a-half days we did spend exploring Ho Chi Minh-or Saigon, they seem to be used interchangeably here- what we did see was wild. If we had been progressively making our way eastward this whole time, we had arrived in Ho Chi Minh. So unlike any other city we’ve ever been to, Ho Chi Minh (HCM) was massive, spreading out along the southern point of Vietnam, buildings stacked between the Saigon river and its artery like offshoots. A patchwork of architectural styles, the city was a surprise at every turn as we ran into: French colonial architecture, modern skyscrapers and malls, Chinese shophouse, Buddhist temples and Catholic Churches. The city lives on its sidewalks: plastic stools and patio tables line the cement, in some places so densely packed that you can barely get through; street food vendors are constantly a stone's throw away, emitting a mix of aromas into the street that changes every few feet; people are curled up, their backs stretched out along the length of their motorbike, their heads lolling between the handlebars, napping in the shade.
They say there’s more than 8 million motorbikes in the city, nearly as many as there are people, but I’d say there’s more. The streets are flooded with them, in the tens of thousands, at all hours of the day. Crossing a busy street here is the most counter-intuitive thing I’ve done in my life. Every cell in your body screams as you step out in front of thousands of oncoming bikes and dozens of cars with no light to guide you across. Motorbikes, and cars alike, weave around pedestrians so long as they keep a consistent rhythm. The Vietnamese people stick out two fingers, some subtle gesture to the oncoming thousands to say “it’s my turn”. There’s a level of mutual trust that one must have on the roads here; no one wants to be hit so they’ll all do their best to avoid that fate. But it does feel exactly like Frogger- a game I don’t win often.
I’m disappointed I didn’t push through and try to experience the city more. We had planned to learn about the war, visit the museums, a few iconic sights. There were a confluence of factors that went into that brief despair I felt on the 14th floor of Saigon Tower, kicked off by bad bun cha. And while we will say goodbye to Vietnam on the 19th, sooner than expected, it has opened up the opportunity for us to visit Kyoto and Singapore. So, all in all, a pretty impactful night before the porcelain throne- I don’t know when I’ve been able to say that before.
Despite the rough start, we’re looking forward to exploring Hoi An, Da Nang, and Hanoi before leaving for Singapore. In Hoi An, I’m getting clothing tailored made-something the area is historically known for, and I’ve been excited about since we decided to visit Vietnam. I’m looking forward to meeting more famously friendly and funny locals and learning about what life is like here. And I’m not looking forward to learning how to navigate the food here, but now that I’m off the 14th floor of Saigon Tower, I am feeling more hopeful than ever that we can figure it out.
-Amelia
tạm biệt!
Miles I walked this week: 32.7 ( a grand total of 2.7 in HCMC)
