[The World Tour of Oopsies is an ongoing series of travel stories about my first decade of travel. During these adventures and misadventures, I had to unlearn many things I thought I knew about life. Welcome to my miseducation.]
Videos by TravelAwaits
Catch up on the World Tour of Oopsies travel stories:
- Chapter 13: The Recap
- Chapter 14: The Idol (Part II)
- Chapter 15: The Cow
- Chapter 16: The Riots
- Chapter 17: The Museum (Part I)
Part I / Ho Chi Minh City
The first segment of my winter holiday in Vietnam was coming to a close. My partner and I had explored Ho Chi Minh City for a few days, visiting the American War Remnants Museum (see: Ch. 17) and sipping on more than a few memorable drinks, from Vietnamese coffee to boba tea to warm beer.
Then came time for the real adventure: taking a sleeper train from the capital up to the northern hub of Hanoi. We’d purchased the fanciest tickets possible, meaning we’d each have a bed for the two-day journey. This trip would also coincide with the date December 21, 2012.
You might remember the date as the alleged end of the world, which had been gleaned from the Mayan calendar by mystics.
We boarded the train and found our cabin. It was a narrow room with little space between the two bunkbeds. We were fortunate enough to have the top bunks. Another young couple was occupying one of the beds, followed by a middle-aged man.
We set our bags down on our mattresses and got comfortable. Or as comfortable as you can get on a basic, sleeper train when the end of the world is looming.
Part II / The end of the world
For how long and barebones that train ride from Ho Chi Minh City to Hanoi was, I can’t recall too many details.
I remember everything was made from cheap metal and plastic. I remember standing in the little spot between train cars for fresh air. I remember the little cart that served basic meals of chicken, rice, and other basics; I believe there was also a basic dining car.
What stands out most is watching the emerald green fields and mountains, and jungles pass by outside the windows. I wanted everything to slow down so that I could really see what was happening; the villages, the trees, the lush fields, and the people sped by in a blur.
Staring out of the train car, I was looking westward where, far in the distance, Cambodia sits. I thought back to my first adventures in the region—getting stung by a scorpion (see: Ch. 1) and achieving a new level in human closeness (see: Ch. 2).
I could feel my life taking shape as a young adult. I saw a young woman on a train racing through the Vietnamese countryside, and I didn’t wholly recognize her.
That’s what I was doing on December 21, 2012: Staring out the window in paradise, thinking it was moving too quickly while knowing that I couldn’t slow it down. It was one of the first times I realized how far from home I’d wandered and that it would have a lasting impact on my life’s trajectory.
