But then it got better....

Because Matt & Jill came!  Matt & Jill!  Matt & Jill!  Matt & Jill!  Look how cute:

In our 48 hours together, we covered quite a bit of ground - conversationally, bondingly, and block-wise.  Seeing our buddies from NYC in Saigon was fantastico and we wish they could have stayed indefinitely. 

On our first evening together we accidentally landed ourselves in a hostess bar where we drank some beers and gorged on free peanuts.  After a wander through the city and several boutiques we made it to a fab restaurant recommended by M&J's tour company. 

The second day we had quite a bit more time and a hefty agenda.  In the morning Ed & I finally found the much beloved/discussed French style pastries at a nearby patiserie and checked out the Ho Chi Minh museum across the river.  Then the four of us gathered for a banh mi tasting (3 kinds, 5 sandwiches, homahgah) at a corner stand. 

Afterwards we visited the war remnants museum which was extensive, humid, and heartbreaking.  I'd like to learn more about the war that took place here, but the museum didn't serve the purpose of filling the gaps.  Its aim is to outline the atrocities that took place in Vietnam, exhibit an incredible collection of photographs by journalists who traveled with the military, and publicize the long term effects to both humans and the environment of the toxins dropped there. 

This last lesson wasn't something we needed to visit a museum to learn about.  The effects of Agent Orange can be seen all over the city of Saigon and probably the rest of Vietnam...  Through the 90s, babies were still being born with serious physical deformities as a result of their parents' exposure.  Impacted residents of Saigon, many of them beggars, suffer from spina bifida, dwarfism, deformed limbs, blindness or missing eyes, and a range of other serious health issues.  Its devastating to witness but important, I think, to see.

Thoroughly shocked after visiting the "Tiger Cages" at the museum, we four were ready for something on the lighter side.  We visited the massive Ben Thanh market, drank some insanely delicious and cracky iced coffee and bought ourselves some trinkets.

In the evening we headed to the rooftop bar of the Sheraton for an overpriced apertif and view of the city and then to the truly delectable Hoa Tuc for dinner.  A lovely little spot tucked in the rear of a courtyard and away from the non-stop motorbike buzz of Saigon, we had a feast and hours of sparkly conversation. 

M&J's visit put our visit here back on track.  Our time together tipped the scale from annoyed/overwhelmed to amused/interested.  Having friends rulez.

Chinese food again?

A common whine which escaped my lips during the weeks we were in China.  We ate deliciously; a surfeit ranging from common street skewers to the fanciest Cantonese joint in Beijing.  The Chinese style of ordering and corresponding prices could not have better suited me and my life partner.  Ed, of "for the table" fame, could order surplus dishes as fast as he could point to them on other people's tables.  And when the bill came, it almost never topped $5 US, so I didn't feel like we were letting precious travelling Yuan languish in oily plates of excess.

But there comes a time when the thought of another Schezuan peppercorn laden sizzler or bamboo steamer of perfect pork pillows looses appeal.  This time for me came in Shenyang, where the shopping street we near housed such an abundance of fast food restaurants that I forgot I was in China.  Had there been an Orange Julius in my sight line, I could have been in the food court at the Trumbull mall.  Every night, as we left the hotel for dinner, I would jokingly beg Ed to take me to Pizza Hut.  And every night he would grudgingly agree.  I would, of course, back down.  I didn't actually want the nasty Pizza Hut pizza but just, in those moments of weakness, really looovvveeeedddd the platonic idea of the Pizza Hut. 

What I actually did crave and continue to wake thinking of, though, are sandwiches.  From delis, or home made, or the chicken/mayo/hardroll bodega monstrosity that I've subjected many of you to.  A BLT or a PB&J, even, might cure the near-fetishist feelings I harbor. 

My kingdom for a ham & cheese, people.  No fooling.