Into the sweatbox... "You like my store? You come buy?"

Arrived off the Mekong delta on fumes. Worn out after a 15 hour endurance race across the pacific i was running on caffeine and desperation. Giving in to necessity we booked an over priced cab to a cafe in the middle of Saigon's backpacker district in order to meet our contacts by phone. I was drop dead sober and needed a beer. Bad.

Our cab weaved in and out of traffic with apparent disregard to safety, traffic laws, and solid road lines avoiding the swarms of moto-scooter cylos that teem across Saigon's sprawling districts. The AC spat cold air across my face drying my nose but providing respite from the wet swamp 30 degree heat just outside of our ride. Horns honked a cacophony warning drivers of incoming cyclos, like wasps with a death-wish darting in front of our SUV. After an hour of this we arrived at Cafe Sihn, the point at which we were to meet Dave and Landon.

Buong Te Dahm was a narrow asphalt strip lined with cheap trinket shops, decrepit french pastry stores and narrow 4 story guest houses framed by a spiderweb of electrical cables that defied logic and engineering bringing power to the bustling city. Sure an electrical fire would break out at any minute i crossed the road hoping Cafe Sihn would quench my thirst with a cheap beer and a nice fan. Less a Cafe and more of a Tourism Depot Cafe Sihn was a thin fluorescent lit desk of travel agents. Not a waitress or bar to be seen. Bewildered i pulled out my contact info for D and L and asked if there was a payphone nearby.

Being directed back across the street i started to gain an understanding off the task required just to cross the street. The scooters don't stop, the vans don't stop, the buses, trucks, bikes and cars dont stop. But above all. The pedestrians don't fucking stop. It is a dodge-em game of man and heavy metal machine. Luckily given the general disregard for traffic lines everyone dodges each other well.

So far.

We get safely across to the payphone which is less a payphone and more of a regular house phone with a long cord, stretched out to the curb and placed in a foul smelling wooden booth. I looked into the "store" where 3 attractive Vietnamese women reclined at the back and made the universal "thumb to pinkie" phone gesture. A woman approached and i was informed the phone rate for local calls was 30,000 Dong a minute (about 2.50) "Fuck off" I thought to myself as from behind we i heard a shrill female voice shout our names.

Alexis and I turned to see Landon bounding up onto the sidewalk having seen us cross from he perch inside Sa Sa Cafe across the street. We joined her and entered a right and proper South Asian Cafe and greetings and hugs were exchanged all round. Introduced to a Dutchman named Johann i scanned the menu for the cheapest largest beer i could get my hands on. 20,000 dong ($1.40) got me a half litre tiger which quenched my thirst and washed the roughshod static from my travel-addled mind. A passable chicken burger later and some more beer and we were off to get accommodations to bed down in for that night.

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