The streets are loud with beeping horns, oversized mufflers, and the hum of construction. The smell in the air is a mix of smoky exhaust and dried fish paste. It feels hot and sticky on my skin, and when I step outside and take a deep breath in for the first time, the air is heavy in my lungs. The sidewalks are crowded with street vendors and tourists. A charming song plays over some loud speakers, signaling an orange ‘Pikachu’ to start dancing with the local children. At the Catholic orphanage, they welcome us with open arms and bright smiles, grateful for every present we brought and the time we spend there with them. At night the neon signs light up the black sky and little girls in school uniforms try to sell you roses.

The bus plows through herds of motorbikes, whose riders don’t even wince at the inch wide clearance. A sea of helmets, every color and design imaginable, pass below us. They occasionally stop for pedestrians, but more often than not, just speed through the crosswalks. Guards and mannequins dressed in the same green uniforms are scattered throughout the forest landscape. The sound of gunshots rings loud in my ears but as we make our way underground through the tiny tunnels, all I hear is the beating of my own heart. Ben Thanh market is maze of vendor booths all selling the same silk pajamas, fake bags, silly souvenirs, and fresh fruits.

Vietnam is no longer home to the Unicorns, but the Mekong is as clean as ever- the brown water not an indication of pollution, but a healthy mixture of silt, sand, and mud. The eyes painted on the bow of the boats do a good job scaring away the alligators. Small paddle boats lead us to the island where we hold a gentle python and see a monkey on its period. The rumble of the engine is almost loud enough to be obnoxious but is just the right complement for the ‘thank you song’ our tour guide sang for us, setting the mood on the Mekong.

A large Buddhist Temple out in the country breaks the steady stream of rice patties. They serve us a huge meal, more than we can eat. The children are glad for our company, but happier that we bring them stickers and paints. Babies cry the same, here in Vietnam, or back home in USA. The resort is a welcome change for some. A pool filled with blue water and beautiful view of the beach. We hear that lizard is a local specialty, but we never have the chance to try it. The sand dunes are enormous and frightening and exciting all at the same time. The children are cute and friendly and frightening all at the same time.

The cold air hits like a brick wall in Korea. No one expected it to be such a dramatic change. We spend four hours at a shopping street wandering through alleys and shops, seeking warmth where we can find it. An interview by a Korean college student brings up issues of gender roles and women’s independence, but it is all in good fun. We are not all looking forward to the plane ride, but we do miss home. The sweet smell of the air as we exit the plane, fragrant with flower leis, signals our return home.

Alena Yocum