A few hours ago, I walked into my apartment, dropped my pack on the floor, and flopped into a chair. I was tired.
I’ve spent the last three days in Vung Tau, a beach town around two hours south of Bien Hoa. I went because I had begun to feel restless. The trip was just what I needed: I enjoyed wandering around the town and meeting those who reside in it. It’s a popular destination for retirees, so I was one of the youngest people there — but I didn’t mind. I spent several hours one night chatting with a ship captain from Norway, at first discussing the events taking place in the world, and then, as beer-fueled conversations are apt to do, his plans to purchase an enormous manor home on the edge of Vung Tau and turn it into a castle.
I met a man from Denver on the beach who told me he was looking for a place to retire. This was his first time in Vietnam, and he had already fallen in love with the country.
I was taught the value of humility after being challenged to a game of pool, then watching helplessly as I was thoroughly beaten.
One day, I took a taxi down to the Bay View Restaurant, a small, cozy little shop just off the beach. Chowing down on a banana and strawberry crepe and feeling the sea breeze on my face was the perfect way to wake up. After I finished dinner, I started walking — and after two and a half kilometers, realized I wasn’t even a quarter of the way back to my hotel. I found a taxi.
I visited Mount Nho, and climbed its impressive 800 steps to the top, where a statue of Jesus looked out over the waters.
When it was time to leave, I made my way to the bus station and fumbled my way through the interaction with the help of Google Translate and lots of hand gestures, then boarded the bus and headed back to Bien Hoa — only to be dropped off at a gas station 15km from where I wanted to be. So I started walking again.
After a passing motorbike taxi stopped and gave me a lift back to my apartment, all I wanted to do was take it easy. Bien Hoa has started to feel like home to me now; the view from my balcony is still stunning, but familiar. I’ve spent numerous nights leaning on the railing and looking out at the peaceful flow of the river, and I’ve even made peace with the mosquitoes here.
The Dong Nai River runs through the center of Bien Hoa.
Despite all of that, I’ll be leaving this place in less than a month. I’ll be on the road again, sleeping in unfamiliar beds (and sometimes couches) each night, never knowing what the day will bring. And I look forward to it — but it’s not always easy.
When you have a home, it’s not just a place to keep your belongings. It’s where you let your guard down and relax. When I’m on the road, I don’t have that sense of security — even in a hotel room, I often put my valuables in the safe before leaving.
The topic came up in my conversation with the ship captain. He pointed out that he and I were similar — because our choice of lifestyle kept us constantly on the move, we were essentially homeless by choice. With only the bags on our back, travelers don’t have a lot of material items weighing them down, both literally and figuratively. I’ve found that having only a few outfits is extraordinarily freeing. I don’t worry about buying more things, because I don’t have the urge — the most I want to buy is a book here and there, or a new lens for the camera. (Okay, I’ll admit: I do want to buy a ukulele.)
The only time this street is ever empty is around 2 AM, when the entire city is asleep.
And that sense of stability? It doesn’t come back, but it’s replaced by something else: a feeling of exhilaration at not knowing what the day will bring. The lack of familiar walls makes you look closer at the world around you, and other things provide you with a sense of familiarity: the sight of the stars and moon, the blue sky, the smell of fresh air, and the sound of flowing water.
A certain song lyric comes to mind: “And all the gold I cherish is sunlight bright and clear/ The only jewel I treasure’s a bright and shining star.”
Stability is a comfortable luxury, but that’s all it is: a luxury. For most of our time on this planet, mankind has been wanderers. We lived in homes that could easily be taken down and carried with us. The nomadic impulse was, and still is, part of the blood that courses through every single person’s veins.
Italian author Roberto Assagioli puts it well: “There is no certainty; there is only adventure.”
Because I’m on the road, I am always meeting new people. As a result, I’ve got offers to stay in Australia, Belgium, South Korea, and a number of other countries. My ship captain friend told me I’d always be welcome in his future manor. So while I may be homeless, I have many homes.
Bien Hoa has a beautiful walking path along the river. I often see couples strolling along it, or old fishermen passing the time away.
And no value can be put on that.
No Comments