Something happened on the sleeper bus that is a theme of my travels. Maybe I’m just lucky. Maybe I’m just good. Anyway, here’s what happened . . .
This was definitely not the tourist bus. The crowd was all locals, and the driver was telling people where to stand and who knows what else, and he was not used to dealing with people who did not speak Vietnamese. I just stood there, looking confused, and then this guy came over to me and asked where I was from. At first, I thought it was just someone trying to sell me something or practice their English, but it turns out that he lived in Atlanta. His name was “Kevin” and his father was a pilot for South Vietnam. He moved to the U.S. in the 70’s. I didn’t realize it at first, but he noticed my cluelessness and came over to guide me along the confusing boarding process. He also asked the conductor if I could take my backpack onboard (originally, it had to stow it underneath the bus) and this time I was allowed to.
About five hours into the trip, we pulled into a depot. Based on the time and the size of the depot, I figured it was Hanoi, so I grabbed my bag and headed out. By this point, the bus was really full, with moms and their little kids sitting in the aisle. I had to step over them in the narrow aisle with my bags, and somehow I made it without squashing anyone. On my way out, I asked people “Hanoi?”, even asking the conductor, and people nodded. I got out, and it was just anarchy, with people going every which way, some sitting down and eating, others going to the bathroom, others just standing.
Kevin spotted me and waved. He explained that we were not in Hanoi yet, that the bus was making a rest stop. We chatted and he clearly did not like being in Vietnam. The rest stop was pretty gross and this fact really bothered him (he had also made a comment about the dirty food carts in Sa Pa). He had only gone there to get his new wife and bring her to the U.S., where she has never been before (they had just gotten married). I was curious about how this marriage came about, but did not ask.
It was time to get back on the bus, though I would not have known that without Kevin. I stepped over moms and kids again, and a half an hour later, we were in Hanoi. At this point, I needed a taxi. Hanoi taxis do not have the best reputation for honesty, but again, Kevin to the rescue. They weren’t going to pull anything on him, so we shared the cab, which worked out because our hotels were close.
And then he was gone, leaving me to ponder if I am just lucky to always find these random people who, without any effort on my part, show up to help me out, keep me company, even let me stay in their homes. I’d like to think I am special, but I suppose it happens to everyone who travels like I do. Even so, there is one thing that definitely happens to me more than anyone I know.
There are a lot of clueless tourists in DC, especially where I work (by the Smithsonian), and I often take the initiative to help people out. But nobody gets asked for help more, especially by foreigners, than me. There may be an entire subway platform full of people, but I always seem to get picked. One time, it was a group of deaf people. One of them handed me a note, written in advance, that said “Is this the train to Rosslyn?”
Maybe it is just something about my face, but more likely, I am giving off some subtle clue that says “I have been in your position. I will help.”