Coconut Coffee Chaos

Coconut coffee and the start to a beautiful day. There have been two spurts of storms this morning and now there is a warm breeze perpetuated by the whirlpool of motorbikes through the city.

It is strange. I am in a café, with architecture foreign to me. It has an unassuming entrance with spiraling stairs up to a lounge.  Paint is peeling, wallpaper sweating, frayed edges on the corners of the pillows in this lounge give a hint of the country I'm in, and yet the concept of this lounge seems very Western.  Bruno Mars plays from their speakers as I sit next to a luxurious fan.  I feel guilt in indulging in the familiar, but gratitude for the resolve as I peer out onto the tumultuous Hanoi Old Quarters. 

It reminds me of Chinatown in Los Angeles, or the garment district downtown.  Shops lined up shoulder to shoulder, with trinkets and knickknacks spilling from their awnings.  People are constantly in motion as others work patiently at the entrance to their shops. 

I feel like a tourist. I am a tourist. In France I could pretend to be French. Here I am definitely a minority. I don't mind standing out, I respect that I am in some else's home. I just wish I weren't as much of a cliché.  The cost here is very comfortable when converted to USD.  My fancy coffee comes out to $2 and I have a feeling that it is rather indulgent. I would be easy for me to shop lushly, and I almost feel guilt in not contributing to their economy when I so easily can.  That's not what I want, however.  I wish to discover the habits and lifestyle of a native. To wear a cloak of invisibility as I experience life in another's shoes. 

If I wanted luxury I would've booked a spa day instead of a plane ticket. 

I will attempt. In the meantime I sip my coconut coffee, a nectar of caffeine and bravery, and prepare to dive once again into waves this sea-ty.  (The pun was there, I had to take it)