Bottled ※ Brain

Day Two: food trip. A motorbiking-walking exploration of Ho Chi Minh City's gastronomical landscape.

My driver was a young man named Ryan. I suspect he has another name, but he introduced himself to me as Ryan because the Anglicized name rolled off easily on foreign tongue. He graduated from university this year, majored in journalism, did the tour as a part-time job, and spoke good English.

First, the preliminaries. We were taught how to ride the motorbike. Approach it from the left, take the backseat, hold the back rails so you don't fall off. I wanted to say, "We have habal-habal at home; we know how to do this."

Riding the motorbike for the first time — even as a passenger — in Saigon streets is what a starling, hatched and raised in the zoo, must feel like after it is released to the wild to join a murmuration. You join a throng of motorbikes and follow and rhythmic moving and braking, turning and moving forward. I imagine that drivers feel intimately close to the road and to other vehicles. To ride a motorbike is an exercise in being vulnerable. Four-wheel car drivers, who listen to Apple CarPlay with the windows shut, are insulated from that feeling of thrill and risk. The thrill of the road trip, with sun and sky above you, and the wind literally hammering your face. The risk that the motorbike can topple over, and you — bones, flesh, and all — with it.

Ryan wasn't deterred by the heat. He had a light, breathable jacket, enveloped his face with clothing that was layered below his helmet. It seemed natural to him to make conversation with me as if we were in a coffee shop. How old was I? he asked freely, the way Southeast Asians do once they feel comfortable with you.

I said, "In my late thirties," my mouth near his left ear, a proximity that was required so I did not fall off the vehicle.

"No way!" he said, laughing, as he negotiated an intersection with other motorbikes and Vinfast crossovers.

I was surprised by how young he looked — like one of my younger cousins or older nephews. Southeast Asians really do age much more slowly.

The shade trees made the trip bearable, as they offered relief from direct tropical sunlight. Greenery marked the streets of Saigon —from the major avenues and even the little side streets — and this reality made me mourn for my hometown's old, majestic acacia and narra trees felled to make room for road widening.

Ryan parked the motorbike by the sidewalk in a narrow alleyway. The food tour began with introductions and a warm welcome. Nancy, whom I suspect also possesses a Vietnamese name, said we'll have to make room for 11 courses. It was hard to say if she was joking. Despite their Southeast Asian sizes — slim, not-so-tall, just like Filipinos — the Vietnamese could finish food that could fill four stomachs. Their superpower is that they hardly get fat.

For the first stop we had pho, a Vietnamese soup dish consisting of broth, rice noodles, herbs, and, at least for me, beef. Delightful, no-fuss, real food with simple, fresh flavors. Iced chrysanthemum tea helped us with the heat.

Nancy, who was around the same age as Ryan and was a fresh college graduate, too, brought us around a Ho Chi Minh neighborhood in District Four.

Many families in the city live in four- to five-story apartments, with the ground floor transformed to accommodate businesses and the stairs modified with a smooth incline to allow motorbikes to be brought up to the upper floors for parking. The Vietnamese, unlike Filipinos (and I apologize for generalizing), seemed to have considered parking more thoughtfully.

The working class neighborhood was clean and colorful. And from the upper floors, there was a sea of Vietnamese flag in celebration for the country's Reunification Day.

Next stop: Chuối Nếp Nướng. Grilled banana wrapped in sticky rice, served in coconut milk.

It reminded me of suman, the Philippine version of that dessert. I only finished a fourth of my share, since I wanted to leave enough room for more food until the end of the tour. The guides said we'd be going to another stop. That meant another exciting motorbike ride around the city.

I got acclimatized to the motorbike, no longer resisted the twists and turns, no longer worried about a Vinfast closing in, the car door barely 10 centimeters from the motorbike, and surrendered my entire well-being to young Ryan who said he learned how to ride the motorbike when he was 11. I didn't tell him I couldn't even ride a bicycle.

District 10 was where we had bánh mì, which, according to Wikipedia, is "a short baguette with thin, crisp crust and a soft, airy texture." It was just as locals would have it: freshly baked bread bought from a sidewalk store. This street could well be anywhere in the Philippines. A man without a shirt and a dog freely roaming around.

The ingredients were fresh.

And here's some free advertising for Bakery 24.

This would be my favorite food during the tour. Ryan told me he'd eat bánh mì and coffee for breakfast. The more substantial rice meals would be for lunch or dinner. Bánh mì must be their version of the pan de sal.

The color and vibrancy of Saigon streets brought joy to my heart. There's beauty everywhere, if you pay enough attention.

Next stop: the Saigon Flower Market.

Orchids.

Lilies, with their flowers wrapped this way to increase their shelf lives.

Like broccoli flowers.

The dogs were smiling. Probably because they met us! We thought they were stuffed toys until they wagged their tails.

A splash of color was a refreshment to our eyes.

These were cut flowers, their stems soaked in water inside what looks like an Orocan. This may well be in Dangwa Market in Manila.

My mother once had an orchid-growing hobby, but she could not bring them to flower as lavishly as these.

In a small alley of the Flower Market, we were served Banh trang nuong, or Vietnamese pizza.

There was grilled pork wrapped in rice paper (or was it a vegetable?).

I only sampled some of the food and was sorry I couldn't finish everything.

Then we were off to our final stop. I was, by this time, relieved that Nancy was, in fact, joking when she mentioned 11 meal stops.

I snapped this picture while the motorbike was on full stop. The skies were clear and blue. It was around 4 pm, the shadows were longer, and the heat was more bearable.

What they served us — clams and oysters — were so fresh and so good.

You had a choice of fresh juices, a can of Coca-Cola, or Saigon Beer. I won't tell you what I picked.

This was the end of the food tour. We exchanged Instagram accounts and said our goodbyes, especially to Hudson and Mimi from Florida, who joined our group that afternoon.

On the way back to the hotel I experienced the rush hour firsthand— the general throng of humanity composed mostly of students and employees leaving their places of study and work to be somewhere else. Probably a third space, like their glorious coffee places. Or their homes, where their spouses and children and dogs awaited their arrival. What a great blessing to experience the city!

As I stepped off the motorbike, I told Ryan I looked forward to reading his articles in the newspaper. Or seeing him on television.

"No!!!" he said, laughing, full of innocence, this young man whose life is full of possibilities, and for whom the world is an oyster.

Ho Chi Minh City was delightful. I spent a few days there with friends from work. The food was great, the people kind (and slim!), the history rich and instructive. The stories of Ocean Vuong and Viet Thanh Nguyen, whose works ultimately inspired me to visit the country, took on a more concrete picture in my imagination.

I'm ashamed to admit this: Southeast Asia is still largely unexplored territory for me. I'd been to Thailand and Singapore, but those trips were heavily curated: airconditioned hotels, pre-arranged car pick ups, and meals in indoor restaurants. When I was younger, I wasn't particularly keen on exploring the rest of ASEAN. I imagined that those places were just as hot and humid as the Philippines, and therefore wouldn't give me the disorienting excitement of being somewhere far and different. Travel then meant going to places where trees changed colors, where the climate forced me to wear sweaters or thermals.

But there's something about growing older that changes one's perspective. I turned 39 last month. I'm at the point in my life where travel takes on a different meaning and rhythm. Was I missing something because I didn't explore my backyard, this region of the world where tourists experience the sun in all its tropical heat, where food bursts with flavor and spice, where people laugh openly, and where family is front and center of the culture?

Vietnam it was.

Friends were quick to give recommendations. Da Nang, in Central Vietnam. Or Sa Pa, in the Northwest. I wanted history and urbanity. Ho Chi Minh City seemed like a good idea. My friends agreed. It was auspicious that we'd be there during the Ngày Thống Nhất (Liberation Day) in Vietnam, a major public holiday marking the fall of Saigon in 1975 and the end of the Vietnam War.

The moment we arrived, I was struck by scenes of green and yellow.

The city looked young and old, at the same time. There was joy everywhere: people smiling, hanging out in chairs that were close to the ground, and laughing at the side walks.

I felt young just by watching the boy drive his bike in a park, right at the city center. He was indifferent to the cares of the world. There are so many things children can teach us.

Motorbikes ruled the roads. From my conversations with our guides, boys and girls learn to ride the motorbikes when they are 12 or 13. They prefer them until they reach adulthood. These two-wheel vehicles are convenient to drive and to park.

The streets did not feel crowded because there were no huge cars or pick ups. Interestingly, there were no tricycles. To survive the heat (and rain), the drivers wore thin jackets and helmets. As in the Philippines, the traffic was governed by non-verbal negotiations of signal lights and rhythms of speed and breaks.

We had a few hours to spare before our hotel check in. We walked around the neighborhood in District 1.

Look what I found: a lady sweeping the side walk. We use the same broom at home.

The side walks were clean, lined by trees and motorbikes. I spotted a dog that looked like Paul.

The Saigon Opera House was near the hotel.

Some tourists were getting ready for their photoshoots.

Never mind the heat -- the place was Instagrammable!

The lady exercised her triceps.

A poster to celebrate the Reunification Day.

The city was vibrant and colorful.

The tree-lined streets impressed me! The shade made walking bearable, even during lunchtime.

Vinfast cars were common. Instead of a Santo Niño, the predominantly Buddhist country had this.

On our way to lunch, Vietnam flags were displayed.

A man sitting on a low-lying chair, drinking coffee -- a common sight in the city.

Lunch was in an outdoor restaurant where locals and tourists flocked. The place was called Tuyén Bhån Viên, in Phường Tân Định, Saigon.

We ate to our hearts' delight. The sight and smells of the kitchen stimulated our appetite.

There was unlimited vegetables. Grace, who is otherwise carnivorous, said, "Daw kambing na kita sini."

The carinderia vibe, sans the langaw, was welcoming.

The food price was reasonable, much more affordable than in Manila. A meal cost us 100,000. Not peso, but dong.

Coffee culture is also a big thing there. This man, sitting outside the café, looked just like me! I have the same white collared shirt, pants, shoes, glasses and haircut! My Vietnamese brother!