It was 7 in the morning. I was looking forward to sleeping on the bus to Hoi An. I had only six hours of sleep.
I waited at the travel agency with several other people. The bus pulled up. Just then, a girl sparked a conversation with me. Where was I from, she asked. I answered. She told me her name, Lydia, and that she was from Paris.
I saw an opportunity to learn more about my girlfriend back home–to show interest in something that interests her. My girlfriend loves all things French. But I don’t know much about France. I would like to have at least a base knowledge of the things that interest her (i.e. France). Therefore, whenever I meet French people, I listen to, learn from, and befriend them.
I walked onto the bus. I sat in a window seat about halfway into the bus. Maybe Lydia would sit next to me, maybe she wouldn’t. If she did, I’d learn about French culture; otherwise, I’d get my sleep. It was a win-win. About ten seconds later, she sat down next to me. It was time for a lesson in French.
The bus ride was four hours long. So we had plenty of conversation. Well, she did most of the talking. But that’s fine because I wanted to learn about French culture anyway.
Here’s her story in a nutshell. She was traveling with her long-time guy friend (aka “brother”), William. Together they were doing a 1.5 year round-the-world trip. They had completed three months so far. They both have had ups and downs–conflicts and curiosities–with the opposite sex.They want peace, not war. They appreciate quality food. And they like to save a buck here and there.
I don’t know. French people seem similar to Americans, minus the different language.
When Lydia finished telling me about her trip and her life, she turned the attention to me. She asked what words I wanted to know in French.
I thought about it for a few seconds. I thought about phrases that are critical to my survival. I replied, “without cheese and without mayonaise.”
Lydia laughed. “No one has ever ask me that one before,” she exclaimed. “Usually people ask how to get someone’s name, or where is the bathroom, or something,” she said. She translated my phrase for me: “sans fromage, sans mayonaise.”
We shared the same sense of humor. It’s great to meet someone who finds you funny. You feel like an entertainer, and you’re not even trying. You feel good. You’re just being yourself.
Lydia fired back with one of her own. “Va te faire encule batar.”
“What is that,” I asked.
“Go F yourself in the butt,” she said while laughing.
I laughed, too.
She said with a grin, “What would you like to learn next?”
I said seriously with a straight face, “Please inject me with a clean needle.”
She laughed again. “You are f*cking crazy! You are f*cking crazy.”
Well, if I’m going to get my fix, I might as well do it cleanly. I don’t want any diseases 
Now I can go to France, get my food how I like it, get my fix how I like it. And if they mess up, I can insult them. And if they deny my requests, I can really turn them on with: Va te faire encule batar–sans fromage, sans mayonaise!
In all seriousness though, I’ve never done hard drugs. I was being comedic.
And if you’ve ever eaten lunch with me, you know I don’t like cheese or mayonaise on my sandwiches or burgers. If the cook messes it up, I will wipe off that lard from my sandwich. I wish I knew how to say “no cheese or mayo” in every language I encounter. But to a new friend, it may seem obscure–even funny–to ask about this translation first, over more common ones.
Lydia looked through my guidebook and suggested that we all stay at the “Green Field Hotel.” I said fine. Usually, I wing it with all my accomodations. The bus driver said he would stop at a few hotels in town, and people could exit the bus at any one. Guess which hotel he stopped at first? The Green Field Hotel. How about that? It was meant to be, I guess.
Lydia, William, and I shared a room together (it’s much cheaper). Luckily I got my own twin bed, while they had to share a full size one. We were all tired and crashed hard for two hours.
We met up for dinner at the riverside food market. There were several tables in a row. Each table was a different vendor. A friend of William’s, and expert of Hoi An (he had been there three days), directed us to Mr. Hung’s table. Mr. Hung’s food was inexpensive and incredible. One thing I love about southeast Asia, is the amazing food at amazing prices.
