Coming Down the Mountain

Although I did wake around four for a while I got back to sleep and slept in until eight, the latest I have slept in for the one month I have been here - Today. I notice from my balcony the cable car is running so after eating enough instead of too much at the buffet breakfast I head off.  

I wonder if he can smell my breath from the Ostrich dinner last night.

I am on top of the mountain by nine. There is a sideshow alley, various petting zoo style enclosures, a big fat Buddha and a restaurant by a little lake with a waterfall overlooking the harbour where I take my morning coffee and meditate soaking up the view before I leave today.  

Picture of the day.

Jesus to the left, then the light house, then the wharf, the hydrofoil arriving, an oil rig and ships, the cable car in the foreground and an indistinguishable horizon, all over a great coffee.

The cable car ride is only about five minutes and quite exhilarating, no time for illogical falling fears. I have been looking for a place to release some of the pent up western anger and frustration I have bottled up over the last month and the ride down is the perfect place for some primal scream therapy, it helps the anxiety and I feel very refreshed when I get off at the bottom. 

It's a pretty big city.

Back to the Rex in time for a swim before check out. I arrive at the wharf with enough time for some fried chicken at Lotteria – a mounting obsession – and a few chapters over a beer before the boat back to Saigon. 

On the bike ride back to the Blue River I wonder who I will see first out of the people I know and there she is out the front of Alley Booz selling her cheap basket wares to tourists – Lan. I arrive at the hotel and Hien is excited to see me, ah it’s nice to be missed. I don’t want to rush into my return so after a quick mid afternoon bite at Dung’s café I unpack and have a snooze until the sun goes down. 

A bittersweet return to the block, I stop at bar Thi to say hello to the boys in the band and met a cool crazy Canadian. His name is Atlas and he’s on crutches with screws in his leg from a bike accident (back in Canada) but his best story was of destroying a tax office, throwing computers and chairs through the window and getting arrested.  

Then on to Anne’s for dinner where once again they wasted my time not bringing me my bill through more miscommunication. Anne is working in the kitchen instead of out the front and it seems she is integral in organisation, I’m thinking of boycotting them. 

Then down to the corner bar which I just noticed does actually have a name, its Santa’s café. I enjoyed a few beers with Glen and Peter and met a heap of new guys then exited politely after one too many.