It was September of 2002. I was sent by The Philippine STAR on assignment to a Philippine Airlines event in Cebu where they held a raffle and gave away free tickets. The grand prize of which was won by my fellow junketeer who handed the travel certificate to me in an act of unbelievable generosity. Which I of course accepted without hesitation.
I allowed several months to pass as I sought a perfect loophole in my schedule; then SARS hit Vietnam, and then Vietnam licked SARS; then friends who volunteered to come along were the same ones who flaked out; and then in a fit of desperation, frustration and a need for some soul-searching I just booked my ticket at the last minute and took the next flight out of the country.
So here I am, sitting in the Continental Club lounge at the Omni Saigon Hotel, incongruously wearing cargo pants and a bandanna around my head, sipping red Bordeaux and chatting about the rise of the Euro with middle-aged businessmen I had just met, asking myself if it was luck, destiny or the milk of human kindness that brought me to such a sublime state of five-star business class bliss.
What luck, what destiny, what kindness. But it was not always like this.
I find that on this trip old habits die hard and I am still lugging around an anachronistic Lonely Planet guide, the bible of poor, tired, hungry travelers, a relic from the old days when all I did was travel on a budget, backpacking away my vacation days as a poor, penniless student in Europe (e.g. spending the night in the airport to save on one night’s lodging), trying desperately to push my personal threshold for getting grossed out (enduring 12-hour rides in buses that smelled of unwashed hair and B.O.), eschewing unacceptable travel tips from my experienced backpacker guru, Shun Nakamura ("shower with your clothes on so that you can soap yourself and your clothes at the same time;" "why don’t you go back home to the Philippines from Europe without ever riding a plane?"), derisively calling my friends four-star porn stars when they refused to fly coach or stay in a hostel, and developing excellent travel habits in the long run (can pack in ten minutes, with the exact proper weight, all carry-on luggage!).
And yet alongside that Lonely Planet there are now bags and bags of things I had just bought from Vietnam’s lovely boutiques on Dong Hoi Street, things I never dreamed of buying in my younger days, things like plates, trays, lacquerware, candleholders, spoons, chopsticks, and other objets d’art, things that I chose to spend on this time instead of the usual clothes, food, drink and clubbing, and I wonder what on earth possessed me to start a bridal hope chest at that particular moment, and how in hell was I going to fit all that loot in my carry-on-only luggage.
Whatever you call it – moving on up, moving on, moving forward – I realize that my, my, my, how things have indeed changed.
Even my former guru, Shun, has since decided to hang his backpack for the last time, when, on his last no-flying expedition through the Middle East to China, he was hospitalized in a remote village in India for two weeks for food poisoning. At age 30, he now travels business class and lodges five star all the way.
And I, at age 27, after experiencing the pampering of junkets and business trips in my last two years back home as journalist and teacher, am ready to do the same.
Perhaps I’ll always have that Lonely Planet/Ian Wright adventurous spirit deep inside of me: looking out at the panoramic view of the Club lounge, I see the city throb and flicker before me, and all at once, the magic of travel, of being far away from all things familiar, still fills me with that same sense of wonder, thirst for knowledge, and lust for the new.
It’s the same spirit that allows me to see Vietnam not only for its shopping finds, or remarkable cuisine, or its exoticism, but the people, the history, the political struggle, the war, the peace, the sense of aesthetic, the naivete, the wisdom, the rapid development, the certainty that when I do return, even a mere six months to a year from now, I will find that it will have changed, and yet remain the same.
Just as it was once Saigon, and now Ho Chi Minh, but still with the same city soul.
Just as I was once a backpacker, and now a four-star porn star, but still a passionate traveler.
Just as this column was once Get the Girl, now called Palindrome – because a palindrome is about endings, beginnings and coming full circle, because my last name is a palindrome, and because life sometimes feels like a palindrome.
Just as one might find that luck, destiny and the milk of human kindness are all that one needs to make those journeys in one’s life, and that luck, destiny and the milk of human kindness are the same things that will take you back home.