I was at the airport last night seeing a family member off from Da Nang, Vietnam to Seoul, Korea.  In the San Francisco Bay Area, if you’re going on a trip of any length you’ll take a cab, Uber, or Lyft, maybe get a friend or family member to drop you at the International Terminal.  Maybe you’ll use Skypark or one of the other parking services with a shuttle, at least then your car will be clean on your return.  Under no circumstances will you leave your car in the care of Long Term Parking at SFO.  That’s just a rookie mistake.

But not so here in Vietnam.  When someone in the family is departing or arriving the entire family piles into as many cabs as needed to get everyone to the airport for the event.  After the bags and boxes going on the flight are checked, there are a couple of hours to kill in the airport coffee shop.  Last night while waiting for the flight, the conversation turned to what I do for breakfast.  This discussion apparently needed input from everybody in our group.  Nearly every other meal is taken with the family at Uncle Hung and Aunt Thu’s house, but in the morning I usually like to take my time and roll into the day with a couple of trúng gà, or fresh eggs, a few slices of Ba Roi (bacon), toasted bread, and the strongest Vietnamese coffee imaginable.  I knew it was a mistake to let the conversation go down that road as soon as a debate began about how, where, and when to buy fresh chicken eggs.  I had fooolishly noted the difference between the flavor of the eggs from the big open-air market where everything is fresh each day and the local VinMart (kind of a Vietnamese 7-Eleven without the hot dogs). I know from experience that the matter at hand is going to be proved in some way, usually by my Aunt Thu.

Got back from the airport late, wasn’t tired, so I did some reading and made some notes before bed.  Slept in this morning.

I awake confused.  Rain is falling outside my window looking out over Châu Thi Vīnh Té.  My mouth is parched, I was dreaming deeply about a crazy elephant ride in the desert.  There is an insistent knock at my apartment door.  I came to only because I have to.  Pulled on a t-shirt and opened the door to Uncle Hung.  He has fresh chicken eggs and freshly baked bread in a clear plastic bag, obviously sent by Aunt Thu from the market where she works selling a delicious bean desert .  She will always have the last word.

Guess it’s time to get up and get going.  Happy breakfast everyone!