We walked over a couple blocks, turning the corner by Zen Plaza, stopped in the middle of the next block and waited. Me with my backpack on and Miss Hanh with that purse with all the Lacey flowers in one hand and a sack stuffed with her travel stuff in the other. Several 
cross town buses passed by, Miss Hanh sheltered under her floppy brimmed cotton hat, face mask and sunglasses, stood motionless as we waited. Soon another one melds out of the traffic, Miss Hanh flags it down and I follow Miss Hanh aboard and our trip to the Mekong starts. I had shown Miss Hanh's some photos I took of the countryside in Cambodia a couple weeks earlier. So she invited me along to visit with her countryside outside of My Tho. 
I've ridden Saigon cross town buses before and they are OK, usually a bit worn but the AC works on most of them, not too crowded and all for about 2,000 dong but the price is going up I hear. I would probably use them more but I have trouble figuring which bus to take, where to catch and how to stop it to get off. Today I have a guide so all I have to do is follow Miss Hanh's lead. It's times like these when I wish I could speak more Vietnamese or could speak what I know better.
We arrive at Saigon's southern bus terminal, ben xe Mien Tay, where we will board another bus for the hour and a half ride to My Tho. All was going well, paid 40,000 dong for our two seats and then things started going bad. As we stepped from the counter we were whisked outside and pushed aboard a very raggedy looking, very full, mid sized bus. My back, corner widow seat was going to be tough on me. My legs locked again the seat back, holding my feet a few inches from the floor. My right shoulder locked against the buses side wall and corner of the window jam, while my left side was pressed firmly against Miss Hanh and our bags. We had just pulled out of the terminal when I was overcome by the feeling of panic. The suffocating heat combined with my cramped situation was just to much for me. I pushed past Miss. Hanh, mumbling about how I had to get out, climbing over the seats and people seated in front of me, pushing by the people lined up in the isle but the bus didn't slow. All I can think is that I have no idea where we are but I can't do this. Miss Hanh some how slides by me and gets the bus drivers helpers ear or uses some of that non verbal Vietnamese communication that always amazes me. Silently I am guided past the door by the helper and into the vacant seat next to the driver. The rush of air flowing from the open side window seemed to carry my panic away. Of course being able to move my legs and rest my feet on the floor helped. I sheepishly look over at the driver who ignores my existence as do my fellow passangers. While I see Miss Hanh smile from behind our bags as she slides back into our old spot in the rear of the bus.
cross town buses passed by, Miss Hanh sheltered under her floppy brimmed cotton hat, face mask and sunglasses, stood motionless as we waited. Soon another one melds out of the traffic, Miss Hanh flags it down and I follow Miss Hanh aboard and our trip to the Mekong starts. I had shown Miss Hanh's some photos I took of the countryside in Cambodia a couple weeks earlier. So she invited me along to visit with her countryside outside of My Tho. 
I've ridden Saigon cross town buses before and they are OK, usually a bit worn but the AC works on most of them, not too crowded and all for about 2,000 dong but the price is going up I hear. I would probably use them more but I have trouble figuring which bus to take, where to catch and how to stop it to get off. Today I have a guide so all I have to do is follow Miss Hanh's lead. It's times like these when I wish I could speak more Vietnamese or could speak what I know better.
We arrive at Saigon's southern bus terminal, ben xe Mien Tay, where we will board another bus for the hour and a half ride to My Tho. All was going well, paid 40,000 dong for our two seats and then things started going bad. As we stepped from the counter we were whisked outside and pushed aboard a very raggedy looking, very full, mid sized bus. My back, corner widow seat was going to be tough on me. My legs locked again the seat back, holding my feet a few inches from the floor. My right shoulder locked against the buses side wall and corner of the window jam, while my left side was pressed firmly against Miss Hanh and our bags. We had just pulled out of the terminal when I was overcome by the feeling of panic. The suffocating heat combined with my cramped situation was just to much for me. I pushed past Miss. Hanh, mumbling about how I had to get out, climbing over the seats and people seated in front of me, pushing by the people lined up in the isle but the bus didn't slow. All I can think is that I have no idea where we are but I can't do this. Miss Hanh some how slides by me and gets the bus drivers helpers ear or uses some of that non verbal Vietnamese communication that always amazes me. Silently I am guided past the door by the helper and into the vacant seat next to the driver. The rush of air flowing from the open side window seemed to carry my panic away. Of course being able to move my legs and rest my feet on the floor helped. I sheepishly look over at the driver who ignores my existence as do my fellow passangers. While I see Miss Hanh smile from behind our bags as she slides back into our old spot in the rear of the bus.
