And it begins.

It has taken me many a year to discover the magic that is Benadryl, and its useful application when it comes to flying for many, many, many hours.

Bullet points of MY IDIOTIC FLYING ADVENTURES
* Arrived far too early at LAX for an 11:40am flight.
* Popped 50mg of Benadryl, telling self "this is to fight potential allergens, oh yeah, maybe help me sleep"
* Get sandwiched against the window, and a very large but talkative and friendly guy. Hooray for an exit row
* Fall asleep before reaching cruising altitude; wake up at some point. Discover loads of drool on self and neckpillow
* Continue to slip in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the flight, only reaching some brief levels of cohesion to eat and chit-chat with neighbor before repeating the previous line
* Lose laptop in Japan. Go to Delta Japan and beg. Was told cleaning crew went through already.
* Try to not have a nervous breakdown and cry in the middle of the airport.
* Get to ticket counter for flight to HCMC. Almost time to board; plead with other employees. 10 minutes later, a Japanese woman to whom I owe my life to finds my laptop.
* Get on plane, repeat Benadryl and drooling.
* Arrive in HCMC some six or seven hours later. Get totally ripped off by a cabbie of $15 to drive me across the street. More on that later, if need be.
* Sit in airport terminal, the only person other than a guard who was smoking a cigarette by the darkened door of the building. It's midnight, I'm outside alone, and it's unbearably hot and humid.

I met an awesome Canadian who was going to Nha Trang as well. So, we commiserated and chit-chatted until it was time to push our way through the doors of the terminal.

The boarding/offboarding process is a little odd. You walk through a rather unintimate (at least, compared to the US) security check, sit in a little terminal, walk down some stairs and board a bus. The bus takes you a few hundred feet to the plane, where everyone unloads off the bus and makes a massive beeline and crowd around the stairs. One thing I quickly noticed in Vietnam - shit don't mean a thing if you're there first, nor how long you've been waiting. People just stride right in front of you, cutting you off, using their body as a ramming device to get one spot closer in line on the tarmac.

The airport was eerily foggy, which betrayed the physical sense of this being a particularly hot and sticky day. After what seemed like f-o-r-e-v-e-r, the little plane roared to life and took a powerful rocketing off of the runway. My window seat granted me a fantastic view over the country, soaring over massive, cottony white clouds as I vainly peered down to try to discern nature from man.

The ride was less than an hour, and before I knew it, we were plowing down through the blanket cover and the city broke below us. Clusters of earthy-toned buildings were spread like a fistful of dice tossed over the land, hugging the coast and dotting the hills. Even from the plane, I could see the waves crashing along the beach, massive froths of white foam pounding relentlessly into the sand.

The first attempt at landing did not happen. Even I, a semi-seasoned-but-terrified-of-all-planes-traveler, knew that the first time wasn't going to work. The pilot slowed down too late, and the craft shakily made a half-hearted attempt to skim the runway, but ended up thrusting back up into the air. We circled around, and the second time around, the plane skidded and shuddered and squealed its way onto solid ground.

The airport was oddly desolate. We were the only plane in sight, and as we coasted in, two trucks with portable stairs, and a couple employees were the only other beings on the pavement. As the plane took its excruciating long taxi, I noticed how strange the entire airport was. It was like someone took a paintbrush of cement, swept it into the earth and made it the runway. There was no separation from the environment and man's creation.

The ground was cracked and broken not unlike a desert floor, with brittle-looking little weeds and tiny bushes bursting from its crevices. There's even a huge pond in the midst of it all, surrounded by a ring of bushes and trees, and finally, the gritty, gray runway. The name of the airport, in both Vietnamese text and Roman letters, heralded the sterility and conformity of all Vietnamese government buildings I have already encountered. Plain, large, blocky letters, with no fun, no flavor, no personality. The words certainly match the architecture, and the alert, olive green-wearing government folk that patrolled inside.

After meeting up with Michael, getting into Nha Trang, saying goodbye to Trevor the Canadian, Michael and I, as well as a teacher friend of his, had a Western-style breakfast at a 4-star hotel in the midst of NT's bustling streets. Dodging street vendors with massive boards covered in sunglasses that hung painfully from their necks, and women with buckets draped over their shoulders trying to sell unfamiliar - but delicious-smelling - foods, the three of us took a walk along the beach.

It was startling too see the dichotomy of wealth. I vaguely knew what I would be seeing here, but in one breath, we passed by a woman who carried on her back her disabled brother with his useless, bony limb, and two fat, hairy, mid-50s European men wearing too-tight of tiny swimming shorts a moment later at a beachside bar. Almost all the tourists passed were too red, too round, and too squinty-eyed in the blinding sun. They splayed out in all of their middle-aged glory, roasting under the rays with a "333" beer at their side, and a heavy dusting of greying hair over their guts (that could probably go for some of the women, too).

Everywhere, signs advertised the prices of juices, massages, beachside retreats and rentals of various watersporting goods. With every sign there was rusting barbed wire outside of a decaying water amusement park, a sunglasses salesman, a listless and bored-looking girl sitting at an empty drink stand, and old women wearing face masks and straw hats, carrying too-heavy of loads over their shoulders. All to try to make something off of the Germans and Americans and Russians that cooked on their beaches.

I'm way unable to make much of this at this time; jetlag and sleep disruption have certainly played a part in this midday insanity. But, I'm excited to learn, explore and see what this country is, and to meet its people and learn about them. As I sit in my room, the humid air blowing in a gentle breeze, the sounds of horns honking, Vespas growling, and children shrieking, I can only wait in anticipation at all that I'll get to experience.

And, I've hardly taken any photos, nor edited them, but here's a start.