“I wanna go somewhere.“

It was the summer of 2003. I was in my junior year at university. I have never travelled overseas alone, and I thought it was the time to go. 

That urge was strong. It felt as if I were a plant that needed to be repotted. If it is kept in the same small pot until the summer ends, it would be wither.

So I worked hard throughout August to save up some money. Based on my modest budget, Southeast Asia seemed a reasonable option. 

Back then there was no Booking.com or Expedia or AirBnB. I walked into a travel agent’s office in Shinjuku and asked for a ticket to Ho Chi Minh City. The lady at the counter looked at me and asked.

“First time to Vietnam?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want a hotel booking as well?”

“No.”

“Um, do you know anyone there? How are you going to get an accommodation?”

“A friend of mine who has recently been there told me that I just need to go to De Tham Street, where all the backpackers go.”

She raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything further. 

—

Maybe I should have taken her offer?

The moment a bike taxi dropped me at De Tham Street, I had a second thought. 

According to the guidebook I got from a second-hand bookstore, there should be a popular hostel on that street. However, I couldn’t find it even though I searched really hard. I asked around at a currency exchange and a street vendor, only to figure out (If I understood their Pidgin English correctly) that the hostel had closed and moved to another street where I didn’t even know how to spell or pronounce.  

Feeling tired of carrying a heavy backpack under the heat, I entered one of the cafes. I ordered a mango smoothie and wondered how to secure accommodation before the night fell. 

I felt lost. The stray dog lying on the curb in front of the cafe seemed to be settled much better than I was. 

“Hey, I am looking for a place to stay tonight. Do you know any good guest house around here?”

I asked the dog, and then the waiter. The waiter seemed to be a little confused but told me to wait for a moment.

After 20 or 30 minutes or so (meanwhile, I learned a Vietnamese definition of a “moment”), another guy came to my table and asked me if I was the one who needed lodging.

Then he took me to a small guest house on the corner and showed me a room on the second floor. No air conditioning, cold shower, 6 USD for a night. 

“Okay, I stay.” 

I said to the guy. He nodded and went downstairs to get some paper to fill in. 

I looked around and sat on the bed covered with flower-printed sheets which were now assigned to me for the next 72 hours. 

I got a place to stay. And this tiny space has become my own. It seemed absurd, but somehow it felt like an achievement.

I could hear the sound of rain outside. It must have been a tropical shower. 

“After the rain, I’m going to the market”, I said to myself as I looked up the ceiling fan. 

Looking back, that was probably the beginning of my journey as a backpacker.