Read Rule Number One Again

“Goooood morning Vietnam!”

As the clock on the wall strikes 6:00 a.m. we’re ready to leap into another day. This is not a radio program being transmitted from the rice patties of Central Vietnam but (my hope) a humorous travel log from our Cenergy Power company retreat in November of 2019.

How do you possibly begin with so many unique and vivid experiences rolled into a ten-day trip in Asia? Well, it’s best I think, if we start with the rules we adopted early in this trip for safety, comfort, and a wide variety of extraordinary travel experiences.

The rules were simple:

Rule #1 - Always follow Doan Hyphuoc Vo (Dr. Vo)

Rule #2 - If you think you are right, read Rule #1 again

Why you say, well, sit back and allow me to share the story of our adventures in Vietnam.

Dr. Vo is the team lead (and our personal guide) for Cenergy’s Electrical Engineering Operations. He was born in Saigon in the early 1950s. This blog post could be a complete biography of his life growing up in Vietnam; dodging the Vietcong as a young boy, being captured during the Vietnam war, attending University to become an electrical engineer, and immigrating to the United States in 1981.

However, my objective with these posts is to document our travels and extend my heartfelt thank you for his eternal optimism, patience, planning, and persistence. It was simply uncanny how he was able to corral a frantic group of 22 people while arranging top-notch accommodations, maneuver bustling airports, overcrowded streets, open-air markets, a variety of recreational activities, excellent local foods, and quite frankly the ability to accommodate each individual's needs. No tour guide could possibly be as flexible or accommodating.

After 20 hours of travel from LAX on EvaAir (Taiwan based) via TPE, we arrived on Friday, November 21, 2019.

Luggage, oh my - as a group we schlepped - 8 large cardboard boxes, 2 checked suitcases per person, backpacks as carry-ons, cameras, caged chickens (just kidding), you name it we had it. We looked like a circus had just dropped from the sky into Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon).

Now imagine the challenge of passing through customs, a group this size approaching with carts loaded to the brim. Large X-Ray machines loom ahead with the prospect of having every box, bag, and backpack (after an exhausting flight) unloaded and reloaded one-by-one on to the rolling carts was absurd. Just minutes earlier our entry into Vietnam was routine, simply hand your passport and visa to security at customs. We were home free, (we thought) however there was one final checkpoint after collecting all the luggage.

So, how do you handle this? It’s simple - for Dr. Vo.

He walks casually to the head of the group and motions to the security guards running the X-Ray machine, “Would you like to see my passport?” He says in Vietnamese.

Suddenly, as if by magic we wheeled all those huge boxes and large heavy suitcases around the X-Ray machine to the exit with one stipulation, “Please place your backpacks on the conveyer.”

“In Vietnam what’s illegal is legal,” he would say to me many times during the upcoming week around the city.

Little did we know we had effortlessly passed through customs by following Rule #1. This would occur many times during our whirlwind travels.

But wait, its approaching Midnight and were still at the airport.

If you’ve never traveled to Asia here’s what you can expect. As you exit the airport, there is a barrier with hundreds of people waving placards, jabbering on cellphones, taxis, buses, scooters darting in every direction - in short, mass confusion. But there among the masses was Dr. Vo's man in Vietnam, Quach Bao. He calmly lead us off to the side and had taxis' ready to load that pile of stuff and our group of weary travelers. What a relief.

That night, headed for the hotel, we received our first lesson navigating Ho Chi Minh City,

“You see these cabs with the VinaSun logo they are legitimate, many of the others are not. In Vietnam what’s illegal is legal.”

Without incident, another potential nightmare handled with ease and comfort.

So remember, when in doubt - read rule number one again.

And we haven’t even started yet, stay tuned . . .

The Compass of Cuba: Mom

🎄 Preview of this week's On the Fly blog: A Holiday Tribute to Mom. As the holidays hustle with pixels and beeps, the world scrolls along in a smartphone-y sleep. I log off for a moment—just one little minute— To breathe in the past and to sit myself in it. My mind doesn’t wander to faraway places, Or trips full of tickets and new airport faces. Instead, it drifts backward, as memories do, to Cuba, Illinois, where the best moments grew. To a home full of warmth, in the wintry Midwest, Where my mother—dear “Marcie”—put love to the test. With a smile that could melt the most frigid of dawns, and hugs that hung on you like shivering fawns. She came from La Rochelle in France, brave and bright, Across oceans and war shadows, into new light. A town full of strangers soon felt like her own, And her courage built up the foundation of home. “Oh yes, we know Marcie!” the locals would say— “It's Doc Ball’s French lady! She brightens the day!” She cleaned, and she cooked, and sh...

Feeling Human Again

In this episode, The Unexpected Thankfulness of Feeling Human Again I’ll be honest with you: My triumphant return from France was not the glamorous homecoming I had imagined. No graceful glide back into routine. No cinematic jet-setter moment where I lift my suitcase off the carousel and wink at life like we’re old pals. Instead? I came home and immediately launched into a two-week performance piece titled The Great American Couch Collapse. My days blurred together in a haze of soup, hot tea, tissues, and desperate negotiations with the universe for just one nostril—one!—to function properly. The living room sofa became my emotional support furniture. And any creative idea that dared tiptoe into my congested brain was gently shown the exit with a firm but courteous, “Not today, friend. Try again later.” When life hits the pause button like that—when you’re exhausted, sick, and mentally unplugged—how do you find your spark again? Somehow, today, I felt it. A tiny shift. A clearing of th...

Patience: the Only First-Class Ticket

In this episode, Patience: the Only First-Class Ticket They say travel broadens the mind. After eight days sailing the Rhône with 140 fellow luxury vacationers, I can confirm it also tests patience , calf strength, buffet strategy, and one's tolerance for people furious that France insists on being French. Don't get me wrong—I adored this trip. The river shimmered like liquid optimism. The villages looked hand-painted. The pastries could negotiate world peace. But somewhere between Ship Horn Hello and Bon Voyage, we'd inadvertently boarded a floating behavioral research study disguised as a holiday. Our ship was less a cruise and more a ferry for the Sailors of Status. Some passengers approached relaxation like yogis. Others treated leisure like a final exam with extra credit. I came to believe certain luxury watches emit ultrasonic signals that only their owners can detect. A frequency calibrated to trigger rapid movement toward any line forming for any reason. I saw more ...

A Holiday Reflection–Mother's Love

In this episode, How a Mother’s Love Built My Memories– A Holiday Reflection As this holiday season approaches and the world buzzes with shopping, planning, and busy schedules, I find myself embracing something wonderfully simple: taking a moment to pause. Not to check off a list or recharge devices, but to breathe deeply, remember fondly, and honor the person and place that have shaped my sense of home long before I had the words for it. This year, after regaining my strength from a lingering post-travel fog, my mind didn’t wander to exotic destinations or future adventures. It drifted backward—across oceans and time—to Cuba, Illinois, in the early 1960s, and to the woman whose love built the foundation of my world: Mauricette Elaine (Bontemps) Ball. My Mom . We came to Cuba after leaving La Rochelle, France, in 1959—a transition so dramatic I only appreciate its enormity now. My mother, barely in her mid-twenties, stepped off that plane and into the Midwest with a courage that s...

On The Fly

Search This Blog