It's morning in Cao Lanh. Young girls in white ao' dai and conical hats, pedaling upright on bicycles like exotic Victorian postcards. Sing-song saleswomen balancing platters on their heads. Gaping holes in sidewalks. Shy children see us coming and hide behind their mothers, emerging to shout hello, then darting back.
Men stare without expression .
We smile at everyone, this gaggle of odd-looking Westerners, as we walk to town for our daily chores. Below us, in the green water, boats putt-putt by, the occupants staring up at us as we cross the bridge. At the roadside stands, some faces are familiar already and we nod in recognition. Inside, the glowering tellers examine my passport, examine my travelers checks, examine me. I'm dripping with sweat.