Through the streets of Ho Chi Minh City, sign after sign reads in a language completely foreign to me. The majority of the Vietnamese here know little to no English, leaving me flipping frantically through pages of a English – Vietnamese dictionary for the words like soup — as the three year old boy to the right of me rattle off what he wants to say effortlessly. No longer do I hear the familiar melody of Spanish, nor can there be anymore friendly earsdropping. In fact I have not successfully ordered anything correctly since arriving to Vietnam.
When ordering hot tea and a plate of pineapple, I received hot tea with pineapple flavoring for breakfast. Then upon ordering hot coffee, I received iced expresso with chocolate flavoring. Feeling mildly defeated, I made my last attempt to order plain noodles with beef and the meal arrived drenched in thick sauce. Maybe if I had ordered the ice coffee I would have gotten the hot coffee. Needless to say, it’s made me feel a certain helplessness that I haven’t known before. In such stark contrast to Nicaragua, I suspect God is fix’n to use this time well to stretch me. Maybe to exhibit His strength instead of relying on mine? Quizas?
