Last Thursday, we took a few days off from ministry and caught a bus to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. I’ve always wanted to go to Vietnam and learn more about the history there. Somewhere in the midst of switching between my grade school to my high school, I missed the Vietnam section in history class. I was terribly uneducated on the subject, and never took the time to learn about it independently. I am ashamed to say that I barely even knew that it was about Communism. (I’m not sure why I feel the need to confess that to the world.) 
After the 6-hour bus ride, we were dropped off in the Pham Ngu Lao district of the city—a popular destination for backpackers. We had purchased a fairly extensive guidebook on the country, and it told us this was a suggested area for “budget travelers,” which we most certainly were. It’s interesting to see how differently I travel now. Before the Race, I would have made sure that I had secured reservations at a hotel, only after having thoroughly researched many options on the internet. I would have also called to verify the reservation several days in advance to make sure that everything would run smoothly (Thanks for the training, Mom). But here I was, headed to a different country, leading a group of 16 other people, with absolutely no plans of where to stay or what we were going to do, and I loved the idea of the uncertainty involved. As soon as I hopped off the bus, Danny, Brady, and I set off with our trusty Lonely Planet guidebook to scout out a place to crash for a couple nights, while the others waited patiently in a local café for our return. After about an hour of searching, we were blessed to find not only a brand-new guesthouse that could house all 17 of us (a rare find in a land of mini-hotels and hostels), but that had amazing amenities for us to enjoy.
We all checked in and immediately headed out to see the city; we only had about 36 hours in the city, so there was no time to waste. Danny acted as our tour guide—he was the only one that could read from the Lonely Planet book and relay the information to us while walking backwards so he could be heard—and navigated us through the moto-infested streets with ease, pointing out interesting landmarks and buildings of interest. Near the center of the city, we found a large statue celebrating Tran Nguyen Han, the first man to use carrier pigeons in Vietnam. His legend will surely live on throughout humanity. Across the street was Pho 2000, a restaurant that serves the classic Vietnamese-style noodle soup (called pho). When Bill Clinton visited Vietnam in 2000, he ate here; his visit is very evident from the multiple posed photographs with the staff that hang from every free inch of space. Even if you don’t like his politics, the man has good taste; the pho was delicious.
We trekked on through the city, determined to squeeze in everything that we possibly could that evening. Unfortunately, when we got to the museum district, we were disappointed to learn that they all closed at 5 o’clock. We were several minutes too late. Knowing that we were going to get a fair-share of history in the next day, we quickly got over our disappointment, and decided to focus our energy on finding a place to eat dinner. We wanted to find a place good enough to write home about. We decided on The Black Cat, what CNN billed as one of the top-10 restaurants in the world that you must visit. CNN has never let me down before, so we crammed 9 people into a single taxi (an impressive sight, if I do say so myself) with great anticipation of our meal. The Black Cat is best known for a burger called “The Big Cheese:, a 500 gram (a little more than 1 lb.) beef patty topped with 6 pieces of bacon, 6 slices of cheese, a whole head of lettuce, 3 tomatoes and onions, and 1 pickle (let’s not get too outrageous, 1 pickle is plenty). Had we ordered only one of “The Big Cheese” for the whole table it would have surely satisfied us all, but Silas and Danny each decided to tackle one on their own. 
When the burgers arrived, my stomach began to sympathetically churn, knowing that it was going to be a long night for the two of them. Each burger was about 1 foot in diameter and about half a foot high; it took up the whole platter. In total, it weighed in at over 3 pounds. The small Vietnamese man who delivered them to our table had trouble carrying the two burgers at the same time. We blessed the food—the guys were going to need it—and everyone dug in. We watched in amazement as the burgers the size of a newborn baby began to disappear. Each had different strategies for finishing their meal: Silas took his time and ate at a steady pace, while Danny plowed in and ate without even setting the burger down. In his eyes, I saw determination that I’ve only ever seen in the eyes of champions of international hotdog eating competitions. After about 20 minutes, Danny successfully downed the 3-pound monster. Silas quickly realized his tactical mistake: he wasted too much time between bites, allowing his stomach to realize that it was, in fact, about to rupture. Rookie.
The group parted ways—some went home, while a few others, including myself, stayed out to soak in a bit more of Ho Chi Minh, completely ignoring the fact that we would have to get up at 6 o’clock in the morning the next day to begin a busy day of tours. We ran across a large Gloria Jean’s Coffee, which caused great excitement for me since I used to work at one in St. Louis while I was in high school. It was nice to be able to relax in a familiar atmosphere and have deep, coffee-shop appropriate conversation about life with good friends.
