Ladies and gentlemen - I now present to you the concluding edition of my Vietnam and Cambodia posts! Honestly, I can't believe it's taken me this long to recap the stories - I almost feel a bit guilty about how quickly I handled my Brazil post now. I mean, I didn't even begin to tell you about the hijinx (my new favorite word) encountered there - the mosquito bites from hell, the hungry clients of death and destruction, and (my personal favorite) my very own souvenir (free of charge) bout of food poisoning. Yes, oh yes, I got food poisoning in Brazil. Despite a prescription strength antibiotic, I still had an interesting couple of days when I got back to the states. And don't even get me started on how sick I was after a trip to Cabo. (Do you see a theme emerging?) Oh, my. Trust me - there are doctor's orders that you're really better off not knowing exist. And in the event that your company requires documented proof of your illness, you might not want to fax such doctor's orders to the main office fax line, fyi. That could be a titch embarassing.
Not that I would know.
ANYWAY, there I was, my last day in Vietnam. My clients had all departed for their home planets cities and my two coworkers and I decided to do some exploring of our own. We spent a hilarious hour in a massage parlor in which I giggled histerically while my (male) naked coworkers (we were separated by the sheer-est of tiniest sheets) and I got the most agressive massage this side of boxing. It was one of the most hilarious hours of my life. It only cost $10 for an hour long massage; well $20 if you consider the fact that I tipped the girl $10 as well. Hey - if you're going to massage my naked body for an hour, the very least I can do is slip you a Hamilton, right?
After that adventure, I was ready for a shower, so we headed back to the hotel.
This was the view from my room.
That night, we went to Rex's for dinner - apparently this was quite the hot spot for the US soldiers during the war.
Rex's really refers to the rooftop bar of the Rex Hotel (the green lights in the photo above) and my coworkers and I proceeded to get soundly intoxicated that night. Thank goodness I was with friends - otherwise I'd have been spending my last few nights in Asia in my hotel room watching Gilmore Girls on DVD.
So... that catches us up to my final day in Vietnam. I woke up at 7am to watch the Cardinals game (they were playing in the World Series and the twelve hour time difference required an early wake up call if I wanted to see the opening pitch) and quickly realized that all was not well in Becky-land. I was ill. Extremely ill. Feverish with cold sweats and vomiting every ten minutes or so. By about 9am I knew that if I didn't get help, I wouldn't be able to make my flight the next day. And, let me tell you what, there was no possible way I was missing my flight home. Oh, and to top it all off, my coworkers and clients were gone - I was completely alone in a country where I didn't even speak the language.
I did what any reasonable person would do - I called my mom. Unfortunately, she didn't answer (WAH! I want my mommy!) - so next I tried my best friend Katie (who is now my sister-in-law) and explained my dilemma. There may have been some whimpering involved, I'm not gonna lie. She (we worked together and she had been to Asia several times) told me to call the concierge - apparently many upscale hotels in Asia have doctors on-call that will visit guests for food poisoning. Feeling slightly embarassed, but sure it was worth it, I called the concierge.
About twenty minutes later, a doctor and nurse were in my room taking my blood pressure while I tried not to vomit (unsuccessfully, fyi). They informed me that, unfortunately, I was going to have to go to the hospital for some IV fluids. Now, this isn't that big of a deal when you're at home and you make a trip to the local urgent care center - but when you're alone in Vietnam and you may be experiencing some culture shock, this is a very big deal. So, I hopped on Skype to let Katie know I was leaving (in case I disappeared forever) and packed my wallet with my health insurance card, credit card, and drivers license. I figured if strangers robbed me blind, at least my passport would be safe.
They put me in a wheelchair (please don't barf... please don't barf...) and brought me down to the waiting "ambulance" (a glorified minivan). It's a testament to how ill I was that I wasn't absolutely terrified. They brought me to the "hospital" (more of a local clinic - boy was I glad I got those hepatitis shots my doctor had insisted on...) and proceeded to knock me out with a shot of glorious medication that also stopped the vomiting. Thank you, medical gods. The clinic girls were very nice, and they even spoke some broken English. When an Australian woman walked in (the head of the clinic) and informed me that I had been out for two hours (and two bags of fluids) and could leave soon, I almost kissed her. They made me take down a disgusting combo of energy solution (salty gatorade) and cement-mixer-stomach-binder (resulting in some crucial one-on-one time with milk of magnesia a few days later) before calling the hotel to come pick me up.
The final tab? Almost $750 - entirely covered by my insurance carrier (though I wouldn't see the check for six months). However, the chance to make my flight the next day and arrive home safely twenty vomit-free hours later? ... Priceless.
