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| 19th Dec 2025 |
If yesterday was about arriving, today was about survival. Specifically, surviving the traffic.
Crossing the street in Saigon isn't a walk; it’s basically an extreme sport. I stepped out of the hotel and right into a river of motorbikes. I learned the rule pretty fast: Don’t stop, don’t flinch, just walk. If you hesitate, you’re roadkill. If you walk with purpose, the sea just kind of parts around you. It’s terrifying, but it works.
I navigated by Google Maps and pure adrenaline to hunt down my first target: a hidden spot opposite the cooking school. I ordered an Egg Coffee. I stared at the cup for a second—honestly, egg in coffee sounds suspicious—but the first sip shut me up. It was rich, creamy, and basically tasted like liquid tiramisu.
It turned out to be the perfect warm-up for the gluttony that followed.
At 9:30 AM, I headed to the M.O.M. Cooking Class. This wasn’t a polite little demonstration; it was boot camp with aprons. We tackled the "Friday Menu," touring through Northern and Central Vietnamese dishes.
We made West Lake Shrimp Cakes (crispy sweet potato nests with whole shrimp) and Bun Cha, where we grilled the meat patties ourselves with smoke blowing right in our faces. But the highlight was the Fresh Spring Rolls. When I finished mine, it actually stood up perfectly straight on the plate, the wrapper gleaming. I felt a ridiculous surge of pride. I made that!
By noon, after polishing off a jar of Coconut Cream Caramel Pudding, I was full. Dangerously full.
I went back to the hotel for a quick collapse, then headed out again for my afternoon workshop, feeling pretty confident in my navigation skills. Maybe too confident. I strode into the building, ready to brew some coffee, and looked down at the table.
Carrots. Cabbage. Greens.
I blinked. "Um... where is the coffee?"
The instructor looked at me. I looked at the vegetables. It was a moment of pure slapstick comedy—I had walked into the wrong class with total authority. I backed out, laughing at my own confusion, and finally found the right place: Province Coffee.
If the morning was about food, the afternoon was about catching a buzz. We learned to make four types of coffee: Egg, Coconut, Salt, and Latte. By the end of it, my hands were shaking, my heart was racing, and everyone was grinning like idiots.
And there, amidst the smell of roasted beans, was this Polish guy.
He was such a gentleman—polite, curious, kind eyes. We got to talking, and he mentioned he’s planning to visit East Malaysia, Sabah, and Sarawak next year. My home. I lit up immediately, sharing all my tips about the Borneo jungles and the culture. We just clicked. It was one of those effortless travel conversations where you skip the small talk and get right to the good stuff.
Then, the class ended. We waved goodbye.
I walked back through the shadow of the Notre Dame Cathedral and past the chaos of Ben Thanh Market, and the realization hit me harder than the caffeine crash.
I didn't get his Instagram. I didn't get his number.
I walked 13,000 steps today. I mastered four dishes and four coffees. But I let a potential friend just walk away into the Saigon traffic.
So, I’m skipping dinner tonight. My stomach is too full of food, and my mind is too full of "what ifs."
Note to Self
Today was sensory overload in the best way. But the mix-up with the classroom taught me that sometimes you just have to laugh when you're the confused tourist.
The real lesson, though? It’s the Polish traveler. It’s bittersweet, but now I know: travel is fleeting. If you vibe with someone, seize the moment. Be brave enough to ask for the contact, because opportunities rarely circle back. Next time, I speak up.
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