All the white people in Southeast Asia do the same thing. You talk, learn their plans then almost instantly forget them; they are all basically the same.
You met some Canadians. You met two French girls. You met three Americans, two from Seattle.
Beers. Whiskey sometimes. Beer.
You travel in a group to see exaggerated and staged tourist spots. The tourism of war. Is it money in guilt, or curiosity? Is it more touristy to see places you might barely remember. Or eat and drink things you’ll just as easily forget.
You felt fine on that beach in Hoi An. Sun, beer and a book. A I-don’t-give-a-fuck-moment.
Is being on vacation not caring about small stuff?
On your way to a shrine with hundreds of turtles, one that was half your size, you got caught in a giant rainstorm. As you watched the rain you craved a pepsi. Drinking it and sighing in a relief only imaginable at suddenly feeling no heat or sweat you realize you’ve done this before. In Texas as a child you’d routinely be caught in rain storms, forced to wait them out by sipping on a coke. You had to stop and be calm, there is nothing you can do when you are stuck in the rain. No responsibilities, just rain.
That just might be what vacation is about. And you realize being a tourist isn’t the same as being on vacation.