%^@!)^%$#*@&!!!

I don’t understand why I easily get flustered or tongue-tied around some male members of our species.

When I accidentally got separated from the group I was with, I stumbled upon a sculpture gallery where a friendly (and rather attractive) Saigon-based Frenchman, who turned out to be the gallery’s designer and owner, greeted me. I thought the long chat ran fairly smoothly, except, of course, for the occasional embarrassments. Such as what? When asked about some observations about his city, I told the Frenchman: “I notice too that you have so many galleries of reproductive, I mean, reprodu... reproduct... reproduced... ’repro’ art. (Pause) If there is such a thing.” I couldn’t believe I said that. On the other hand, I could believe I said that.

Because all I could think about was the shame I once again inflicted on myself, I was barely able to concentrate on the displayed wooden sculptures. If my nervousness was too apparent, it was probably to this man’s credit that he didn’t point it out. And then, when I took his photo I was unhappy with the results. “For some reason you look blurry.” With a sheepish smile he said with a thick French accent, “Uh, actually your hands were moving.” “Oh, no, it must be...it’s because the shutter thing is slow because I’m using night lighting because I don’t like the flash effect because....yes, it’s the shutter.” After three more shots I realized I was never going to get a proper picture of this man. So I abruptly said ‘Thanks a lot for the coffee’ and walked away from the damage as fast as I can.

(Because it’s Sunday, I am listening to the RJ Sundays playlist. Meaning, The Beatles, The Kinks, Chad and Jeremy, Beach Boys, The Zombies, The Byrds, etc. And “Good Lovin’” by The Young Rascals. I got this habit from the Guerrero household when Val and I had lunch with them 3 or 4 years ago.)

this ain't no party, this ain't no disco

As if I haven’t posted enough photos from the Vietnam trip, I’ve decided to post more photos from the Vietnam trip. Specifically, the Cu Chi Tunnels tour.

Entrance to one of the tunnels.

Rice paper: the essential ingredient for those fabulous spring rolls. Here's rice paper being served by a wooden woman.

However, it’s really a warm-blooded auntie who does the actual cooking.

One of the many booby traps made by the Vietnamese resistance during the war. This one’s got lots of metal spikes underneath to convincingly deform and efficiently kill enemy soldiers.

These contraptions were specially designed to bore through bodies of unwary (and very unfortunate) American soldiers who fell into strategically placed booby traps in the jungle. The more holes pierced, the better, to drain off the victim’s blood as fast as possible. And subject the victim to tetano, I imagine.

A bombed area. (This war was really well documented.) While walking we heard gunfire sounds and explosions which turned out to be pre-recorded and played for that full multi-sensory war experience (huh?).

This is my good Indonesian friend, Nana, emerging from a tunnel.

There are huts in the Cu Chi jungle where tourists can take pictures of, pose beside, or interact with dummy guerrilla soldiers.