Saigon needed to cool off. Temperatures of 34+ degrees with the blazing sun encased in a concrete jungle would melt anyone. So Mother Nature turned on the water taps. The rain pelted down. But the 5 million motorcycle riders here will not be deterred. If they still ride with luggage, their three kids, a mattress and about three dozen chickens on the back (yes...I saw examples of each), rain is a piece of cake.
They sell ponchos on the side of the street, sometimes on the telephone poles. It’s like a drive-in stay dry station. They even throw the front of the cape over the handle bars.
As I leave Saigon for home and it’s mountain of newly fallen snow, I am not deterred in my excitement. I know I am lucky to be able to travel the world, but in the end I know Dorothy was right. There is no place like home.
