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Culture shocks are for spoiled western kids who think Thailand is a take-out restaurant. Not for someone whose boots are still dusty from walking the Camino to Santiago and lives out of an eight litre backpack. I mean, of course there are some cultural differences between Europe and Asia. Squat toilets, noodle slurping, dogs for dinner, these kind of things. But hey, as an experienced ‘culture sniffer’ and flexible vegetarian, that’s all fine by me. I left Hanoi Airport in a dusty cab. Vietnam, here I come! ‘Miss!’ ‘Wake up!’ Someone was shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes, looked out of the window and immediately closed them again. There were two options: 1) I was still sleeping and having a very vivid nightmare or 2) we had experienced a car crash and I had woken up in hell. A realistic possibility, considering the situation outside. The taxi was trapped in a tsunami of scooters. Scooters packed with people, furniture, fruit, unidentified boxes, little children, wood, flowers and pigs. One of them winked at me, while passing by my window. He was very much alive. 'Miss, your hostel is there' My driver pointed at a little building on the other side of the street. I stared at him. 'You have to go out' I stared at him. 'Now please' I stared at him. 'MISS' After a very uncomfortable staring contest, my driver decided to take matters into his own hands. He opened my door, grabbed my arm in a – what he probably considered – encouraging way, pulled me out, dropped my backpack next to me and drove off. Leaving me in the middle of the street. I can describe the chaos for you; there was a stream of uncontrolled traffic rushing through the little street; I saw narrow houses with French architectural influences and small altars; bicycles covered in fruits and vegetables; little plastic chairs on the sidewalk full of people eating with chopsticks and old Vietnamese ladies stirring in massive metal pots. I can describe how people stare at you, especially when you’re a tall foreigner who’s standing in the middle of the street like a deer in the headlights, and the way a wrinkly man tries to sell you baked banana. But what I can’t describe is the smell. A mixture of incense, gasses, plants, unknown food, garbage and a hundred other things I’ve never smelled before. Put all these ingredients together, add an authentic Vietnamese soundtrack (screaming, electronic music and a lot of honking), combine it with a little bit of jetlag and you have the perfect “cultureshocktail”! It took me five sleepless nights before I was brave enough to leave the hostel. My adventure in Hanoi started with a backpack full of toilet paper and a mind full of fear. Seven days later, I ate my first Banh Mi without running to the toilet. Ten days later, I found my way in Old Quarter without using Google Maps. Twelve days later, I crossed the road without getting hysterical. Fourteen days later, I danced to Ed Sheeran with a group of Vietnamese ladies. Fifteen days later, I took my first night bus. Seventy-eight days later, I left Vietnam with a backpack full of memories and fridge magnets. Looking back, I don’t exactly know what I expected to find in Vietnam. Probably not an ordinary culture shock and definitely not myself (who I, due to some ongoing internal discussions, also never found). My adventure did leave me with a bigger appreciation for air conditioning, clean toilets, Vietnamese noodle soup, other people and my spoiled western self. It was obvious I had fallen unexpectedly in love with an indescribable country (and a Portuguese man, but that’s a story for another time) (To be honest, it’s quite a good one. I’ll gladly share it with you if I win). So, how does the story end? Well, according to funnytravelquotes.com: travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness. No clue what that means, but it inspired me to go on a new adventure: a week in a ‘get exactly what you expect’ resort, where the variety of desserts is the most exciting thing. Thai massages, here I come!