I found the nearest bench and as I struggled to unload all of my belongings off my back, my mind scrambled to Plan B. I was 28 days, 15 tuk tuk rides, 4 missed buses, and God only knows how many awkward stares into my first long term, solo trip, through Southeast Asia. In this limited amount of time it was already clear that “Plan A” was a laughable topic. This time “Plan A” was boarding a singular bus to Sapa; an unassuming town in Northern Vietnam which was notorious for its trekking along the Hoàng Liên Son Mountains. This would be my first stop in Vietnam and perhaps the one I was most excited about as it offered unimaginable views of the lush and tender rice terraces that dressed the entire valley. But here I was, chasing after a plume of diesel smoke from the bus that had just departed without me. Through butchered, yet enlightening conversations the responsible community of bus riders, I found myself hailing the first taxi in sight. Ready or not, I was about to cannonball into a night consisting of overnight trains, buses, and no doubt, a considerable amount of errors to make it to the almighty Sapa. The outskirts of Hanoi passed by me as the taxi meter lazily crept up. The sun was showing off, introducing lively yellows and oranges into the sky as it began its descent behind the approaching Hanoi skyline. I couldn’t help but notice the layer of smog blanketing the horizon; evidence that the city is now home to nearly 8 million people and booming in industrial and agriculture consumerism. The taxi stopped in front of what he assured me was the train station. With a monetary system that could make you feel like a king, I handed over nearly half a million Vietnamese Dong before the taxi sped back into the vehicle war zone that was considered ‘light traffic’. The city felt dense; my senses launched into overdrive. Between the deafening drone of scooter horns and completely occupied sidewalks, my head was on a swivel surveying the pandemonium before me. Dire for a moment of stillness, I removed myself from the disarray with an impromptu trip down the first side street I laid eyes on. The aroma of unfamiliar spices pulled me further into uncertainty to a food cart besieged by small, temporary tables. The only seat available was the one across from a man who couldn’t hide his laughter as I struggled to fit my knees under the table. With no menus in sight, I frantically pointed to the man’s bowl and hoped our taste buds were somewhat aligned. Within minutes a steaming bowl of noodles was placed before me, along with several containers. The man must have noticed the puzzled look on my face because without hesitation he sprang into action; silently and precisely guiding me through the containers and their contents. A sliver or two of serrano chili, a handful of bean sprouts, and a dash of fish sauce later, my first bowl of Pho was sent cascading through my body; filling it with necessary warmth and satisfaction. We exchanged smiles. Not long after he settled up with the owner, the man was devoured back into the turbulent streets. I never found out his name nor did he learn mine, but making a personal connection with locals doesn’t always lead to exchanging life changing stories. Often experiencing a new culture means taking the passenger seat. Even if that’s merely letting a new ally teach you how to properly relish in your first bowl of Pho. It’s the same person who unknowingly gave you the necessary, yet fleeting dose of unspoken comfort you needed before exploring another piece of the world. One thing nobody tells you is that you’ll never ace it. Maybe at one point you will get a small taste of comfort, but that’s short-lived. Swiftly, you’re pulled back into the land of mystery, suffocating any doubts you might have by your curiosity of the unfamiliar territory before you. Maybe that’s why time after time you decide to throw all your essentials into a backpack, grab your passport, and fly by the seat of your pants into a new adventure.