Rooftop Realisations

by Aleishia Froud (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Vietnam

It was an uncharacteristically dry May in Southeast Asia that year, and I was spending the final night of my Vietnam trip sipping too-strong Moscow Mules at a rooftop bar in District 1 of Ho Chi Minh City. Whenever I can feel the curtains closing on an era, I find myself immersed in these moments of introspection and self-reflection, trying to extract as many life lessons as possible as I look back on the concluding chapter. The trip had only been a brief one, suffocated as usual by the constraints of annual leave allowances and millennial bank account balances. However, I fancied myself as some sort of an expert at cramming as many possible experiences into the minimal time available. Indeed, my Instagram feed checked off many of the unmissable spots that various blogs and websites had recommended for the region: showcasing the pastel yellow buildings and kaleidoscopic lanterns of the French Colonial Hội An; the emerald green waters of the mesmerising Hạ Long Bay; the buzzing, glittery metropolises of Hanoi and Saigon; the claustrophobic and historically rich Củ Chi tunnels. I’d feasted on bánh mì and phở and connected to the local data network in order to share photos in real time. I’d used a maps app on my phone to assist my chronically inadequate sense of direction and get me from A to B without any time-consuming detours. I FaceTimed friends back home who had had to miss out on the trip due to real-world responsibilities, and watched their faces light up as I showed them the sights. I pondered the authenticity of my experiences, and whether using technology as a crutch could somehow hinder them. How fulfilling could my trip possibly be if it merely shadowed the paths of millions before me? Is travel really just about checking items off a list? Was it even appropriate to be thinking about myself when I had encountered people who had suffered so horribly? Do I need to go off the grid to have any sort of meaningful interaction? Is any of this worth the increase in my carbon footprint? Should I just stay home in future? In an increasingly critical society it’s easy to have experiences that are dismissed by others, but the trouble arises when you’re the one dismissing them yourself. And so I made a promise to myself on that barstool on that balmy evening as I wrung out my lime wedge into the copper mug in front of me. No more self-doubt. No more letting my need for external validation overshadow my passions. I refused to let travel — my escape from the harshness of the real world — be dictated to me as another way in which I was failing. I know that when I travel, I travel to improve myself, to learn how to tread gently, to prevent stagnancy, to connect with humans who have vastly different lifestyles to me and marvel at the sheer universality of our emotions despite external factors. To feel less alone, to be humbled, to be comforted. To witness beauty created by humans and beauty created by nature and stand before them in equal amounts of awe, to exchange glances with those around me, minuscule changes in our facial expressions communicating our utter disbelief that we are here, right now, in this moment. To ascend to viewing platforms of skyscrapers and feel absolutely tiny and insignificant as I survey the city below, to eat unfamiliar cuisines prepared by people whose passion for food rivals my own and unites entire communities. The validity of these experiences is in no way diminished by a smartphone photograph on social media. I’m delighted to live in a time in which travel is changing, modernising and becoming more accessible than ever before. I don’t feel guilty about that anymore. They say you find yourself when you travel, and I always envisioned this as some unrecognisable, infinitely improved character who ticked all the boxes. I didn’t expect to find confirmation and reassurance that I was on the right path all along.