Victoria C, Thailand-Vietnam
In Vietnam, they wear the conical hats and paddle by in slender canoes that weave through bamboo forests alone creeks a few feet deep, and pineapple plants sometimes appear, with the fruit popping forth from the thick leaves. We stare at the vines from the boat, sweating, burning, observing, our pale skin alight with whatever sunlight has pierced through the foliage. In the city, they cover their faces and swerve on motorbikes, they die in truck collisions, they slurp bowls of rice noodles and pork, they appear on every corner with watches and guidebooks, they mingle in the park, they try on pink skirts and polo shirts and flip flops with their socks on, the sandal’s thong dividing the fabric between the toes and they walk forth in the burning rays, wholly covered, intelligently covered, to protect themselves as the tourists sweat intheir high-waist shorts and low-neck tops.
