Vietnam: Naomi Campbell Crazy

I suppose this one is partially my fault. Sometimes I’m too… accommodating for my own good.
Back before How I Met Your Mother became a spoof of itself – a very, very bad spoof – it had some truly brilliant comedic moments. The day reminds me of Barney Stintson’s Hot vs. Crazy Scale.

I wandered around the nearby market, searching for belated Christmas presents for my family. It proved a frustrating trip, since I found one great present for my 2 year old nephew, but struck out with the rest of my hunt. I’m known for finding good gifts. Still, I found one quality present and at about a fifth the price of what I’d seen it in the District 1 Tourist market, plus my money went towards a street seller who I’m sure needed the money more than the tourist trap.

Boxing Day at a nearby Catholic Church.

I walked into a nearby Catholic church just to see what decorations the denomination put for the holiday. Their Southeast Asian attempts at the nativity scene were… entertaining to say the least. The church hung streamers with red stars (fitting for communist Vietnam) and one deciduous tree was bedecked with Christmas presents which made for a festive touch. Due to the this tropical climate, the church even made a green and silver tinsel evergreen tree. The padre wore traditional black robes but donned a red and white Santa hat to set the mood.

So far, so good. I amble through the courtyard enjoying the various attempts at the birth of Jesus, minding my own business when a woman around my age approaches me to take a picture with her. Which, isn’t as odd as it seems. Out in Go Vap I’m still very much a rare sighting. I smile and pose with her. Then she coaxes her friends to pose with me. Then, she co-opts my camera to take the photos which strikes me as a bit weird.
I go with it though. Great thing about digital cameras is the delete button.

Soon her friends leave and I’m stuck with Vy and her massive stuffed pig she received as a gift from her students. Her English proves excellent, and as she’s an English teacher working on her Master’s degree that makes sense. Vy isn’t pretty, she’s 32 and a chubby but she speaks excellent English and seems genuinely fun and in love with life. I have zero romantic inclination towards her, but it never hurts to have another friend in a foreign land. Something seems off, but I can’t put my finger on it and hopefully it’s just me being wary, instead of anything she’s doing.

She offers to help me find what I want to get my brothers. Without overthinking it, I hop on the back of her motorbike wearing a too small helmet and we zip off to the super market.

Going into the underground parking is like a motorcycle lane to Hades, with a traffic jam of bikes queued up to find a space. Vy manages to drop her hair band on the ramp, I hop off and pick it up, when I climb back on, the extra weight nearly sends us plowing through the bunched bikes.

Inside the supermarket, she instructs me to pick up a shopping basket. I do. Already I find it easier to not try to out-talk her as that seems an impossibility. She’s a chatty Cathy. Fair enough, I can deal with that.

The supermarket doesn’t have what I’m looking for but that’s ok, we wander the aisles and things… veer sideways at a frightening velocity. My basket, still empty, goes from being used for carrying things to acting as my shield. In the space of the clothes department she links her arm through mine and plays with my arm hair.
The warning klaxon keens on low because there is less personal space in Asia and everybody here is fascinated with armhair. Men and women don’t have it, the kindergarten kids will spend minutes just idly pulling and plucking at it; however, before we’ve cleared the shirts she’s putting her head on my shoulder.

Um… no. I don’t know if there’s a level of hot that invites someone to barnacle themselves to my side with this insta-level of intimacy. Especially with it being 2pm and not 2am, and there being no alcohol involved.

Festive trees disarm those of the approach of a crazy person.

That basket switches arm to arm as I try to fend off her advances to little avail.

Before I can escape, she already trucks me onto the bike and whisks me off further from home, fortunately it’s along a major arterial route so I know where I am and have escape options. She picks a cafe for a late lunch and chooses to sit indoors in the air conditioned room, which would have been more appealing if not for the stale scent of cool, regurgitated cigarette smoke that acted as an air freshener for the place.

The TV plays a Christmas movie, a comedy that she seems to find hilarious. It’s a Tim Allen movie – unless the title includes Toy and Story there is about 0 chance of hilarity. It’s not Toy Story. It’s not funny. But she seems to find it a laugh riot. She plops her pig down on a seat and pretty much manhandles me into the love seat and sits beside me.
Sit is an understatement. Aggressively snuggle-attacks me.

I lean as far from her as possible, throw up nothing but negative body language, but clearly this is a tongue she doesn’t comprehend. When I lift up my foot and lay my arm along my leg, she weasels her arm in the gap and caresses my knee.

Seriously! This is Naomi Campbell level crazy. And she’s not nearly hot enough to try to pull anything like this off. Bizarrely she talks about her fiancée in South Africa, another boyfriend in Australia. How she’s pretty, smart, fun and funny and loves them because they’re rich and powerful and handsome… while aggressively caressing whatever part of my body I am not actively defending.

Finally the food arrives and the pizza ended up being the highlight of my “date” with Vy.

She promised to pay for the meal with a coupon, which isn’t valid today, so I end up paying a whole 100 000 Dong for lunch. Not a problem.

At this point I inform her that I’m going to take the bus home and that it’s been… fun, let’s go with fun, and good luck and nice meeting you…
and I’m out the door and up the street and hop on the first bus that swings by… the beloved 18 as I know this takes me back towards home and mercifully away from this clingy, loony spacecase.

I depart the bus and before it clears the traffic light…
Oh Sweet Merciful Fucking Gods of Insanity…
Vy zips up on her motorbike, having followed the bus for a good 5 kilometres because…
“We must trade emails and addresses and phone numbers so we can share those pics we took.”

Really? Really! You didn’t cotton on I am running for my life in terror from you? I quickly whip up a fake email address, conveniently lose her information and head into any store to so she can’t follow me to my hotel.

This girl is so crazy though, I fairly certain she’ll be ‘casually driving’ around and around and around the area.
There isn’t any level of hotness that can overcome her unique brand of Naomi Campbell Crazy.


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