The hardest thing about being a nomad without a real end date is figuring out where you’re going next, if anywhere at all. I’ve spent a fair amount of time at this point sitting around the morning I need to check out of a place looking at flight and bus itineraries as well as other hotel and AirBNB options close by.

So…no, life isn’t hard at all. But there is certainly some stability to having structure. On days when I haven’t slept and I’m on the go, I can spend a good 5 hours or more just contemplating the question of what to do next.

As my time in Cambodia was winding down, I decided to go across the border to Vietnam. I remember being in high school and looking at the brochure for a summer exchange program, and that’s when Vietnam first captured my imagination. The Mekong Delta, the treks. Later on in college when one of my great known joys was to order the mountainous appetizer platter from Saigon Grill and go to town on some Bun Xao noodles and a mild stir-fried chicken curry, the food component entered the equation. After college, I met a social scientist and researcher who spent a lot of time working in Vietnam, and all he could do was rave about the culture, the scenery, and the food. It was cemented. Earlier this summer, I found myself booking, canceling, and rebooking flight itineraries to Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi.

Given all this context, I expected my entry into the country to be a bit more momentous and planned rather than a yawning offhanded last-minute decision. A few days before leaving my retreat at the Vagabond Temple, I had one of those big overwhelmed travel research moments. Visas are notoriously a pain to get, but from Cambodia, it is very easy for Americans to get visas for Vietnam.

A woman showed up at my “hotel” with a badly photographed piece of paper, the form fields grainy and photocopied on a slight bias (actually, it was a lot more than slight). I completed the information and handed over $45 USD (all Cambodian ATMs dispense USD, and it is the currency of preference in the country). The next day, she came back and handed me my passport with a visa stamp on it. It was much cheaper than doing it in the US, and MUCH cheaper than doing a visa on arrival at one of the two major airports, where they also charge a $135 “stamping fee” on top of the visa fee.

The next day, I showed up in front of a guy’s shop at 6:30am. He rolled up his travel agency front grate, and his wife and child were still asleep on the floor, which was practically only big enough to fit the three of them laying down. It is hard to explain how I felt at that moment exactly. I had been complaining so much in my mind about the dorm conditions at my retreat only to see this family sleeping on top of a thin blanket on the ground of their shop. Sometimes it really can be hard to appreciate what you have and own – so easy to take things for granted, to hyperfocus on the little tiny details that may be askew in your otherwise extremely privileged life.

At 7am, I boarded a mini-van and embarked on my 4-hour $12 journey to Phnom Penh. A day later, I was on the next leg of my trip, a 7-hour $18 bus ride to Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam.

The dark greenery and red mud hues of Cambodia gave way to accented Western printed signs with many hats and dashes over letters. Dazed, we got into the craziness of Ho Chi Minh City, more commonly referred by its old pre-independence name – Saigon.

At this point, I had lost yet another ATM card, and I was down to the final one. I withdrew some money and was flagged down by a taxi driver who said he would use the meter. What should have been a 22,000 dong ($1) ride was 360,000 dong. He insisted that it was the meter and that he wouldn’t be able to bring me to the door of my hotel. I realized what was happening as I handed over the 500,000 note bill, but it was too late.

I’ve been out of NYC for too long at this point. Back to the city and its lights. I pulled out my big silver turtled imprinted 26 kg suitcase, strapped my guitar on my back, and hurled my fraying kelly green Tumi shoulder bag on top and found myself dazed among the lights. Scooters, people, cars surrounding and weaving around me. I inched forward slowly as the traffic adjusted inch by inch around me as I moved forward looking at the blue dot move towards the star I had been prescient enough to save and mark on my Google maps.

And then finally, I made it to my hotel, Christina’s, referred to me by my friend Mark. The concept of the hotel is to create an experience and a home away from home. In that moment, I needed to grasp at what was familiar and appreciated this little oasis in the concrete jungle. As I closed the gate behind me, I let out a sigh and reminded myself to let it go.

The months out of the city had made me very soft and squishy.