Emma is Helpful

Many a thing has happened since returning from the adrenalin pumping Batu Ferrenghi.  Almost too much to keep up with!  Not only did Frenchie and I flash the proverbial vs to all the red tape that said that as two citizens of the world living outside our passport countries, and loving those of different political nationalities and with a history of cultural antagonism, we could not breeze through a wedding ceremony with the ease that a middle class, daughter of the village brownie pack leader and son of the butcher could have done and get legally married (long sentence), I also managed to prepare a picnic for four, remember all the important documents (including my and others' passports) and I am yet to lose the marriage certificate: a catastrophically impressive achievement in my books!

I then came home and consolidated my eighteenth to twenty second words in Vietnamese (see you later, fish, water, tree), returned to school, and, oh, had a visit from these two goddesses:

Who, frankly, exposed my so-called Li Hi expat lifestyle by floating across busy roads, navigating themselves without maps, remaining hydrated and without the runs, catching horribly early and late flights without complaint and jumping in and out of taxis like they'd been here for years. Slightly put out that my life wasn't as challenging as I'd made out to everyone, I drove a little faster on my moped and stopped for street food that was only a tiny bit likely to make me ill!  That's right! And I practically speak fluent Vietnamese now that I know the words for 'fish' and 'water'. That's pretty much a sentence. 

On my way home from school on Friday, though, I was once again reminded of the differences between Saigon and the Home Counties when I rode past a lady who had come off her bike and was twitching upsettingly in the middle of the road. Having only recently had a less dramatic and spasmy crash myself, I was moved to help rather than drive past and leave it to the experts, especially as everything seemed to be happening furiously slowly, whilst this poor woman still lay fitting in the road. 

So. Like the heroine I am, I discarded my bike by the side of the road and authoritatively smacked the door of a passing taxi so that it stopped. In teacher mode, I took charge and two men, disregardful of potential spinal injury, picked her up and slung her on the back seat. I jumped in front, making soothing noises and holding the lady's hand (thinking, 'what should one do?  Should one be worried about choking on vomit, or putting her in the recovery position, or checking airways?'), and off we sped to the hospital. 

After that, it wasn't very exciting. I left the lady at the hospital, and I hope she is okay now, and got back in the taxi to pick up my bike. The taxi driver, Thong, having established that I wasn't the lady's friend, told me I was a very good person. I humbly agreed and taught him the word for 'saint' so that when he retold the story to his mates over a beer, he could refer to me thus. The police were all over the place when I got back and initially, I think I was the target of police rage before Thong explained that I had in fact been the saviour of the incident (I taught him the word 'saviour', too) and then all the police and the curios bystanders waved me off into the sunset calling, 'thank yoooooouuuu!'  I waved at them, satisfied at the recognition and warm and fuzzy inside at having done a good deed without having my bike impounded.