A night train in Vietnam is like anything else in Vietnam: crazy. People rushing, pushing, falling, and screaming to get to a train that could very well possibly leave without them. There are no platform numbers, few train "staff" (even fewer who speak English), and the police in green uniforms hardly offer comfort with their austere, unsmiling faces. I was saved by an equally-overwhelmed British couple and we all safely got out to the train...but didn't know which one was ours. Which mass of people do I follow? That mass of Vietnamese or that one? A girl who sat next to me in the waiting room, who also gave me a pitying face when I hoisted my now-too large bag on my back, came back for me and beckoned me to follow her. Once in my
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