The Great Snake Snack Disaster in Hanoi

OMG you guys, I gotta tell you about this *traumatic* solo travel moment that honestly turned into one of the funniest stories I now regale friends with—after I survived it, of course. So, buckle up, because this was not your typical "sipping coffee at a sunlit cafe" kind of trip.

I was backpacking through Southeast Asia last year, solo because honestly, I like the *ahem* independence and the fact that I don’t have to argue about what to eat with anyone. I was in Vietnam, just trying to soak in the culture, do some low-key exploring, live my best life. One afternoon, I decide to visit this super cool local market in Hanoi, you know, the kind with stuff you’ve never seen before and smells that are... interesting, to say the least.

So I’m there, wandering around, trying to take in everything, when I notice this guy selling what I now know are traditional delicacies. I spot what looks like some kind of snack—probably fried bugs or weird meat skewers—and I think, "Hey, why not? I’m here to experience everything." I buy this little packet of what I thought were spicy dried fruit or something, it looked kind of familiar.

Fast forward, I sit down on a tiny plastic stool, start munching on my "delicacies," and immediately realize—wait, these are *not* dried fruit. They’re...something else entirely? Turns out, it was preserved, dried snake meat. Yep. I’d unknowingly bought sliced snake, probably some sort of local specialty. It’s kinda chewy but also a little slimy, and I’m trying to be polite and not make a face in front of the locals, who are all watching me like I’m an alien.

Anyway, no big deal, right? I keep eating, trying to look chill, when suddenly I feel something really weird happening. My stomach starts doing *that* gurgling, loud enough to get the attention of nearby vendors. I think, “Nope, gotta get out of here,” but I’m sort of stranded because I don’t speak much Vietnamese and don’t want to look like a total foreigner panic monster.

Here’s where it gets hilarious (or horrifying): I start to feel the *urgent* call of nature. Bad timing, right? I glance around desperately, realizing there are no public restrooms nearby, only tiny alleyways full of laundry and chickens. My brain is like, *you can hold it, just walk somewhere discreet.* Great plan.

I attempt to stand up and walk, but just as I do, I kinda…falter. My stomach is twisting into what I can only describe as a 3D roller coaster ride. I swear I looked like a cartoon character knocked over by a tornado. I stumble off my little stool just in time to realize that, oh no, I am *not* holding it anymore.

I sprint into the nearest alley, which, as it turns out, is the local “public” bathroom. Turns out it’s just a hole in the ground with a flimsy wall—*not* a toilet, just a makeshift outhouse. And yes, it was in use by a bunch of local guys who probably weren’t expecting a random tourist chick to come barging in mid-deep squat.

*Bad* decision.

I try to apologize, but honestly, with the panic, I just mutter “Sorry! Sorry!” and lock the door, praying I don’t get trapped. The worst part? My bag—my backpack that I’d left outside—literally fell over, and I realize I have a front-row seat to my own epic disaster. I’m sh*t out of luck (literally), and I just *lose* it for like two minutes straight because WTF life, right?

When I finally exit, looking like I’ve been through a war zone, some local guys are standing just outside eyeing me like I’ve just broken some local law. I’m trying to act casual but as soon as I walk out, I see all my stuff on the ground and, honestly, must have looked like I aged 10 years.

So that’s my story. I learned a few things that day: 1) never trust street snacks blindly; 2) viet bathrooms are *not* what you expect; 3) solo travel means you gotta be kind of prepared for total chaos. But honestly? I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything. The locals? They all just sort of smiled, shook their heads, and went back to their laundry.

Now I have this legendary story, and I guarantee anyone I've told it to now looks at me differently. Like I’m some kind of brave, fearless explorer who can survive snake snacks and public toilets in a foreign country. Nope. Just a total amateur who got overwhelmed by her own guts and poor planning.

But hey, next time I see dried snake on a menu, I’ll think twice—and probably order something safer, like a bowl of noodles.

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