The return

By the time the bus wheezed its way back into Đà Lạt, my spine had filed a formal complaint with the United Nations. I’d bounced across half of southern Vietnam and the edge of Cambodia in a berth sized for a garden gnome. I was sweaty, sore, and in dire need of a hot shower and a cup of coffee the size of my ego.

But none of that mattered.

Because she wa…