Last month in Vietnam, I started The Postcard Club. The plan was simple: buy postcards from a local shop, write a handwritten note to each member, and mail them off.
The problems began when I couldn’t find any postcards I liked. They all felt overly calendar-photo-y. So I thought, maybe I’ll just sketch a little street scene and have a local printer make copies.
I went to a coffee shop and sketched a scene—one I was only about 40 percent content with, but I was running out of time.
From there, I rode my scooter to a printer using Google Maps, only to discover the store no longer existed. Before leaving, I noticed a sign that said they had moved 250 meters away.
I rode over to the new location. A guy at a desk stared at his computer, glanced at me briefly, then pointed to a sign instructing customers to upload their documents. After some back and forth, we eventually got postcards printed with my watercolor sketch on them.
Now I just had to write the notes and send them.
The next day, I returned to the coffee shop and wrote handwritten messages to those of you in the club.
It was nice—reflective, relaxing. I felt like maybe I was providing a useful service.
All that was left was finding a post office.
That doesn’t really exist in Vietnam the way it does in the United States. I was advised to use a private mailing service instead. So I scootered across town, only to find that, once again, the business had closed. (Tough times for the paper industry, man!) The new owner—who now sold jewelry—wasn’t sure where the mailing service had moved.
No worries. There was one other place I could go, and it was open for another 45 minutes.
I hopped on my trusty scooter and made great time, arriving with 30 minutes to spare. 
Only the door was chain-locked shut. A woman nearby walked over and pulled down the steel security cage.
I asked if this was the mailing office and pointed out that Google Maps said it was open for another 30 minutes.
She chuckled, shook her head, and walked away—clearly communicating that I had no idea what I was talking about.
And she was right.
I ran out of time.
We boarded our flight to Bangkok with my homemade, handwritten, printed, watercolor-designed postcards safely tucked inside my Fred Rogers book, subtitled Things to Remember Along the Way. And one of those things to remember is that it’s difficult to promise postcards mailed from Vietnam when you have no idea what’s actually involved.
So you’ll be getting them from Thailand instead.
Love,
Aaron
P.S. If you’re curious, the Postcard Club is just what it sounds like — a handwritten postcard from wherever we are, once a month. You can read about it here.