I am not phuct on China Beach
Looked like I was phuct last night, I stared into the malignant scowl of the "I'm getting out of here right now" monster.
I know I said this blog was done, but this is just too interesting.
Every little thing went smooth on this trip, and everything I did was right, until I landed in Vietnam.
In Changi airport, Singapore, I learned by email that I had given Thuy Le, my hostess near Hoi An, the wrong arrival date. I didn't count all those hours. So she waited at Danang airport for two hours and I didn't show.
Rushing through customs to get to her before she lost faith again and left, the world threw obstacles at me. A form I hadn't (seen or) filled out, time at the visa window, time at lost and found because my main bag got stuck in LAX and won't be here until later today (if).
She showed up all smiles and I learned - shoulda known - that she doesn't have a car, she's got a little bitty Honda scooter. She crammed my carryon between her legs, I got on the back, we did the 45 minutes to her place.
I put down my bags and took a walk to the beach. Joked with her that I'd get lost and spend the night shivering in the rain.
I did get lost. Her folks' place is behind a crowd of bigger-than-life Buddhist statues between two hotels. Can't miss it.
The street is lined with places selling big Buddhas, and I couldn't, in the dark, find two hotels divided by a crowd of them.
Finally I did, further down than I thought, and got back to be told I had to pack up and go. Her drunk dad had a fit about strangers in the house. I was her first Airbnb guest and I guess they hadn't really wired the old dude into it.
I realised also that because of the hurry I have no Dong. My money's all in US dollars.
She sets me up with a place next door, one of those hotels, for the same price. I get inside, and find that none of the wall plugs work. I can't recharge my electronics. That's critical; the battery on this Mac air drains fast and I'm going to have to do a lot on online work to get myself out of this.
On top of all that, nobody here even recognises that I'm trying to speak their language. The simple phrases I've learned mean nothing to them.
Seriously, I'm ready to get the fuck back to Peru on the next flight out.
But hey.
In the middle of the night I notice that the bathroom light is on; it wouldn't light up when I was testing the plugs. I try the laptop, the charger light comes on.
Main bugaboo bugs out.
Dawn. I fire up the internet (wifi's good and strong), start checking out other places. But on the walk to the beach - China Beach, the place that 80's Vietnam War series with the loopy Irish nurse takes place - I saw a hotel-type place with gringos knocking back beers, and a skinny local dude waves to me in English. So I check it out.
Now note, my bag is a day late. Thuy had a scooter. If my bag had been on time, no way we could have got it on that bike. It is big and heavy. And no place to leave it at the airport. Bad thing is good thing. And Thuy's room, well, I didn't like it. The cabinets were all clearly her family's and the only other thing in the room was her bed. I would not be comfortable there at all. But the place next door is a commercial hotel with a standard private room. So when her dad 86'd me, he did me a favor. Good thing.
This morning in the foyer, the little lady understood my Good morning and Thank you and lit up; and the rest - her man, sister, friend, gathered 'round and helped correct my accent and the like, all smiling. One man asked if I'd been to China Beach, the location in Vietnamese and then English, and since I had nothing to say in VN I just said, "Wet feet." They got that and laughed.
My room is chilly so I go out with the bomber jacket, but outside it is wet heat. Not oppressive, but too much for the jacket, so I take it back upstairs.
Here is Vietnam. Balmy, full of Buddhas and motorcycles and those mountains, those aren't American north or south; those aren't European. Those are cool chocolate drop hills from Chinese watercolors. And the air is different.
Hoa's not there yet, but his wife cooks me breakfast, and it's good, and it's cheap. Then he comes.
Hoa - he's on the web, he's been there for 26 years - speaks our tongue, he's been hosting gringo expats probably since the war and knows the slang. He's friendly and he's got rooms for $10, $15, and $20. He's kind of a legend.
The $20 has a balcony and looks out over the ocean. Damn. My dream. I've got a place right on the beach.
And, dig it, this is his new place. Just moved. First day open. I'm his first guest. He changes out my $US for Dong at a better rate than I had calculated ($1.00 = 22,569 Dong. Breakfast was Dong $4000). Cab to the airport will be about D15,000. I've run out of problems.
Now, wifi's not in yet; but he gives his word it'll be running today. So I'm still in the old place until maybe noon to keep wired.
If that comes true, I've run out of problems and I'm in a helluva place. So much to check out. Warm days and wide seas.
I want to tell you about the ride in last night.
On the back of Thuy's scooter, holding her lightly by the waist, nervous at first because I'm not confident of her skills and the streets are crazy crowded - thousands, no shit, of small bikes, weaving in and out of each other like a vast school of fish, like a great flock of of birds taking off over the sea, shifting and swirling. Dark falls, the night is warm, the city is strange,I learn to trust her; we thread across lanes of hundreds of bikes, tail lights and head lights like paper lanterns, all beeping but knowing the drill, making way for each other like, magically, impossibly - she cuts right across the flow of traffic four lanes wide to make a turn, and somehow it works. Riders come directly into traffic the wrong way at speed and everyone is cool with that. She makes a turn into slight traffic, quiet, there is a pagoda, then back into the luminous throng, I feel like I'm in a dream. Pressed up against her I'm tempted to get a hard-on, but I decline. Or am just too far gone. All the riders young and old with multicoloured helmets and raincoats. There's a guy with US kevlar on his head; a girl with an iridescent poncho flowing, a vast flight of others in the night.
Chào mừng bạn đến viet nam. Welcome to Vietnam. I've figured out what words I need to know next. I should be able to pull this off.
Looked like I was phuct last night, I stared into the malignant scowl of the "I'm getting out of here right now" monster.
I know I said this blog was done, but this is just too interesting.
Every little thing went smooth on this trip, and everything I did was right, until I landed in Vietnam.
In Changi airport, Singapore, I learned by email that I had given Thuy Le, my hostess near Hoi An, the wrong arrival date. I didn't count all those hours. So she waited at Danang airport for two hours and I didn't show.
Rushing through customs to get to her before she lost faith again and left, the world threw obstacles at me. A form I hadn't (seen or) filled out, time at the visa window, time at lost and found because my main bag got stuck in LAX and won't be here until later today (if).
She showed up all smiles and I learned - shoulda known - that she doesn't have a car, she's got a little bitty Honda scooter. She crammed my carryon between her legs, I got on the back, we did the 45 minutes to her place.
I put down my bags and took a walk to the beach. Joked with her that I'd get lost and spend the night shivering in the rain.
I did get lost. Her folks' place is behind a crowd of bigger-than-life Buddhist statues between two hotels. Can't miss it.
The street is lined with places selling big Buddhas, and I couldn't, in the dark, find two hotels divided by a crowd of them.
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| Mean Buddha Nice Buddha |
Finally I did, further down than I thought, and got back to be told I had to pack up and go. Her drunk dad had a fit about strangers in the house. I was her first Airbnb guest and I guess they hadn't really wired the old dude into it.
I realised also that because of the hurry I have no Dong. My money's all in US dollars.
She sets me up with a place next door, one of those hotels, for the same price. I get inside, and find that none of the wall plugs work. I can't recharge my electronics. That's critical; the battery on this Mac air drains fast and I'm going to have to do a lot on online work to get myself out of this.
On top of all that, nobody here even recognises that I'm trying to speak their language. The simple phrases I've learned mean nothing to them.
Seriously, I'm ready to get the fuck back to Peru on the next flight out.
But hey.
In the middle of the night I notice that the bathroom light is on; it wouldn't light up when I was testing the plugs. I try the laptop, the charger light comes on.
Main bugaboo bugs out.
Dawn. I fire up the internet (wifi's good and strong), start checking out other places. But on the walk to the beach - China Beach, the place that 80's Vietnam War series with the loopy Irish nurse takes place - I saw a hotel-type place with gringos knocking back beers, and a skinny local dude waves to me in English. So I check it out.
Now note, my bag is a day late. Thuy had a scooter. If my bag had been on time, no way we could have got it on that bike. It is big and heavy. And no place to leave it at the airport. Bad thing is good thing. And Thuy's room, well, I didn't like it. The cabinets were all clearly her family's and the only other thing in the room was her bed. I would not be comfortable there at all. But the place next door is a commercial hotel with a standard private room. So when her dad 86'd me, he did me a favor. Good thing.
This morning in the foyer, the little lady understood my Good morning and Thank you and lit up; and the rest - her man, sister, friend, gathered 'round and helped correct my accent and the like, all smiling. One man asked if I'd been to China Beach, the location in Vietnamese and then English, and since I had nothing to say in VN I just said, "Wet feet." They got that and laughed.
My room is chilly so I go out with the bomber jacket, but outside it is wet heat. Not oppressive, but too much for the jacket, so I take it back upstairs.
Here is Vietnam. Balmy, full of Buddhas and motorcycles and those mountains, those aren't American north or south; those aren't European. Those are cool chocolate drop hills from Chinese watercolors. And the air is different.
Hoa's not there yet, but his wife cooks me breakfast, and it's good, and it's cheap. Then he comes.
Hoa - he's on the web, he's been there for 26 years - speaks our tongue, he's been hosting gringo expats probably since the war and knows the slang. He's friendly and he's got rooms for $10, $15, and $20. He's kind of a legend.
The $20 has a balcony and looks out over the ocean. Damn. My dream. I've got a place right on the beach.
And, dig it, this is his new place. Just moved. First day open. I'm his first guest. He changes out my $US for Dong at a better rate than I had calculated ($1.00 = 22,569 Dong. Breakfast was Dong $4000). Cab to the airport will be about D15,000. I've run out of problems.
Now, wifi's not in yet; but he gives his word it'll be running today. So I'm still in the old place until maybe noon to keep wired.
If that comes true, I've run out of problems and I'm in a helluva place. So much to check out. Warm days and wide seas.
I want to tell you about the ride in last night.
On the back of Thuy's scooter, holding her lightly by the waist, nervous at first because I'm not confident of her skills and the streets are crazy crowded - thousands, no shit, of small bikes, weaving in and out of each other like a vast school of fish, like a great flock of of birds taking off over the sea, shifting and swirling. Dark falls, the night is warm, the city is strange,I learn to trust her; we thread across lanes of hundreds of bikes, tail lights and head lights like paper lanterns, all beeping but knowing the drill, making way for each other like, magically, impossibly - she cuts right across the flow of traffic four lanes wide to make a turn, and somehow it works. Riders come directly into traffic the wrong way at speed and everyone is cool with that. She makes a turn into slight traffic, quiet, there is a pagoda, then back into the luminous throng, I feel like I'm in a dream. Pressed up against her I'm tempted to get a hard-on, but I decline. Or am just too far gone. All the riders young and old with multicoloured helmets and raincoats. There's a guy with US kevlar on his head; a girl with an iridescent poncho flowing, a vast flight of others in the night.
Chào mừng bạn đến viet nam. Welcome to Vietnam. I've figured out what words I need to know next. I should be able to pull this off.
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| There may never be another good selfie mirror |
Great story and what a beautiful beach.20$! As for bad things that are good things, maybe just for safety say "the bad things that maybe, sort of, appear to be and could possibly be but probably won't be, good things" in case they just didn't notice that the bad things they planned for you turned into good things, eh?
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