There are a few laws of the land I have discovered here in Vietnam. 1) There is no translation for 'excuse me.' If someone is in your path, someone be damned. Do not even feign the effort to politely scoot to the side or give a slight, if benevolent head nod in recognition of what you are about to do or soon intend on doing. By all means, just push through. 2) The louder the better. Whether in a restaurant or crowded train speaking at any volume and with any level of emphasis is absolutely acceptable, encouraged if you're a child. A parent must never dissuade said child from screaming at inopportune times, perhaps in fear it would upset the gods? 3) There are no traffic laws. The lights are for decoration and the signs are mere suggestions. If you believe, as a pedestrian you, have the right of way, you are sorely mistaken- even when on paved sidewalk. 4) Public urination- A-OK! If you gotta go you gotta go. Young, old, male, female - drop trow and let it go. It's only natural, right? And lastly, 5) The time, distance or cost of something is only a matter of opinion. If you ask 10 people how long the train takes from Hanoi to Saigon, you will receive a minimum of 8 answers. If you'd like to purchase a Coca Cola at the store, the cost of the beverage will be calculated with an algorithm taking into account the clerk's mood and your skin color and/or apparent wealth.
Word on the street was Ho Chi Minh mausoleum was closed this Super Bowl Monday so I nixed my morose plans and went in what would be my last jog around Hoan Kiem Lake. Having yet to repeat a country there are moments, more and more as I visit different places, where I become terribly aware, and a bit melancholy, that this will likely be the one and only time I am in this place. Sure, life is sort of like that - moving at the speed of light with days spent or lost, never to return, but this somehow feels different. I made special note on my last lap and headed back into the intestinal tract of roadways to shower, change, and face the day.
Tet, or the Lunar New Year, had left the city pretty mellow, limiting options for activities and cultural experience, but allowing me the freedom to feel comfortable doing little at all. Either in my never-ending quest to become the fattest person on the planet or inspired by Anthony Bourdain I toured the town one last go round on an gastronomic journey. Restaurant 96 provided me with my main meal of the day - a dish titled something along the lines of fried noodles with chicken - but something I deemed Top Ramen with red sauce. It was sufficient and served it's purpose, allowing me to quietly dine and to meet a nice Canadian gay who has signed up for the restaurant's cooking class and who informed me of Phillip Seymour Hoffman's untimely passing. Something about becoming a parent just makes addiction and suicide a non-option in my opinion. Still, sad news.
Having purchased some snacks for impending 20-hour train ride to Da Nang (as the train does not go directly to Hoi An) I swung back by the hostel to store my goodies in my ever burgeoning bag and immediately became engrossed in conversation with a nice couple in their sixties from Bismarck, North Dakota. Linda was feisty and a bit of a world traveler and her husband John was a warm Vet clearly very in love with his wife. We chatted, about travel and life and family. I was very honest and open an personal, as I know no other way, and when we parted ways Linda gave me the sort of hug that almost makes you cry. She told me to 'keep on keeping on' and then held me in an embrace for far longer that makes me comfortable, but just long enough to convey her message of love.
Having not consumed enough refined sugars and white carbs for one day, I walked a couple blocks north to the main drag of outdoor seating where I had had my obligatory local Biere LaRue just the night before. Today's menu was sweet potato fries and lemon juice - a sort of home made lime aid served all over the country that blows Country Time out of the water! Some people watching was had, mostly of school aged girls giggling over their respective plates of fried foods served with both ketchup and chili sauce.
With a couple hours to spare and a real hankering for something sweet (I told you, I'm repulsive) I headed down to the lake, past the puppet theatre to purchase a pre-fab strawberry sugar cone for 30,000 dong and watch the last of the Tetacular impromptu photo shoots in front of the ornate floral displays take place.
My bags packed, I loaded up and headed out the door of 85 Hang Bac in search of the train station and warmer days ahead.
I made it there on motorbike (luggage in tow) and boarded car 9, bed 23 to Da Nang. Having paid 60 American dollars for my ticket, I knew accommodation would not be posh, but I had no idea I was booking a bed in a sarcophagus for 6. Being on the top bunk, yet again, I had to watch a fellow traveler Peter Parker his way up to the 4 feet of space before I could figure out how to do it myself. With not a square (inch) to spare I was feeling a bit claustrophobic, but took some deep breaths, pulled out my book and thought to myself - only 20 hours to go.
The rules of in Vietnam that I mentioned above all apply here with cramped quarters and screaming children. The air conditioning vent was temperamental and located directly above my larynx so I woke hourly to dig around in my bag, pull out whatever form of apparel I could locate in the dark and assess my brand new set out housemates, seemingly growing exponentially as we chugged along. I tried to sleep through the entire ordeal, as sitting up was not an option and the food car consisted of Cup-a-Noodles cart coming by bi hourly - I felt trapped.
When I could sleep no more I rose and went to stand in the hallway, a three foot gap between coffin door and smudged window where, much like the open markets, small plastic seats can be set up for socializing and the general impediment of those wanting to get by.
After witnessing some truly gorgeous vistas of lush jungles and untainted beaches bathed in morning light, two nice older women with a little boy who liked his photo taken offered me on of their plastic perches, and that is just where I remained until deboarding at Da Nang.
I knew nothing about Da Nang, and was really only using it as stopover for a day, but once I saw the warm and inviting weather immediately decided to stay an extra day. A pushy motorbike cabbie brought me to Sea Wonder Hotel where I had booked another dorm, only for twice the cost of my previous abodes. Once inside the room I saw why. 4 twin beds lined up nicely against a wall opposite a TV and a seemingly functional bathroom. It was like of died and gone to trump tower. The wifi in the rooms was icing on the cake.
Without bothering to shower, I freshened up, brushing my teeth for the first time in what seemed like days, and switching out of my Mary Kate and homeless Olsen garb to once again, put on my beach wear, still smelling of Phu Quoc.
The receptionist at Sea Wonder was exceedingly helpful and directed me to Dragon Bridge, a bridge that unites downtown with the beach side and is adorned with large yellow sheets of metal, creating the actual artifice of a dragon. The bridge feeds directly into the Cham Museum, housing ancient sculptures. Neither site was quite as interesting and the continuous 'hi' and 'hellos' I got from inside homes, businesses, and people motorbiking down the street. Kids and adults alike were pleased to use their very limited English on what seems like one of the very few white people they see in these parts. It was both charming and unnerving.
Walking in the sun and looking at boring art had worked me up quite an appetite and I figured Thai food might be a good call - seeing as I am just next door. Still not holding a candle to Ploy II on Haight Street I am afraid, but it was the perfect hole-in-the-wall and when the sun is shining and the breeze off the ocean is making your mane look like you're in a Sisqo video there is very little to complain about.
When entering Da Nang it seemed to have a decent sized commercial area and I went searching for something of interest. I found that in the form of a frothy beverage at Highlands Coffee, a chain I have seen all over the place that provides comfortable outdoor seating and today, luckily enough- ideal people watching. Unless the local theatre is putting on a production of 'Grease', I just got to bear witness to the real life Asian Danny Zuko and his T-bird brethren. With two ladies silently flanking their sides a group of young men in leather jackets and pompadours boisterously chatted while their pink ladies looked on adoringly. It was a seen torn from the pages of K pop weekly!
After they Grease-Lightening'd out of there I took a leisurely walk home. The reviews on hostels.com had mentioned the downside of this lodging to be the distance to the city and it is quite a walk, but the night was mild and the bugs largely at bay. Now, sitting here upon my bed I am left pondering, to stay in or not to stay in - that is the question.
No comments:
Post a Comment