But Not Over Nha Trang Enough Not To Have Another Crazy Night!
Thursday, 8th December, Perfume Grass Inn, Nha Trang, 8:55pm
So much for not having another big night for awhile! I think because the weather has -been so unconducive to sightseeing, the only thing to do in Nha Trang is have nutty, crazy, drunken nights, and then the gloomy, rainy day sleeping it off.
Last night we went for a walk to a restaurant that’s supposed to have nightly dancing and music. It was at a hotel called Viet Dong, which was quite a flashy looking place. The restaurant was a large warehouse-like affair, with many tables but few customers. We’re getting used to being one of two or three couples in restaurants though, since Nha Trang is really feeling the low season. The first thing we saw, though, was a scrawny kitten trotting around. Then we saw another kitten and the mumma cat, and they were all running around the place, under tables, through legs. They were very cute.
We started with a bottle of wine, figuring that financially we would be best off buying a bottle rather than single glasses. There were about three waiters helping us, because (I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before or not) the cost of labour in Vietnam is so low that they have about five people for the one job. You often see worksites with about thirty men standing around and one man working, and restaurants with ten wait-staff but only four or five customers.
It started bucketing down with rain not long after we’d sat down, so we were pleased with our timing. Then halfway through our meal, a cat wandered over.
“Give it a piece of your beef,” James said. I picked up a small piece and held it down (away from the waiters, so they couldn’t tell). The cat sniffed at it, then took it neatly from my fingers. The meat was gone in less than a second. Then the cat sat there. It sat and stared at me for over five minutes, not taking it’s eyes off for me for a second. It was crouched, staring with hungry, desperate eyes, while I whimpered about how unfair the cat was being. It wasn’t begging or being annoying, it was just sitting there watching. I succumbed and gave it a bit more meat, and then it trotted away again. We got some great photos of it staring up at me.
The dance-floor was flooded because it was under a section of open roof, but a couple of musicians played on the stage. It wasn’t anywhere near as special as hearing Joodia and Jesreel playing in Singapore, though. That was so intimate and special, knowing those girls were playing for this small group only, a song practiced just for family and friends. It was a privileged insight into their culture, as opposed to a paid performance. So we finished up our meals and our wine and decided to brave the rain for the walk back to the hotel (we were dying to watch this awful looking B-Grade movie that had been advertised for ages called “The Curse of the Komodo.” The title indicates the brilliant lameness we were anticipating). But the rain required more than braving. We bought a super-kickarse umbrella before leaving, one that’s designed not to be able to be blown inside out, but even this umbrella couldn’t protect us from getting saturated. By the time I got back to the room, my pants and my shirt were literally dripping with water, and required intense wringing out. James left to go get a bit more booze from a convenience store down the road.
After about twenty minutes, he came back and told me he’d just bumped into Jamie, who was playing pool at a café/restaurant called Guava. We decided to abandon “Curse of the Komodo” for pool and social interaction.
Everywhere in Asia has stupidly cheap happy hour deals, even when the alcohol is already cheap. I was drinking Vodka & Red Bull for less than $2, and James and Jamie were getting two beers for the price of one. Needless to say, after so much wine and vodka, it wasn’t long till I was getting a wittle bit pissy again. Guava being a bit more up-market, we decided to go back to Crazy Kim’s to hooker watch and nationality guess again. We’re such voyeurs!
But there weren’t many hookers in Crazy Kim’s, but we discovered something much cooler. Jenga! At the bar! So we settled in for a couple of games of Jenga (of which I lost, then Jamie, then me again, with James being the triumphant undefeated champion). But then we found our attention being drawn to a man sitting by himself at the bar. He was overweight, bald, and clearly American. And he was dancing. On the barstool. An awful, passionate, energetic air-guitar-esque jig, that was so ridiculous that all we could was laugh hysterically. Then we realised that another couple were also laughing, and we bonded over the weirdness of it all. Little did we know that this was only the beginning of a very, very amusing encounter with one of the most memorable characters we’ve met so far.
It began with the man suddenly deciding that his need to groove went behind the barstool and must be taken onto the dance floor. And no one else was dancing, so this guy was grooving and shaking all over the room. And he could move pretty well for an old, overweight guy! He was in time, and he was seriously dancing like no one’s was watching, which is cool. And the dance reminded me sooooo much of David Brent from The Office; hell, the guy even looked like David Brent (excluding his “little beard”). Being drunk and easily encouraged, I said,
“Dare me to go dance with him?”
Jamie and James were like,
“Oh you have to!”
Like I said, I don’t take much encouragement! Less than two seconds later I was grooving it along with the man. He said,
“I’m so hot right now! You’re making me so hot right now!”
But it wasn’t sleazy for some reason. It was just hilarious. He was American, and he said his name. Just when we thought it couldn’t get any better, he said his name. Lester. What gold! He was from California, and had a deep, thick accent, and turned out to be a pretty cool guy. I think he knew he was a total dag, and he was never going to be anything but a dag, so somewhere in his life he decided to just be the best dag he ever could. Go hard or go home. So we were making fun of him, but I reckon he was really aware of what a joke he was that he was almost playing it up for us. We have hilarious photos of him staring slack-jawed at my boobs, and grooving with a confidence that can only be afforded to people who just don’t give a shit what anybody, and I mean anybody, thinks.
Not long after I started dancing with him, the bloke from the other couple in the room joined us, and the three of us danced and posed for photos. Then I went back to James and Jamie, giddy with giggling and joy. Dancing with Lester was insanely fun. We started to chat with the couple, named Catherine and Adam, who were from England but moving to Melbourne. Well, Catherine was originally from Melbourne, but had lived in London for a couple of years, and they were now heading to Oz.
Then Lester took to the podium. I couldn’t resist. So we grooved again for awhile on the stage, and then Lester came over and chatted to us. James bought him a beer, knowing that we were using him as a source of hilarity for ourselves, so we had to apologise and express our appreciation at the same time. While James was gone, Lester said,
“So which one do I have to kill? You’re so beautiful, so who do I have to kill?”
But again it wasn’t sinister or sleazy, it was just funny, and he was just mucking around and we all knew it. I told him,
“Well, I’m still pretty happy with him, but maybe next week you can kill him.”
Lester turned his attention immediately to Catherine. We both laughed and I said,
“What a second! Are you over me that quickly??”
“Yeah, two seconds you’re all over her, and now you’re onto me?” Catherine said. Then James came back with the beer, and Lester was so stoked. He just kept saying “thank you” and “you’re great!”. Then he came up to me and said,
“I approve! You better marry this man, he’s a good man. I approve!”
James and I pretended we’d only just met, but Lester still insisted that we get married. By this time the bar was beginning to close, so we moved outside. Lester got on a scooter, and we parted ways with our wonderfully entertaining friend.
The next morning, we saw Catherine and Adam at breakfast. Catherine showed us their photos from the night before. There was a photo of Lester. He had a perfectly circular wet-patch at the front of his trousers. He’d pissed himself. The whole time, he’d been dancing around with urine dripping down his legs. After laughing in shock, I just felt so sad for him. James said that he’d been talking to him, and Lester had been saying,
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
But James had kept talking. But the weeing-himself thing had happened before that. In the dark of the bar we couldn’t tell. With the brightness of the flash it was so obvious it was painful. We tried to pretend he might have spilt his drink, but it’s just too unlikely that it could have formed such a perfectly circular wet-patch right over his crotch. Poor guy. But I still can’t help laughing, but more out of pity and disbelief than actual delight at someone’s inability to control their bladder. I guess when Lester throws himself into his dancing, he really, really throws himself into it.
So after parting ways with Lester James, Jamie, Catherine, Adam and myself headed to the Sailing Club again where it was Ladies Night, and Catherine and I got free cocktails. Our downfall was discovering that if you sip the cocktail, then tell the barman it’s not very strong, he’ll top it up with vodka for no charge. Needless to say, not long after we were so drunk that we could only stagger to the next bar. The Why Not bar again, where a table of hookers sat looking depressed at the lack of interested men around. All the backpackers were talking to other backpackers, and the hookers looked jaded and bored.
But then Catherine got the hiccups, and after several failed attempts to cure them (trying to teach someone how to drink water upside-down when you’re both drunk is beyond difficult), she disappeared. I went after her, and a man on a scooter refused to tell me which way she went, but would only tell me if I got on the scooter and paid him to take me to her. I was so pissed off with him. He drove along beside me, saying,
“I know where she went, you pay for ride.”
I just ended up turning around and going back to the pub, where I bumped into Adam, and then the two of us went looking for Catherine. We finally found her, and she and Adam went back to the hotel (they’re in the same hotel as us). I went back to the bar, and suddenly found myself with the hiccups as well. Jamie was feeling pretty sober and bored, so we all left. The nightwatchman was awoken to me calling,
“Hello? It’s only us again!” He was less groggy this time thanks to Catherine and Adam having woken him up earlier.
The next morning we decided to only go to the 10:30-11:30 session at the school, with the older kids. It’s much more rewarding and enjoyable working with the older kids because they’re at the pronunciation and explanation stage, as opposed to the basic spelling and grammar stage. It’s fun trying to explain complex words, or trying to explain the difference between words with two meanings. Today I worked with a boy named Hung, who was fourteen and sold postcards for work. He was sweet, and wore a “livestrong” wristband. I asked him if he knew what it meant, and he said,
“It means live a strong life, don’t get sick,” and then he patted over his heart. He said the wristband had cost him a lot of money, but he liked it. He was very receptive and attentive, and we chatted a lot about his life.
But before I talk about Hung, I have to emphasise how fucking awful the textbooks they’re using are. The questions make little sense, and there is no explanation of anything. The kids need a personal teacher each, but there just aren’t enough of us to go around. There have to way better books out there, and it’s sickening to see the crap they have to work with.
Anyway. So Hung sells postcards, and he asked with a cheeky smile if I might want one, but he didn’t persist. I explained that I was there to help him learn, not to buy from him. I figured helping him learn English would be much more beneficial than giving him $1, most of which would go to his “postcard pimp.” What’s the saying? Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day, show him how to fish and you feed him for a lifetime. (interception! There’s a documentary on TV about a baby panda and it is overwhelmingly cute! He looks a fuzzy raccon).
Hung is the youngest of five boys, one of whom is his twin brother. They both work selling postcards. One of his older brothers is in Saigon and another works in a dive shop. He said he loves diving, but he’s never actually gone because it’s too expensive. He wants to work in a dive shop when he’s older as well. He said sometimes he only earns 5000 Dong a day from the postcards, and he often earns nothing. Then he said,
“You know what he sell?”
He turns to the boy sitting behind us. The boy smiles in a quiet, cocky way.
“I sell the drug. You know what I mean?”
I just shake my head. He might be lying, but he’s still acting like it’s cool. He says,
“Put me in prison, don’t care.”
I tell him about Van Nguyen. He says,
“Don’t care, don’t care.”
Then the boy started bragging about how much money he had. He said he had so much money that he even had a wallet for it. Hung laughed and said loudly,
“If you have so much money, how come you at free school? You go to private school if you have money, not free school!”
And he laughed again. I said,
“That’s a good point.”
See, the communism in this country is so corrupt. What kind of self-respecting communist country doesn’t have free schooling or free medical? In Cuba they have free medical, free school, free everything. That’s the point of communism. But here, schooling costs more than most of the working class earn in a year. And if they have more than one kid, there’s no way they can possibly afford to send them all. Hung said one of his brothers got to go to school, but the rest only had the free school. We also heard that there are people here called VIPs, who live the high life. If any normal citizens are caught in corruption, they’re executed. If the VIPs are caught, they quietly retire. They have elections here as well, but they can only vote for members of the communist party.
After the class, we said goodbye to all the kids and went for lunch and a drink at Guava. We hung around for about an hour (Jamie, James and I), but James and I were so tired we decided to go home for a nap. We arranged to meet up again for dinner, as Jamie was leaving for Hoi An in the evening.
James and I slept the afternoon away, and around 5 we went back to Guava and drank very strong coffee and felt generally groggy and seedy. But Jamie didn’t come, unfortunately. We figured he must have had to catch an earlier train than expected, and we hope to catch up with him in Hoi An. I’m sure we will. He’s a really good guy, and has been a lot of fun hanging around with. He’s laidback, easygoing and good company. I do find myself saying really dopey things around him, but I put that down to a lack of sleep, the tendency to have consumed copious amounts of alcohol when we’re all together, and my general dopiness.
So we ate, and we read, and then I wrote. Also, there was a big blackout this afternoon, which was…interesting. Watching the Vietnamese attempting to repair it was jaw-dropping. One guy was up a pole with no safety harness, and ten men looking on, and then later a man stood on top of a bus, the bus reversed up to a power-line and the guy worked on the power-line while on the bus. Obviously Vietnam doesn’t have any cherry-pickers! We have power now, though, which is a relief. I thought we’d have to simply sit in the dark for the rest of our time in Nha Trang. We did get a candlelit dinner though, which was nice! Oh, and Jamie didn’t realise the power was out, he thought Nha Trang was just being ambient. James had been discussing how hard it had been going to the toilet in the pitch-black, and later, when Jamie confessed he didn’t know the power was out, I said,
“Why do you think James went to the toilet in the dark? Because he can’t stand to look at himself while he’s peeing or something??”
Jamie just laughed. Admittedly it had taken us several light-switch flickings to figure it out that morning, so it’s understandable that he hadn’t noticed.
Tomorrow we leave Nha Trang for Hoi An. We’re leaving a day earlier than expected, but this weather just ain’t clearing up. We’re hoping to have a few days in Hoi An so we can get suits made (it’s the place in South East Asia to get tailor-made suits for around $80-100USD, which is an awesome price). They can usually make the suits in 24-hours, which prompts images of sweatshops and people not sleeping. We’re going to take the bus. We also had a spontaneous brainwave earlier, and we want to investigate how much it’d cost to go to Hong Kong for Christmas, to go to Disneyland. I’m sure it will be ridiculously expensive, but we’re going to look into it because we can. We probably won’t do it, but just the fact that it’s possible that we could is so thrilling!! We wouldn’t have to pay for Visa’s either, and we could fly straight from Hong Kong to Laos where we to go ahead with the idea. Anyway, we need to do some extensive calculations first. It’s more the fun of being able to do whatever the hell we want at the moment!
Also, for the first time in my life I have seriously, seriously lost track of the days. Every time I write my journal, I have to check the date and the day on the laptop, and if anybody asks on the street what day it is we simply cannot answer it. I’ve never forgotten days like this. Often I have a momentary mind-blank, but here, no matter how hard we both think, we simply cannot tell you what day it is. Even though I know today is Thursday, for example, I don’t quite believe it. Days mean nothing to us anymore. It’s just a word. They hold no significance to us anymore, so they become merely markers for my journal entries. Today could be called Glubday for all the significance days currently hold.
We’ve only been gone for almost two weeks, and this journal is already over 25,000 words long. I’m very proud of myself for being so dedicated to writing it, and I don’t think I’d have been able to be so prolific if it hadn’t been for my time at KSP. I trained myself into writing for hours on end there, so now it doesn’t seem like a such a daunting task. I can happily write for two hours straight without a break, whereas before KSP I would probably have needed a break every 30 mins. And it helps to be writing about something as fun as a holiday!!