I think the majority of these things start out along the lines of, “well, I was planning to do this earlier, buuut…” And this time is no different, it would seem. Actually, the only reason I’m getting around to writing now is that there is some major flooding going on outside and I already spent the majority of the morning soaking wet.
I promised talk of Nha Trang last time, so I’ll start there. Nha Trang is like the Honolulu of Vietnam; pretty good beaches with an active atmosphere, some mountains in the background, and even A Marts in place of the ABC Marts. The first day started off great; it was beautiful and sunny, and I spent the day lounging around with some Dutch girls from my hostel.
But around the last afternoon dip of the day, I noticed the beach had become slightly more…disgusting. There were plastic bags floating around the water, trash left on the sand; even the weather turned ugly. So we decided it was a good time to say adios; but as I stood up with one of the Dutch girls, a group of Vietnamese men on nearby lounge chairs beckoned us over excitedly. We moseyed on over in cautious curiosity. As we approached, one man pointed at another and said, “it’s his birthday!” That man raised his beer and, motioning at himself with the same hand, said, “my birthday!” We wished him many happy returns, to which they responded by handing us some beers. After a round of cheers and singing, they offered us some meat. The lucky Dutch girl happened to be vegetarian, so she could in good conscience turn it down, but I felt obligated to take it. I think I can pretty accurately describe it as a bologna-flavored tire. When they weren’t looking, I hid the rest in my pocket before quickly finishing the beer and saying goodbye. Still, I was impressed by their generosity.
I spent the evening with some post-college Canadian girls traveling in a quartet (which sounds kind of awesome, but also like it might be crazy stressful), who encouraged me to try the mud baths nearby. So the next day, I suited up for a dirty submersion. The baths were more like tiny jacuzzis, and I got put in one with a French Canadian couple. This was a very exciting experience for me, because I think of French Canadians as one of those rare anomalies that you know exist, but you almost don’t believe it because you never see them. Like platypuses–French Canadians to me are like the platypus: real, but not quite right. Hearing them speak in English with a heavy French accent, but knowing they come from the Great North…it warmed the cockles of my heart. And my bath. Because three in a bath can get warm.
To round out the mud bath day, I returned with the English Canadians to the exact same Texan restaurant we had visited the night before– which might not have been as strange if we didn’t all sit down in the exact same seats – and if I hadn’t witnessed some tensions rising at one point– I’m telling you, a group of girls can be a dangerous thing.
The funny thing about hostels is how the people rotate. So the next morning, I woke up and said good-bye to the Dutch girls and the Canadians, and when I came back from snorkeling, I said hello to a group of Brits. Or more specifically, I said hello to a London-located Lithuanian who was traveling solo, and then the full-blooded Brits arrived, and their ambassador informally (read: accidentally) introduced himself to me as I was halfway through changing after a shower. So of course that lead to everyone walking over to the bar next to Texas and playing a rousing (read: debilitating) game of King’s Cup, and it goes without saying that the night ended in two robberies (that we know about, at least). But my favorite part of the night was when the waiter taking our orders suddenly looked across the table at the Lithuanian, pointed, and said, “Same same Harry Potter!” Because truth be told, I had definitely been thinking it (though of course it is not the same as being with the one true Hera Potter).
I spent two more days in Nha Trang; swimming, doing a mini-motorbike tour of some temples and giant Buddhas, and getting one of the best massages ever at a blind massage center. I went back for a repeat stress defeat the next day; and I’m sure you can imagine my surprise as I was getting ready and the masseuse walks in the room…clearly not blind.
Talk about an awkward situation. I mean, is it rude to be like, “Hey, you’re not blind!”? I’m not sure if I’ve encountered a situation where someone is criticized for not having a disability. So I just went with it– and I found that the old adage does ring true. Strong eyes, weak hands.* I decided that was all the time I needed in Nha Trang, so I hopped on a night bus and galloped off into the sunset for Hoi An, the Land of Tailors.
But that is for another blog post. If anyone has actually made it to this point, you deserve a pat on the back and a big kiss on the lips (not from me though; I don’t really feel up for it).
*not a real adage.**
**I was disqualified in a spelling bee in 5th grade over the word adage.
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