We’ve made it to this place in Vietnam; 40+ hours on a bus through some of the most beautiful country I’ve seen. Mountains interrupt vast floods of rice fields out the left window of our bus, and on the right, the waves of the South China Sea are so close I can taste the salt. The farther north we go, the more our efforts return to us in the unveiling of beauty that this country holds. We clamor through towns in our bus that are built on nothing more than what rice farming can provide, others have more boats in their water than they do motorbikes on their streets; and if you were to put a resort in any one of these places, given the foreground of the the sea and the backdrop of the mountains, it would be sure to draw the mundaneness of exotic seeking tourist.
It begins to rain and everyone on the bus has begun to shiver; coming from the south in shorts and T-shirts. We’ve lost a good 20 degrees and I actually begin to realize it truly is winter in the world, something Ive forgotten having not experienced it this year. Its been 5 months since I’ve seen rain like it is now. Unrelenting cold wet rain. The kind that blocks out the sun and makes you want to lay in bed all day, and maybe not have someone (because you don’t want to put anyone else out) bring you soup, but it magically appearing somehow so that you don’t have to get up and put your feet on the floor because its cold. Mountains, the sea, rain, these quaint towns, cold weather, fog; all things welcomed in my life.
Its 2am and 54 degrees. I’m shaken out of that sleep that isn’t really sleep at all because either your knees are banging the seat in front of you, or the configuration that you somehow have gotten your legs into that was comfortable for maybe 3 minutes, has now made both your legs completely numb; and every time the bus hits a rock in the street it feels like 5 needle grenades exploded on the floor around you. The bus stops. The driver tells us this is the place. We’re the only ones getting off. People wake up and stare at us, something we’ve gotten used to, except most of the people on this bus are westerners so it feels strange again.
An hour later we’ve found our way to a hotel who’s beds run a close 2nd to the grass they have out front, but the beds have comforters and its a cold 3am. After 40 something hours it doesn’t much matter anyway, I’m just happy to get completely horizontal. The next morning our search for a more affordable place to stay has gotten us in an urban backpacking scavenger hunt through the town. A town of which knows very little of “tourist”, given away by the constant stares and snickers of the passing motorbikes and the fact that the vendors on the street aren’t swooning us, but instead stuck in a deadpan glare of wonder.
Through the translation of a friend on the telephone, our first choice fails us. Its Tet holiday and mostly everything is closed. The guesthouse manager has said he is afraid the police will come and check his place and find us and want to ask us questions. He doesn’t speak English so he fears trouble explaining why he has 5 Americans and 1 Canadian in his place, in a place where tourist don’t come. We continue walking down the street and a few people stop in a wine store. What are they doing? Lets go. The girl at the desk speaks English, shes the first; home from University to see her family. I had missed it, there is a hotel over the store. The hotel is closed for the holiday. A holiday that rivals Christmas and New Years in the western world, and arguably more family oriented. I sit outside and wait while some of the girls talk to the one English speaking native we’ve come across and try to get some help. We should really work on our Vietnamese, but 6 tones and thus one word said 6 different ways can mean 6 different things; its difficult, I’ve tried. My back is sweaty and my legs ache from carrying a backpack filled with things that are “essential”. I need to drop some weight. There is no reason for me to have 4 pairs of shorts, all cut off khaki shorts from goodwill. The winter comes and I never have pants, so I go to goodwill or salvation army or some local thrift store and stock up. Then summer comes and I have no shorts, so I cut off all those pants I bought in the winter. They’re comfortable; and I hate jeans. Then winter comes and I have no pants…
The girls walk outside with keys in their hands. The hotel is closed, there is no staff, only the people that own or run the place that live somewhere between the wine store and the hotel. 4 floors silenced, stilled, and just plain emptied by the inoculated traditions of the lunar new year, and yet His favor is shown through an English speaking girl and her Vietnamese family.
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more to come
