Final Scene. Act One.
GPS says we’re here.
We are invited in by two shop owners across from each other for tea and a combination of leaves with mystery plant to chew on. It turns the old ladies teeth black and paints a red lip-stick like coating around their mouths. I decline the chew and opt for tea. When water is bad, always go with tea. It’s boiled and masks the taste of poor water.
Games we play:
Would you rather have to kiss one of the old ladies on their mouth or smell my shoes after nine months on the race? Don’t judge us. We’re in our twenties and still have juvenile minds. Plus games are gold out here.
We continue walking. Andrea spots a dirt field with a soccer goal and what looks like an abandoned school. There is a house on the property whose family quickly welcomes us in for tea and cookies. After our best attempts at sign language it’s agreed we can squat on their land with our tents for the night. Sometimes the language barrier can be very awkward, that’s why I always bring an ice-breaker: Soccer ball.
Andrea breaks out the Frisbee. I break out the soccer ball. Slowly people trickle in from the surrounding village. What starts out as ten of us turns into a full blown community event. Soon sixty people are on the field with motor bikes cluttering the sidelines. Maybe two people attending the affair speak broken English. Doesn’t seem to matter though. Jess is putting on a volleyball clinic with the women; I’ve managed a large soccer game with Jonathan and the boys; Tracy and Ashley are holding babies off to the side; teenage boys crowd around Andrea to flirt with her; everyone seems in their element.
As night approaches I notice a police officer talking to Andrea so I go to check on the scene. She informs me he has her passport and we will most likely have to leave. I’m not too worried. After three hours of games with the community, who have probably seen their first foreigners in years, if ever, people are definitely for us whatever happens next. We have already been invited to stay at a local’s house if needed down the street, but the officer seems intent on doing his job by registering us and finding out how long we intend to stay. At one point we call our friend in Saigon to have him translate.
Sounds like either we are going to jail or a local hotel. Good stuff.
My team is pretty go with the flow. No one seems too concerned. Six volunteers offer to drive us to our destination, which turns out to be a hotel, in the town we just walked from. Most painful motorbike ride ever. My pack weighs forty pounds hanging off the back of the bike and its not exactly proper etiquette to hold my driver tightly with arms and legs like it’s our third date out on the town. My quads hate me. Thankfully, he runs out of gas at the top of the hill allowing me to drop my pack for few minutes while he hitches a ride to bring back more fuel. We make it to the hotel. My bed beckons to me. After taking a second to let the day soak in, I can’t help but laugh. What a day.
We are definitely going back tomorrow.
