The Travelogue, part two: Paradise Found

By the time we snaked our way through the Mekong, we were close enough to catch a boat from Rach Gia to Phu Quoc island. Phu Quoc means "Elephant Head," which I'm pretty sure comes from the island's actual shape.

www.teakdoor.com

Phu Quoc itself is actually closer to Cambodia than Vietnam. Like most of the Mekong Delta, it at one time belonged to Cambodia, lost in some political skirmish/agreement or another wherein countries lose valuable pieces of land. The island has a history of conflict of ownership, as no clear distinction was made after the French colonial era ended. It was briefly invaded during the Khmer Rouge regime, but that never really took hold. Today, it represents more of a cultural grudge between Vietnam and Cambodia, who has its own name of the island, much like the Cambodians still refer to the Mekong as "South Kompuchea." 

But for now, it was a welcome respite from the chaos of Saigon. We set up on a resort facing the western side of the island, the "Sunset Side," populated by mostly European clientele who moved rarely, if at all, during the day. After all, why would you have to? Massages, fresh fruit, snacks, pizza and beer were all within 50 yards of each other. The days went faster than you would expect.

This place was paradise, the kind of beautiful tropical island setting that's unsettling in the sense that its beauty has largely been stolen from the locals and put on sale for the foreigners. Still, the vibe was serene enough, if only for the realization that you have no obligation to do anything for the day. Maybe read a book. And go swimming. Then read some more, probably doze off, maybe eat?

The hardscrabble tourist life.

Despite the obvious economic gap between yourself and the average Phu Quoc local, it is still always possible to make some friends. Being the cultural diplomat that I at least labor under the delusion of being, this friendship policy was quickly implemented with (who else?) the beach bar staff, who I called Mr. Tam and Mr. Thanh. Jess and I have this habit of not moving once we find the perfect place to hang out, and not move we did.

I mean, this was our view.

Well. We got up once or twice to waddle over to the pool table, and eventually had the bartenders joining us in what was the most spirited game of pool I think I've ever had the pleasure of playing.

Mr. Tam

The next night, our new friends made a big deal of inviting us to the beach bar staff dinner and cheap beer party, part of a ritual that develops between workers of laidback, never-too-busy establishments--if there are no customers, it's dinner time. So we were introduced to the whole happy family of the beach bar (I never learned the actual name of the place).

Maybe it was the "Blackstump"?

Everyone loved Mom. Despite her insistence on being called Linda, they never really progressed from simply calling her "Mama."

If you should ever find yourself the guest at Vietnamese seaside dinner, there are some important things to remember:

1. You are never full
2. This goes double for beer
3. Even the most unexceptional moments deserve a group cheers
4. That cheers is preceded by the words, Mot, hai, ba, YO!!!!
5. This translates to: One, two, three, YO!!!!

After a breakneck-paced Mekong Tour, the lackadaisical island experience suited us just fine. One day, probably because we needed the exercise, Jess and I decided to venture out and do some river kayaking. What was hilarious about this is, apparently the guides don't kayak with you. The kayak is just a formality--something to offer those crazy foreigners who want to work extra-hard for something. Our guides were zipping along side us in a small motorized fishing boat, smiling and giving thumbs up signs as Jess and I labored against the current, made faster by the fact we were also going against a pretty heavy coastal wind. It was nice, especially the encouragement they gave--"Good job! Very strong!" Yes, yes, I am quite strong, thank you.

More interesting still were unexpected random things tucked away in the backwaters.

Above is a temple dedicated to Ho Chi Minh and another freedom fighter whose name I forget.  During the time of the French War, when Ho Chi Minh became a leader of the Viet Minh, he supposedly used a boat with another fighter to ambush/defeat a number of French soldiers on Phu Quoc. They preserved the boat, encased in glass only a few feet away from the temple (but in terrible light, hence no photo). I wish I had a better handle on the story, because our guides were quite proud of it. Unfortunately, the lead guide was very flustered and terribly shy in using her English, particularly after she learned we were American. So I don't know how much of the story actually translated. There was a lot of miming of machine guns though, so something noteworthy went down.

Then, justlikethat, four days were gone in this sunny, breeze-swept haven. I spent my last breakfast at the resort engaged in perhaps my most daunting mental task of the entire trip-- trying to make meaning from curiously-worded drinking glasses.

Bell orchid accompanied only spring open in May its Flower are happy again

Bell Orchid. Chun-chun of love, happiness will return

Life's hard sometimes, but we persevere. 

The Travelogue, part one

Hello!

I am forming a sort of first-quarter New Year's resolution, which involves getting it together to post more here. I've neglected to talk about most of my travels, in favor of complaining about the things that have gone wrong. But that's not really doing Vietnam, or especially Cambodia, much justice. So let me take you back several weeks.

In late December/January, I had the pleasure of hosting my mother and sister Jess in Ho Chi Minh, and as a nice side effect, ended up taking a tour of the Mekong which I've been meaning to do, but saving for some worthy travel companions.

But first, we got to celebrate New Year's Eve in Ho Chi Minh, an experience for everyone regardless of what calendar they adhere to or religion they practice. Being Saigon, alcohol is never in short supply. Nor are characters of every shade. Look at these weirdos:

They aren't even wearing the right hats.

Probably the most notable thing to tell you about New Year's is that I got sprayed in the face multiple times with Silly String, at least once by a small child who took great joy in hitting me in the eye, and introduced Mom and Jess to something called Snake Wine. Basically, it's rum with a giant dead cobra soaking in it. It'll bite ya.

A couple of days later we set off for the Mekong on a three-day tour. The Mekong Delta is known for being part of the "Rice Bowl," producing a large percentage of Vietnam's rice and more than doing its part to establish the country as the world's second-largest rice exporter, behind Thailand. Besides that, the region has piles and piles and piles of fresh tropical fruit, sweet as candy. Nature's candy. We stopped for a tea-and-fruit break, and took in some traditional Mekong singing, after which they let us fiddle around with their instruments. One is played with a toothpick. It's harder than you might imagine.

My album drops next summer.

After this we jumped back on the boat for a tour of a candy-making "factory" (a factory in the Mekong is basically just the locus where things are being made--most factories we saw were about the size of the average American living room). Then it was lunch time.

The afternoon was spent touring some of the back-waters by rowboat, where the VC were fond of setting up ambushes during the American War. Thankfully now, the route is much more relaxed, and beautiful.

These hats actually keep you quite cool.

The first day we ended up in the middle of the Delta, at a homestay in Ben Tre province. This was interesting--tour companies operating out of Ho Chi Minh go to the Delta and canvass for families willing to host tourists for one night--but, the families have to pass a fairly rigorous screening process. they have to have enough space, beds, facilities to cook for moderate-sized tours (usually about 8-10 people), and the general willingness to let tourists regularly upset their living schedule. This was a learning experience--while they family we stayed with were polite and hospitable, and they were willing to teach us how to cook some Vietnamese staples, I learned through questioning our guide that they send their children to live with other relatives, so they can earn extra income by hosting tourists. Sorta sad. Makes you feel a little like an intruder.

The next day was bike-tour time. This was a lot of fun--instead of cruising around on the water channels, we were biking down the "streets" of a Mekong village, occasionally being semi-run off the road by motorbikes, oversized motorcarts, or gangs of excited school-children. It didn't help that I had the world's wobbliest bike, which threatened to fall over at the slightest movement, tot he point where course-corrections looked like wild drunken zig-zagging. 

At any rate, going off the main roads has its advantages--you see lots of stuff you wouldn't have expected, like miniature Khmer temples. 

Likewise, the locals get an eyeful of the same--giant European people teetering this way and that, shouting Xin Chao at whoever catches their eye. That could have just been me.  

After everything, we were deposited back into the civilization--Can Tho, a moderate-sized city that I want to say is the Mekong's largest, though that could be wrong. We woke up to a lovely view, and then went back out on the river for more of the floating market.

Bye Bye, country.

Can Tho sunrise, on land.

Can Tho on water.

This concludes our tour of the Mekong. Next time, Paradise Found.