Rest and Restlessness or: How the Intrepid Traveler became Humbled

---

Friday, October 24th - Monday, November 5th -- 2235.4 KM to date


If you pull out an atlas or take a look at a map of Vietnam you may notice that the physical geography of the country is comparable to that of a dog bone, or as the locals like to say, 'A bamboo pole with rice baskets hanging from its ends.' From the rice-bowl of the Mekong Delta along the long and narrow coastline to the red-river and mountainous north, the country stretches through a variety of terrain and climates. The changing climates can make weather patterns unpredictable, but one thing is assured - If you are in Vietnam for extended periods of time you are sure to feel the fury of this country's awesome rain.

When I reached Nha Trang I discovered that rainy season along the central coast was in full swing and would probably continue until December. I wasn't surprised, really. Being the logistical genius that I am I rode through Cambodia during the last of it's rainy season and to defy the geese I was heading north for the winter. It was only fitting that I should be riding through Central Vietnam in the rain. And rain it did. As the rain danced on tin roofs all over Nha Trang I kept thinking of goofy ol' Forrest Gump talking about the rain in Vietnam:

'One day it started raining, and it didn't quit for four months. We been through every kind of rain there is. Little bitty stingin' rain... and big ol' fat rain. Rain that flew in sideways. And sometimes rain even seemed to come straight up from underneath.'

It was a sad sight, I tell ya, watching hundreds of foreigners in plastic poncho's and rain coats walking awkwardly up and down, back and forth a three block radius. Lost and confused they'd stop at every restaurant and check out the menu and then continue walking through the puddles, unable to even decide where to eat. I watched one girl break into tears over dinner. Her boyfriend just gazed into the street unaffected. Not quite the vacation they'd had in mind. The rain was making everyone restless and slightly insane.

After three days of waking with the rained-out blues I'd decided that I'd had enough. California was burning and Vietnam was drowning. I was going to leave the next morning even if it meant catching a bus. I was getting low on cash, so before I sought out bus prices I stopped at an ATM where I made a ghastly discovery. Somewhere along the road I had managed to lose my bank card.

Not usually the type to lose things I was angry with myself and had to retrace my steps to find out how I'd lost it. Generally I keep my card in my wallet, but I was worried that if I were robbed or my wallet was stolen I wouldn't have access to cash, so I put my card in my money belt with my extra cash and my passport, to be safe, you see. My money belt is usually kept in my handlebar bag when I'm riding but the recent rains had dampened everything in my bag, including my money belt. When I handed my passport over to reception at one of the guesthouses the card must have stuck to my passport and then fallen out somewhere in transit. I had enough money to last me a few weeks and a credit card for just such emergencies, but there was nothing more emasculating and embarassing than having to place a phone-call home to get another card sent to me. I'd have to wait in Nha Trang with a bruised ego until a new card arrived in the mail. It would take five to seven business days, they said.

The days spent waiting for mail were filled with rest and restlessness. It felt good sleeping in but the rain made it impossible to do much. I'd wake up tired at 11:00 am and watch CNN. The misplaced families of the California fires were old news. Larry King was interviewing Jerry Seinfeld about his new animated movie and Pakistan's President Musharraf had just declared a state of emergency.

Over coffee I'd watch the traveler's filter in and out of the city. College aged kids would stumble out into the afternoon streets looking hung-over after a long night at the Sailing Club, and I'd listen to a similar conversation everyday.

'Man, what a night that was.'

'Tell me about it. At least you still have your fucking wallet.'

'I told you to stay away from those girls, outside the bar. They were taxi-girls, but you were too drunk, you ass. You kept tellin me to go on ahead, you'd be fine. You could barely walk. That one was grabbing all over you and I knew damn well she was going to steal your wallet, I warned you. At least you didn't bring her home with you. You woulda woke up to an empty room.'

'I don't think it was that girl, man. She was just grabbin at my dick. It was the one behind me, the one in pajamas that was rubbing my back. She musta just grabbed it quickly and then walked off, cuz I didn't see her again when I turned around. '

'Aw, well don't worry, man. Nothing you can do now. I'll lend you the cash as long as you need.'

'Thanks, dude. What time is the bus tonight?'

'7:30'

'Should we get all pissed up so we can sleep through the bus ride? Where are we going, again, anyway?'

'Hoi An, I guess. I dunno, man. I'm hurting right now, gotta have a nap. Let's meet up here at 5:00.'

'Alright, later.'

'Later.'

I became familiar with all the vendors, street sellers and beggars; the young girl who could make herself cry at the drop of a hat to sell a pack of cigarettes or postcards; the man selling photocopied versions of Lonely Planet and other books, who just never seemed to be having any luck, and the women who walked the bar streets late at night selling gum with a baby attached to their hip, for sympathy. The female traveler's found these babies adorable and would give the women $10, a huge sum, if she promised to take the baby home to sleep. An American man who had been living in Ho Chi Minh City for over a year told me that these women are rarely the mother's of the children they carry, and he'd often see the same woman walking around with different children.

The family I was staying with were kind and generous. They'd feed me spectacular suppers and joke about marrying me to the family maid. I'd spend afternoons playing and making goofy faces with their eight month old baby. I guess after a while it started to feel comfortable, even a little like home. Familiar faces and a place to unpack my bags was nice and I appreciated the luxury of variety in my diet as well as English menu's, though these came at a higher price. There were even a few days of sunshine. On one of these days I took a boat tour and we spent the afternoon swimming, singing, dancing and drinking copious amounts of Tiger beer.

Finally, late on Friday night there was a knock on my door and a Purolator package was handed to me. In it was my new bank card and my ticket out of Nha Trang. Rain delayed my departure for another two days, but early Monday morning I waved goodbye to Nha Trang and headed north-west, back to the highlands, hoping to escape the rain that was flooding the coast.

---