my first leap

Seb is upstairs in the room getting a map and doing his business. Having lived on my own for years now; I’ve not got used to the idea that someone else just outside the toilet door can hear you do your business in the toilet, sound effects and all. It’s an issue I know I have to deal with and I think it’s going to be harder than handling crouch-down toilets. So, as to avoid playing havoc with your digestive system and making your fellow-traveller think you are one of those people who takes an hour to do your thing; Seb and I had our ‘toilet’ talk and decided that if I (my butt) needed privacy; then he will disappear out of the room and vice versa. Oh, family is different, with family you feel you want to share even when they prefer it if you didn’t. My brothers and sisters are right now nodding their heads in agreement.

Yesterday morning we were woken up at 7am by a phone call. The woman on the other end spoke rapid Vietnamese so Seb gave the phone to me. I tell her I don’t speak Vietnamese in my usual Vietnamese phrase; this time, I’ve learnt to say ‘I don’t know how to understand’ but I had a feeling this could be my 3rd sister-cousin so I asked her in Cantonese if she understood Cantonese. She is my cousin; and as my sister rightly said in her comment; we call her 3rd sister because she is the third born in her family. She shocks me by telling me she’s downstairs. My nephews (my cousin’s sons but we call nephews) had told me that they were going to bring my 3rd cousin at 10am. I guess communications were lacking here. Well, she doesn’t have a phone, landline or mobile so it’s not surprising. I tell her to give us 30 mins. We rush down and this woman and man sits in the reception area. I look outside thinking she’s outside. Then I look at this couple and ask. Bingo. The man is her husband. I later find out her daughter is at home. We talk as we have a bit of breakfast. Not long after my nephews come along with 2 young girls. One girl is 3rd neice, the nephews are 4th and 6th. The other girl is my niece’s friend. Later on, Seb asked me a very important question; how are they related to me. Good question. I had no idea. So I asked. My cousin’s mother is my father’s sister. All along I thought it was via my mother’s side. Everyone had ridden motorbikes here. 3rd cousin, though lives in Saigon, is from another area, about 20 mins ride away. We decide to rent a motorbike from the hotel; Seb was willing to drive with me at the back. The kids hadn’t eaten so Seb and I take them to this restaurant where staff were very friendly called Little Saigon nearby. The staff remembered us. Whilst we ate, it poured down outside. Rain in Vietnam is like a child who is having a tantrum; a quick heavy spurt to get fast attention but once it gets what it wants; the cry dies down just as suddenly. While we waited for 4th nephew to fix a flat tyre somewhere nearby, Seb ran off to buy us some ponchos for sudden childish outbursts of rain and face masks for the pollution. The pollution is very noticeable only when you get off the bike; you feel a bit dizzy and for the next 5 mins you feel like someone is banging your head with a wooden mallet – a blinding headache that disappears once you’re not in the road or by the roadside. Then Seb tried out the bike, disappearing round one block and coming out round another. Though 3rd cousin and husband told us we couldn’t drive with our UK or French drivers licences; we told them we were able to hire a motorbike from the hotel so it should be okay. My 3rd cousin, a little worried for this strange French guy, gave me instructions (to give to Seb) to go slowly and be careful. I have already witness the crazy driving here and it’s mostly the motorbikes that seem to have rules all to themselves. The rules are; don’t die and don’t kill or hurt anyone. That’s it. We ride for 30 minutes or so to Damsen Park. Seb said ‘lets try to stay alive’ while we followed the others and dodged the thousands of other motorbikes coming from all directions. It rained a couple of times and we had to stop, put on our ponchos and rode again. Then the mission was; try to stay alive, hurt no one; dodge cars, lorries, motorbikes, bikes and the other combination of assorted similars; and stay concentrated and not get confused by the various flowing mess of colourful ponchos road signs and Vietnamese words zooming pass fast.

Damsen Park is an amusement park. We went on many rides; but according to 4th nephew, the scariest ride was a roller coaster tiny compared to what Seb and I have seen. Another memorable ride is similar to the playground ‘flying fox’ ride Veronica took me to try. This one was over a small lake. A strap was put around you – it was so loose, I didn’t feel it. Then they just push you off the ledge with only your hands keeping you from being hurled into the lake or getting strap-burned. I hung on for dear life. But half way my fingers gave up on me; they acted as though it was all over. I screamed, silently, ‘no, not yet, not yet!’. I imagined if I let go, I would not be lucky enough to fall into the lake and the worse would be I’d be soaking wet; I had to swim; and I was going to look a fool. That was okay. But I envisaged myself being cut in half with this harmless looking strap that was a string. I held on. But I was concentrating so much on holding on that when I got to the end and was suddenly faced with a big safety mat right in front of me, I didn’t react so my face went into the mat. The guy at the other end helped me out of the string and muttered some Vietnamese jibberish. I realised as I waited for the others – I was the first pushed – that you extend your legs out and kick the mat. When another girl did the same, I heard the laughter from where I stood. Man, I was lucky I didn’t hear the laughter or I would have happily thrown myself in the lake and not come up – so embarrasing. 

Mum had asked me to take some money to give to my dad’s sister. I didn’t want to carry wads of cash so I had put it into my account and now I’m trying to extract it from that same bank. Using a card at an ATM should be simple I thought. It is but there’s a limit to how much you can take out; even with visa. Seb told me the virtues of Western Union. Too late now. 3rd cousin is coming over tomorrow morning at 7am to accompany us to the countryside to see my dad’s sister. We’ve left our passports here for 4 days to get a China visa. I need to figure out how to get the money out.

Last night I lost my watch. I was so devastated when I tried to find out the time this morning at 7am that I quickly strapped on my trainers and ran downstairs to the computer desks, in my pyjamas. People were eating breakfast; I didn’t care how I looked; I must have been a sight. No watch. No one had seen a watch. I wanted to share this tragedy with Seb at such a heavenly hour; my timing has always been crap; Seb later explains this to me but I kind of knew. I apologised and tried to explain. But he’s right; it was only a watch, a cheap watch at that. But I loved that watch. It was army green, chunky and most importantly, it had been my constant companion since the beginning of my travels in San Francisco and it’s love was unconditional compared to my other companion VISA and now it was gone. Seb joked that we’ll have a funeral for it after he had some sleep. We found a watch shop that first showed me this dainty looking thing, expensive and all things metal – I explained I wanted chunky so that if I smashed it against the wall or someone’s face, it would not break and I wanted velcrose as it’s less fiddly and the strap conveniently covers the metal bits (I’m allergic to all metals except pure gold and pure silver – my skin is the princess) and cheap (I don’t want to attract thieves and I wanted something I didn’t care about if I lost it – yeah well I forgot about the sentimental value). The guy in the shop tried to merge a big watch face with separate velcrose straps; but even after that, it just didn’t feel the same. It’s the meaning behind it not what it is that had value. Same with people and your interaction with them, it’s the meaning and not who they are, what they have or what they do; and when the potatoes have been exchanged one way or both ways and you go your separate ways; sometimes you hang on to the person with the illusion that it was the person that’s special; they are but only for that moment in time; the most important is the meaning that lasts a lifetime, the potatoe that they gave you. People then just remember the painful separation, the truthful hurtful words that have to be said and they forget the potatoe. Then they find that they’ll meet another special person for a moment in time who gives them the same potatoe they didn’t pick up the last time. And again hurt and pain and the potatoe is again dumped. Then you realise that this pattern of interaction keeps happening to you until you learn that it’s not the person that you’re suppose to hang on to but the potatoe they’ve taken time out of their lives to give to you.

Off to pack. Seb is waiting and since I take ages to pack; I don’t want him to wait up. Today was fun but will elaborate another time. I don’t think there will be internet access where we’re going; we’re going to stay for 2 nights and will be back here. So see you then.

***

To Amy: I got it finally, who’s who and related to whom.

***

Success is falling nine times and getting up ten. – Jon Bon Jovi

I’m at a desk tapping at one of 2 computers available – free internet access – on the first floor of Yellow House Hotel. Seb has gone to join in with a party of French people we met earlier.

The flight from Singapore to Ho Chi Minh City was the worse flight I ever had, not because of the service or Singapore Airlines, but because my stomach and butt were both playing up. Have you ever had the feeling where whatever food, gases etc inside you were pushing both ways but in the most incredibly uncomfortable way. The last 10 minutes as we were preparing to touchdown, I was holding onto the paper puke bag. Then as we queued, I desperately needed to go to the toilet but I was so close to the front of the queue, it just didn’t make sense. I had to ask Seb if I could go first and tell him I was about to disappear for how many days and don’t send a search party; I might just kill them all off by mistake. There were 3 toilets, one was covered in excrement all over the seat and the renching came back up into my throat and I thought I was going to vomit right there. But I wasn’t that lucky. The other 2 toilets had no tissue. I had to hover closer to the smeared orange poo stink with a grimace and the clean puke bag over my mouth to check if there was tissue in there. No such luck. I went back outside. Seb thought I had done the business but I said I couldn’t without tissue. Luckily my backpack came through on the moving belt as I stood there explaining and luckily in the side pocket, I had a packet of 6 small packets of tissue. I grabbed and ran leaving Seb none the wiser. As I unloaded, I can hear the cleaner next door muttering quiet obscenities I’m sure in Vietnamese, about the animal that made the mess that she had to now clean up. When she threw the bucket of water across the mess, luckily I hiked up my trousers and my feet shot off the floor as the water cleaned my bit of toilet floor as well. I saw the mess on the seat, and I quite agree and felt sorry for the cleaning lady; it was non-human the thing that did that. Non-human.

We grabbed the first convenient taxi, ignoring anyone who approached us talking some fast jibberish. The taxi guy quoted in US dollars; we point to a sign that quoted in dong for every 0.01km; he waves us off with two words ‘same, same’ and I thought yeah, I bet; and for the whole journey I was trying to figure out what 7 dollars was compared to the pound compared to the dong (1 pound = 29,719.18 dong) with Singaporean dollars and Malaysian ringgits still swimming innocently confusing things in my small head. I had bought a calculater just for Vietnam and at that very moment it was sleeping deep, lost in my backpack somewhere dark and useless. I rounded it up; a pound = 30,000 dong which is easy enough until you’re talking about millions! It’s as though the brain cannot compute; too giddy with the illusion that you’re suddenly rich beyond belief.

The taxi pulls up at a busy street but there is no sign that yells ‘Yellow House Hotel’. He points down an alley, helps us unload and leaves us with the blind faith that it was in the alley somewhere. And it is. We are on the 4th floor of a building with no lift. I try to avoid hiking there whenever possible. Only the promise of shower and bed would get me up there tonight otherwise I’m pretty happy on this computer all night. Two guys look after the place. Now they’re in the room on my right with family or friends. They’re friendly and helpful. After checking out our room, Seb and I go down to the reception. I had to call my cousins. I ask reception where I can find a phone; and before the reception guy could answer this European guy who I find out later is French and called Clemence offers me his mobile to use. He forgets he hasn’t got and runs upstairs for it. I thank him and use it. I try brother Sang. He tells me 3rd sister will come over and visit but is vague on the time of this visit. I tell him we’ll wander about for an hour and will be back to call him again. By the time I got off the phone Seb has already sprinkled his charm and got invited to Clemence’s house warming party tonight.

We cross the road and we find a concrete area where people in groups (mostly guys) were kicking a shuttle cock up in the air and keeping it off the ground as a group. Seb walks with me and then suggests a market, Clemence mentioned I’m sure, to check out. I wanted to stay so I suggested we meet again an hour later at the hotel. I sat and watched how effortlessly these groups kept their shuttlecocks in the air with just their feet. A boy sat eating grapes nearby. While Seb spoke to Clemence I asked the guy at reception what hello was in Vietnamese. So I say hello to this young boy in Vietnamese. He says it back. I say it again correcting my bad accent, and again and again. And he smiles and says it again and again. I ask him what the game was called; and it sounds like the Chinese words ‘playing football’, sounds a little like I said. He offers me a small bunch of his purple grapes and after awhile I’m bothering him and learning more Vietnamese. His English is non-existent, not even ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and I don’t think he knew where UK is. Watching people playing this game, I wanted to see if it was as effortless as they make out and after seeing 3 European guys give it a go and doing really well, I was itching to try. So I ask the young boy – he looked 13 – how much the shuttlecocks were. He tells me. I take out some money. I ask him in my best crap Vietnamese if he wanted to play and would he buy it for me. He’s reluctant. I am a stranger. Then in jibberish, I manage to convey that I would like him to teach me and does he want to play with me. He takes me to the guy selling these elongated shuttlecocks and we play. We are both totally crap at it. It is not as easy as it looks. In the end, we whack the shuttlecock with our palms instead of our feet, easier option but I was sure, we were the only ones doing it with our hands. I got hot and bothered but it was great fun. I needed a drink. I ask him if he wants a drink; he shakes his head; I tell him I want a drink; he shows me a vending machine for coins. I tell him I have no coins. I show him my smallest note. He looks at it as though I was holding a gun and shook his head. I point to shops nearby and I make the drink gesture. He takes me to a stall; I choose from an assortment of bottled drinks and I ask him if he wants a drink; he shakes his head; I insist, the stall woman insists; he chooses. We sit and attract attention from a 42 year old guy who works in the fast food store we sat outside. I try to communicate; they try to understand and I learn more Vietnamese words. The older guy tells me I learn fast. I tell the boy I’d like him to meet Seb. And sure enough, Seb was walking our way on his way back to the hotel. I introduce. I persuade Seb to play shuttlecock kicking with us. We clown about and then we leave the boy. I promised I’d come back and have dinner with him in half an hour. His sister and parents were working; and the boy sells lottery tickets. 

Seb tells me about Clemence’s party at this club and then back at his new place. I tell him about my plans for dinner with the boy. And when we got back, my 3rd sister had called and was on her way. We go to the club for some live music, had a couple of dances, and gin and tonics. The place is swarming with French people, trendy guys and sleek girls. I found the waitresses dressed in ball dresses more interesting. After half an hour, Seb accompanies back to the boy who understood my directions and had waited for me. I tell him I can’t eat with him; I felt bad; that my 3rd sister was coming and I need to be with her. A Vietnamese woman with good English nearby helped to translate. I tell her I want to give him some money to buy some food. He’s 16 but looks much younger. I leave feeling bad but it couldn’t be helped. We go back to the hotel; left a message for my 3rd sister, the club’s business card and a passport photo of me (we’ve never met and she probably doesn’t know what I look like). We go back to the club. We go back to the hotel; no sign of her; reception guy tells us she’s not coming today. We take a taxi to the house party. We’re confused by roads all having the same number and address. Clemence comes down to get us. We ascend to the roof where the funky guys and beautiful girls mull, drink and talk French. Seb fits right in but he fits right in anywhere. I, on the other hand, know very little French so couldn’t join in. I look at the scenery, roof tops at night and high lit buildings afar on all four corners of the rooftop; say hello to 3 people who were either drunk and couldn’t find words; didn’t speak English or didn’t want to talk then I got bored. I climbed down and found the gate locked with a heavy padlock. I go up and found a room that had lights on. Not wanting to disturb the party, I knocked at the door and asked the woman – who could speak English – to let me out. She did and I left. On the way in, I smiled at a young girl dressed in a Japanese kimono and she beamed back, I look back and she’s beaming back – if I was a guy, you can almost call it flirting. We got talking and I learnt more Vietnamese words and we exchanged email addresses. When I left, I realised I had not told Seb I was leaving. I scribbled a note telling him I was going back to the hotel and wrapped it around a rod on the gate of Clemence’s place. I took a taxi back to the hotel. I gave the taxi guy my smallest note and said in Vietnamese I don’t have anything smaller ‘kung gor itd dien’ (not spelt this way) and he smiled at me. I felt good jumping onto the computer when the reception guy told me my brother Sang was outside. I went outside to find 2 guys sitting on motorbikes. I spoke Cantonese, both just stared at me. I thought this was a joke. I was about to go back in when the reception guy pointed to an older guy coming out of the toilets. I spoke Cantonese and asked him if he’s brother Sang. He shook his head and asked if I was Hong Co – this is my mother’s name. I tell him. He tells me he’s brother Sang’s son and the younger guy on the motorbike is his brother. He calls me auntie. I stare at him. He looks older than me and he’s calling me auntie! He’s 24. His brother is 20. They go into shock when I tell them I’m 32. I wait patiently, amused and glad that I still have this affect on people regarding my age. It reminds me of the Chinese film ‘My Young Auntie’. We talk. He’s driven for an hour or so from the country and has taken an hour to find me and waited an hour. We plan to meet in the morning; his day off work tomorrow. He’s going to bring 3rd sister who will show us around because he’s not familiar with this area. We say goodbye. It’s weird meeting relatives you’ve never heard of and never seen before. But it was great talking to my nephews and they seem to find my exasperations when I can’t get Cantonese words out amusing. I think they find me, my English-grown presence amusing. Vietnamese people here find me amusing and a curiosity – I guess it’s better than a painful spot at the end of their noses. I understand when they ask me if I know Vietnamese and I always answer back ‘I don’t speak Vietnamese’ in Vietnamese. Then they seem to test me and it all becomes a playful game. I like it. I learn more this way. Tomorrow will be interesting. They tell me my 3rd sister is about 40 which seems like a century older just because there’s a 4 but really is not. I hope she’s as approachable as my nephews.

***

To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world. – Brandi Snyder.

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