Nha Trang in the morning
The events in this entry took place on Tet in Vietnam, the Chinese New Year back in Chongqing, and Valentine’s Day in most of the western world. February 14, 2010 was a busy day…
Back in my bizarre new home of Chongqing, China, the streets are bedecked with glowing cartoonish tigers and ostentatiously large red lanterns bathing the throngs of revelers celebrating the turning of a new year in a warm, rosy glow. Sure, they drink heavily and blast off plenty of fireworks on December 31 as well – the Chinese do love their fireworks — but the main event is still the lunar new year, with its eccentric cast of zodiac animals. Out with the patient yet stubborn Ox, always so quick to anger. In with the sensitive and thoughtful — if sometimes a bit paranoid — Tiger, a particular favorite of mine as I happen to have been born on a Tiger year.
Apparently during Tet, it is not uncommon to find dragons in your hotel.
On the same day in Vietnam, they celebrate the annual holiday of Tet, which also brings in a new tiger-themed year and is celebrated with ubiquitous lanterns and country-wide revelry. Yes, it’s the same general holiday, with just a little bit of regional flair and a snappy, one-syllable name. It’s also most commonly recognized in the States for being attached to 1968′s massive Tet Offensive, the largest coordinated attack by the North Vietnamese in the Vietnam War up until that point. Though militarily a defeat for the north, the offensive is famous for weakening morale in an America that didn’t imagine the Vietnamese capable of such a well organized, large scale attack.
My own morale’s a bit low for not being in my temporary homeland for its biggest holiday of the year, but the Vietnamese are no slouches at national celebrations themselves, and the classically beautiful Nha Trang is probably a bit more attractive in most ways than gray, smoky Chongqing. Ahh, Nha Trang. Blue skies, big beaches and hoards of scantily clad female muggers trolling the streets for clueless foreign types.
The last one there is a recurring horror story I keep hearing from tourists who’ve visited Nha Trang: A young man suddenly finds himself surrounded by a pack of seemingly non-threatening young women in typically trashy prostitute-wear. No thanks, ladies, not interested, ha ha, um, wait, why are you ladies touching me there?? And of course, the next thing the naive fellow knows, they’ve got their arms locked around him like a giant sensuous spider, trapping him in place while they slip through his pockets and free him of his valuables.
This tragic scenario thankfully did not happen to me, though I did spot a few bands of women that matched the description and did my best to avoid them. Yes, I did what most tall, masculine men would do when faced with an approaching hoard of hot, young women: I nervously scampered across the street, looking over my shoulder in nervous apprehension until the fiery harem had passed.
Alas, the only spicy thing to happen between myself and any scantily clad Vietnamese woman upon my arrival in Nha Trang was a series of heated games of Connect Four.
“Is that something sexual?” I asked, amused, stopping my aimless stroll through the small touristy section of town upon hearing the girl’s street-side request for a match at the classic Milton Bradley game.
“Not sex. Is game,” she says with a hint of irritation, pointing back at the classic vertical blue and yellow game set on one of the tables. Her job, at least as she described it while we played, was to play Connect Four with guests to her bar so long as they continued to order drinks.
I had two rum and cokes while she repeatedly bested me, seven games to nothing.
Leisurely Daytime Activities
Aboard the snorkeling cruiseboat
Walking past a tempting offer for a mid-day Nha Trang “booze cruise” (they typically end messy, with most participants asleep by sunset — not ideal for an all-night Tet throwdown), I settle in on a snorkeling trip to a chain of nearby islands. Travel magazines have regularly named Nha Trang Bay one of the most beautiful bays on the planet, and with good reason. The white sand beaches are well tended, though the waters along Nha Trang’s main beaches tend to be a bit more brackish and dark than those further out by the islands.
Our boat’s a melting pot of ages and races, with about half of the passengers hailing from China, whose biggest world export now seems to be tourists. Sadly, my Chinese doesn’t go beyond “I hear but do not understand you” and “how are you?,” so my conversations with the Chinese on board don’t get beyond these two basic statements (until lunch time when I can suddenly add “these noodles are delicious!” into the foray).
I spend most of my time with Ethan and Michelle, a couple my age from Australia, and John from the States. The latter’s a biology teacher in South Korea on vacation with his parents, who encourage him to hang around with us instead of them. The cerulean water’s refreshingly cool and crystal clear, and the large lunch (free) and beers (overpriced, but blissfully cold) that await us after an hour or so of swimming is a perfect closing touch to the experience. Ethan and Michelle take turns high diving from the top level of the boat, though with my recent shoulder dislocation in Laos, I stick to playing it safe down below.
Heading back toward the main dock, the cruise ship pulls over briefly at a large floating fish market. The platform is arranged in a large grid, with rows of narrow wooden planks serving as walkways around each square section of fresh seafood, which are separated only from each other and the open sea by thin netting. The Australians and I order beers — also on the menu at the agreeable platform — and check out the merchandise, both normal and exotic, while a Chinese family negotiates for fresh lobster. The sharks, small but distinctly predatory, are fascinating but come in second in entertainment value to a bizarre squid-like fish that rapidly changes colors at random.
Riding in the thung chai
As the Chinese wait on their lobster, two Vietnamese women in traditional conical hats row over in what looks to be a large, round cauldron made of wicker. Half basket, half boat, the round, floating Thung Chais are notoriously difficult to paddle unless one happens to be a skilled Vietnamese fisherman. As the three Chinese passengers that opt for a quick ride in the thung chai do not fit this category, it’s not long before they are laughing hysterically as the boat spirals out of control like the Disneyworld Mad Tea Party ride, while staying firmly rooted in the same spot in the water.
Thung Chai rides are common for tourists between Hoi An and Nha Trang, though the reason for their unique shape isn’t wholly clear. The best explanation given to me was that the French once taxed boats, so wily fishermen began tarring the bottoms of large baskets and riding in them instead. Most people simply believe that their size and shape made them easily mobile and capable of navigating through narrow and shallow waters of coastal Vietnam. The frustrated laughter coming from the basket eventually dies down and the tourists pass the paddle back to one of the Vietnamese women so the wicker boat can drop the queasy threesome back off on the platform.
Through some kind of promotion, the Australians have a free room at the classy and expensive Novotel hotel a few blocks down the road from my own. Top floor and beach side, their hotel is the perfect spot for watching whatever Tet in Nha Trang has to offer. We agree on a time to meet up, then retire to our respective lodgings for rest and relaxation.
The island beach near where the boat anchored for us to snorkel. Warm, crystal clear waters made for nice swimming, though there weren't many fish out, and very limited coral
Lunch aboard the boat was included. Beer costs extra.
The floating fish market. Each of these squares contains a different breed of (living) sea-food.
The color-changing fish. It would go from an almost-white to this dark, purplish color in under a second at random, then slowly change back again.
The Tet Offensive
Russians next door, irate at one another for reasons unknown, bellow at each other vociferously enough to serve as my unofficial alarm clock. By the time I’m showered and dressed, the clamor has taken a hiatus as the man, mid-50s in boxers and a white tank top, is now standing outside of our rooms smoking a cigarette. He looks at me suspiciously for a moment as I step out, before returning his surly gaze to the floor.
Ethan and Michelle, before a sea of motorcycles
The Novotel’s reputation as the nicest hotel in Nha Trang is well deserved, though the average age of its patrons in the lobby seems to skew toward the 60′s. The Australian couple and I, plus John the professor, share a single round of over-priced beer in the lounge, snacking on the free crunchy bar snacks of the upper crust, before taking to the chaos of the Tet-fueled streets. Cans of identical beer purchased from shifty sidewalk vendors cost a quarter of the price out here, and while the surroundings might not be as clean and sterile as they were in the Novotel, there’s certainly a more festive atmosphere.
There don’t seem to be nearly as many street vendors out here as there would be in industrious China, but all the basics are still available: beer, lighters, cigarettes, hats, lobster, and of course, long staffs made of clusters of connected palm fonds. The latter are sold tied together like long, leafy sticks, with their bottom halves rigidly taut for support while their tops fan out and flap in the breeze as they’re vigorously shaken by celebrants in the streets. Whatever their purpose, they lack the immediate compelling draw of the lobster and beer.
At eight dollars a piece, the large shellfish are a bargain, especially as we negotiate for free beers with the meal as well. The lobsters are large and succulent, and about as perfectly cooked as can be, given they’re prepared by a street person on a small grill hastily propped up along a busy sidewalk. We take to the beach and rip through the shells with our hands like savages, shredding through the surprisingly well-spiced lobster’s meat while staining our hands and our beer cans with its recently deceased bottom dwellers’ greasy inner fluids.
Street lobster. Anything that doesn't kill you makes you less hungry.
Posing with lobsters, beer and the diligent sidewalk chef
Nearby, a party rages at an outdoor beach club popular with tourists. The roped-off plaza is currently blasting MGMT to a backdrop of flashing purple and red lights while a sea of white faces thrash upon the dance floor. There’s an expensive cover charge for the all-night affair, and it seems a shame to be in Vietnam for Tet, yet roped off in a private and distinctively non-Vietnamese setting for the night. Surely the beaches and streets, so vividly decorated and overflowing with exuberant natives, are the places to be tonight.
Motorcycle madness
In Vietnam, the term “pedestrian” apparently has a more fuzzy definition than elsewhere in the world, as it includes not only walkers of all shapes and sizes, but those on motorcycles as well. I’ve already seen scooters, packed with boxes of produce loosely tied to their backs, fight their way down the narrowest passages in crowded markets, and no one but the tourists direct even the most casual of glares toward them.
This behavior is in full effect tonight along Nha Trang’s long beach promenade, as at least half of the tightly packed crowd facing a large stage are sitting upon scooters of some sort. Like fresh squids piled atop one another at the local fishmarket, the revelers are tightly packed against one another, yet the bikes push through the masses with impunity and insinuate themselves into the crowd. If you’ve ever been to a crowded nightclub, try to imagine that scenario with gangs of motorcycles pushing through and you begin to understand the madness of this situation.
On the prominently located main stage, the young pop band, a mediocre act dressed in matching white suits, finishes their act and heads off stage while a group of garishly dressed dancers replace them. We use their arrival as an excuse to push through the ocean of pedestrians and motorcycles back out to the packed main street. By now, the police have closed off the road entirely to new traffic — either vehicular or pedestrian — and a throng of people stand trapped behind a newly erected barrier staring at us with looks of heavy disappointment on their face.
A slightly less crowded side street, just a block from the main show at the beach
Beer-less and flustered on the prohibitively busy street, we slip down a smaller road lined with row upon row of colored lights and lanterns that look to be made from pairs of conical hats stuck together, and we take refuge at a large bar topped with an aged-looking thatch roof. It’s a nice respite from the frenetic streets and we sit and drink for a time, watching as lines of Vietnamese people across the street make a show of walking over a small, traditional-looking wooden bridge that doesn’t seem to cross over anything in particular.
Large blasts of Asian fireworks looming, we pay up and dash through the wild masses on the way back to the epic vantage point that only the Novotel balcony could offer. Up ahead by a large monument, the crowd is at its densest with medium-sized circle open around a young Vietnamese man attempting to dance. To no music in particular, the young man in his early 20′s performs an assortment of decidedly unspectacular moves before the mildly attentive crowd.
“He’s terrible!” cries Michelle. ”I could dance so much better that that if there was actually any music playing.”
“No problem!” I proclaim, once again inspired to great feats of shameless spectacle through the amazing power of alcohol. Using skills that every suburban white kid of my era incorrectly thinks himself to have, I immediate start beat-boxing — using my mouth, tongue and voice to create a theoretically rhythmic vocal percussion — to call her on her bold statement. Without hesitation, Michelle begins to swing her arms to my impromptu beat, letting her body motions gradually grow with every movement into a hypnotic show of twists and thrusts.
The main stage, still early in the evening. Note the mix of motorcycles in the crowd
Through the sheer force of her presence, a new circle begins to form around us as people take note of her competing performance. Within moments, our circle is now as large as the first one and still growing. Sensing some kind of threat to his own act, the Vietnamese dancer — whose performance when compared to Michelle’s skillful gyrations could be described as paltry — crosses over into our own circle and without hesitation gives her a forceful push, causing her to only briefly lose her balance.
“WHAT?!” she spins around and bellows at him, spreading her arms wide in a challenge, her face almost flush against his, while still dancing to my blandly repetitive beat. He stares back for a moment with a confused anger in his eyes before retreating back into the crowd in defeat, leaving only one large circle of people to cheer on the belligerent dance stylings of a drunken Australian and her arrhythmic American DJ.
Literally out of breath and having now used up every beat, gasp and shitty turntable sound effect my mouth is capable of making, I kill the beat and Michelle tempers her spectacle down gracefully into a flourishing bow. The circle, now at its largest since we began, erupts into a sudden and unexpected applause while I now join her in bowing in thanks.
The unlucky ones. The barricade was put in place early on, and the same people were still trapped in place over an hour later when we returned.
“Thank you Vietnam! We ARE the Tet Offensive! Yeahh!!!” I raise my fists in the air as the cheers die down, keeping them up perhaps a few moments too long.
Wasting no time, we dash through the appreciative crowd in the direction of the Novotel, glowing like a beacon of extravagance just blocks away. On the way, a vendor stands with a bushel of the strange, leafy staffs and suddenly I realize with all of my heart that I must have one. Running through the masses, we take turns holding the flaccid green rod aloft, its heavy leaves flapping together as we shake it at the open sky, at errant motorcycles bearing down on us and at the rapidly retreating Year of the Ox.
Out in the ocean, a boat erupts with a steady stream of glimmering lights into the clear night air. The appearance is less a series of short, individual blasts than a giant sparkling fountain of vividly colored explosions in the sky. Rather than start slowly and build toward a definite climax, the stream of fireworks begin at full power and do not stop until the boat’s supply is apparently empty. We cheer, shout, toast and show our appreciation with grand waves of the strange, green Tet staff, but as the fireworks end, it’s clear our night is winding down along with them. Without a word, Michelle retires to bed, and it’s clear Ethan’s about ready as well.
Outside in the hallway, the remains of a giant food platter from a private party sits unattended on a large metal cart — satays, rolls, puff pastries and countless other finger foods — and the cornucopia of free victuals is too much for my Tet-riddled body to pass up. An employee of the hotel eventually returns to the unattended cart and I stare at him sheepishly, caught in the act with a mouth full of half-chewed delicacies, but the porter just shrugs his shoulders. Exonerated from any sort of blame, I grab two more sticks of the lukewarm satay and dash toward the elevator.
Near my significantly less opulent hotel, the outdoor club that caters to western clientele is still in full swing, though oddly enough the sound system is playing the same song by MGMT (“Kids,” by the way) that it was when we passed by hours ago. For a few moments, I stand on the beach gazing in at the spectacle of dancing and revelry, before shrugging resignedly and stumbling off to bed. This mostly solitary journey of mine around the world has been great practice for socializing with strange and intimidating groups of foreigners, but the energy and desire to do so now simply isn’t in me.
I’ve got to get up early tomorrow anyway; It’s still a long way to Ho Chi Minh City.
The wooden bridge over... nothing. As we drank at our outdoor bar, we watched as lines of people clearly made a point of crossing over the bridge. It seems like a fairly obvious new year metaphor, but we never found out for sure.
The proud owner of a new green Tet, uhh, staff-y thing.
The masses, as seen from the balcony
Fireworks, shot out from a boat in the bay
Blessing Vietnam with my Tet staff. I don't think Vietnam particularly wants the blessing.
Nice sunburn. Except around the eyes.
