We awoke in a stupor. The day was wonderfully sunny and the sweet smell of salt water on the breeze filled the air. Not that we would be able to appreciate it, for each man in our party was suffering the next day aftermath of the pillage of alcohol on a young mans senses. Breakfast seemed to be the only proper (or at least temporary) solution to our current problems. We headed south down the main drag of Mui Ne until we found a quaint little establishment specializing in both Vietnamese and Western food. The meal started like any other. We received are menus, scanned the pages, selected a tantalizing treat and we ordered. Simple right? Well, we could not be farther from the truth...Shit got real. The young men chatted about the possibilities a new breaking day in Vietnam could bring, when the turmoil began. It was like any downward spiral. Slow at first but gradually it accelerated until you are consumed by it. Kevin “Mr. Southeast Asia 09” received his meal first. This was followed promptly by Jonathan “I can finally fohawk my hair” Base-Bursey. Again the situation was still quite light until Hugh “Steve have you noticed you always get feed last in Asia” Smith received his food. It is important at this point in the story for the reader to recall that it is our second week out of Canada and we are still fairly accustom to service in Canada. Couple this with a throbbing hangover induced headache it is safe to say the my nerves were at a breaking point. Those of you who know me well (Steven), know that if there is any substance i like more than alcohol... it is rageahol. So may even call me a rageaholic. However, I digress. Tensions were mounting as an empty-handed waitress approached the table. At this point ten minutes or so had passed since the boys were feed. Kevin and Hugh were discussing seconds, while Jon’s continuous comments fueled my silent rage. English being this young lady’s second language definitely didn’t help the situation. She sheepishly, as if detecting that I was less than pleased, asked me to please choose another dish for the fish I ordered (from this costal community that offers their fishing village as a tourist site) was unavailable. Well ladies and gentleman....KABOOM!!! Less then pleased I firmly grasped the menu and reordered. The questions circling my mind were “Why didn’t they tell me that when i ordered! Why would the chef let me sit and watch my comrades eat... and finish before alerting me they were fresh out of fish!”. Blast this vile establishment! Apox on these simple people! I composed myself and looked around the table at 3 disapproving faces. I shamefully ordered a bowl of soup and handed my menu back. Before she left Hugh and Kev slipped in a second order of a large bacon pizza... That they did have....In this small fishing village... Whatever.
The fantastic four made haste to a local travel agency to book an afternoon jeep tour, making stops at the highlights of Mui Ne. The jeep left at 2pm and seeing that it was already 1:30pm, I decided to wait at the travel agency while the boys headed home to change. While sitting there replaying the previous incident in my head, wondering how I let myself loose my cool like that, I was approached by a flamboyant young German fellow. He read me the pitch of the bar he was working for and offered me 2 free shot certificates. I thanked the young man and, as if the morning hangover never occurred, began to plan tonight's festivities. At that moment a little blue wrangler screeched to a halt in front of me. This was our tour guide. He was a nice young, Vietnamese fellow of 24. A quiet but intelligent lad who’s knowledge of local sites would prove invaluable to us. The boys sauntered up immediately after his arrival and we were off.
Our first stop was the Fairy Stream. Aside from ingrained Disney visions of Neverland, one draws but a puzzled expression when trying to comprehend the workings of this tourist site. We arrived in about 20 mins. We were lead on a long tour through the back of this house whose main highlight was the overwhelming scent of animal manure. We emerged at this shallow stream. At it lowest it appeared as if you were walking in water and at its highest it was at your knee. We headed up this river towards an eclipsing red sand dune in the distance. The river was lined with different types of exotic plant life and interesting rock formations which made for great photo shoots. We finally reached the base of the dune and began our accent. It was steep and in the heat it made for a formidable task. Once at the top we took a few pictures and videos for the folks back home. Gazing out at the beautiful scenery I knew it would be a challenge to describe in words. Well as the old adage goes... picture = 1000...... we knew we had to get higher to really capture the nuances of the landscape. So up we went. Hugh decided that his current elevation was suffice and watch Kevin, Jono and I race to the top. Our young tour guide friends informed us that there were coconut trees at the top. Recently developing a strong liking for the fruit, it merely sweetened the deal for me. Higher and higher we climbed. Reaching every summit only revealed a greater one. I knew I had to make it to the top. There was no other option. I finally found myself alone. Looking back I could see Kevin trailing me and Jono behind. Excited in my achievement I surveyed my surroundings. Everything was quite standard. Red sand, patches of grass, the odd tree. Nothing really of mention... Well almost nothing. There were these interesting holes. All similar in shape and depth. A diameter of about 3 feet and a depth of 1 foot. No real pattern to them. I called to Jono to see if he had any idea what they were. “They’re just animal burrows...probably foxes. So don’t get too close!” hollered the young English-History double major. Oh well I thought, Jono knowledge on local geography hadn’t failed me yet. The summit was all that mattered now. Almost to the top I started noticing more and more these holes. “Wow! what a great number of animals this hill homes” I thought to myself naively. My thoughts were interrupted by Hugh casually calling to me from the base of the hill... “Hey...Hey Steve!” . “What, Hugh?” I grumbled, angered that my trek was being delayed. “These kids are telling me...well... those holes...those hole are.....they’re LAND MINES man!”. Let me give you a second to let that sink in...............OK. My face immediately lost all colour. For those of you that don’t know land mines take the average of one life a day in Vietnam. I was not interested in being a statistic. “Alright old chap” I told myself, “This is easy. Just retrace your steps.” . I was now surrounded by 5 .......Animal burrows .... “You fool. How could you be so stupid”. Cursing myself wasn’t going to get me anywhere. Alright, my path had been more or less straight. I just had to keep my cool. “One foot in front of the other old boy....Nice and easy”. At this point Kevin and Jono had already darted down the slope. I made it past the original hole and took off like a flash. I ran to the base in seconds flat. I shook off the tremors and asked our tour guide “friends” if the translation for coconut tree in Vietnamese was fucking LAND MINE!!!! Cool down now big fella. Nothing went wrong. You just learned a valuable lesson. You’re in a war torn country. The path less traveled is less traveled for a reason.... A few jokes to lighten the mood on the way back and we were off to our next destination.
The next stop would be the old fishing village. It would probably make for a good photo op. Our driver mashed on the accelerator and off we went. Well for those of you unfamiliar to Vietnamese road etiquette, they drive on the same side as Canada with some slight variation. If someone is in your way going slower than you, you merely mash on the horn and pass....in any means necessary. To the left, to the right, if you can find a way to jump them then that works too. Wide turns in the left lane to keep from shifting down is not only allowed, its almost expected. Calling it a free-for-all may even be an understatement. Let me just say that our driver was fearless. Where there was a will to pass someone....hell! this guy would find a way. On the horizon we caught a glimpse of numerous fishing vessels in harbor and toiling natives. This must be the spot. We hopped out. A Facebook display pic here. A uploaded video there and we had seen our fill. “onward!” the team yelled. “Surely, your next stop would not disappoint”, you must be asking yourself. Well, it very well may be the focal point of Mui Ne......and don’t call me Surly.
White sand dunes or bust, was the general agreement in the Wrangler. Flying through some very interesting country we arrived at an old dirt road. The bumpy ride concluded at a small hut. In the distance we could see the white caps of the sand dunes. Excitement was smeared all over the young mens faces like cake at an infants birthday. We rented sleds from locals and made off. One of them tried to even show Kev how to use the sled. A fire erupted in Kevin’s eyes. We all restrained him as he explained as calmly as possible that he was from Canada and wrote “the book” on toboggan use........ and co-authored the one on toboggan repair. It was safe to say that we were trying stand-upsies on sleds when these kids were in diapers. Step aside junior! After navigating a narrow path past a beautiful lake (the first fresh body of water I’ve seen in Southeast Asia....Lakes how I miss them) and a small forest we were at their base. We began our climb but ran into a similar problem. No not the land mine thing. We were never satisfied that our peak was the tallest! But learning our lesson we stayed were everyone else was, made a few sled runs and took tonnes of pictures. We made for the hut again and found our driver.
“BAR HO!!!!!” cried the 4 travel buddies. Tonight's destination was Pogo’s. Remember those free shot vouchers? Well they had to be redeemed. After a short drive accompanied with a small race, a strategic photo op and a discussion about who had the most sand in their shorts, we arrived. Food and drink were an order. Hopefully merriment wasn’t far behind. We drank and shot pool until food arrived. This is where the night gets foggy for my. You see Kevin and I were drinking buckets. Well.... for those of you that drink. Any beverage that is served in a bucket spells bad news. As we drank we gathered an international crowd. There were two Kiwi’s. They we two mature gals. Hugh informed me later that they had been traveling for a while. One was a lawyer and both were in serious relationships but traveling none the less. Three Germans sat near me. They had been volunteering in Cambodia in leu of military service. They informed me that the military in Germany was not what it used to be. “I sure hope not” I shot back, expecting uproarious laughter. I was actually met with three fairly unimpressed faces..... Too soon???? There was an English chap as well. Bit of a pompous bloke. We didn’t pay much time with this POHM. The night went on and drinks kept pouring. Kevin was in high spirits after an undeniable smack down on Jono at a one-on-one pool match and everything was going well. Out of nowhere the night took a turn....or should I say a spin,.....now everything was spinning..... Was it the apocalypse? Was the second coming tonight? Or were the buckets going to my head? I opted for the third choice. I grabbed the room key from Hugh, excused myself, bid farewell to my new friends and trekked home. That was the end of my eventful day, but I can’t speak as a whole. So I am now going to pass off writing duties to the men who braved the storm and lived to tell the tale.
- Steve
Alright, tough act to follow with Stevie’s beautiful literary portrait. Pogo was a wicked cool bar right on the oceanfront of Mui Ne, and as the night progressed, the waves coming off the Pacific were crashing harder against the stone foundation of the bar. These huge crashes would send water flying tens of feet into the air, occasionally dropping down on the huge circle of backpackers that were chilling with their drinks. It was all a pretty sweet scene, something us Southern Ontario boys aren’t normally accustomed to.
We lost Steve to the ‘bucket spins’ fairly early in the night. The night got quite real afterwards. Now excuse me for the huge mental lapses in this story, I am still slightly confused as to what exactly happened over the next three hours.
We formed a huge circle in the sand with the twenty or thirty other tourists. I remember sitting in this circle with Hugh. I switched to beer as he pounded his third bucket back. Kevin was at the pool table for a long time, presumably hustling the patrons. Each group of these bar-goers were from a different spot in the world, as I remember talking to some cool people from England, New Zealand, Croatia, and some not-so-cool people from Germany and the States. Kevin joined us after his dominating billiards performance, and we commemorated the occasion by doing a shot of Jim Beam. From what I remember, we then attempted to speak some awful French to a couple from Nice. They thought that we would have some grasp of the language, as we both claimed to be French Canadian. Was not impressive. The night then turned to absolute debauchery as the spoiled-son of Pogo’s owner decided to step behind the bar and hand out free shots to anyone who could stomach them.
So here’s where things get tricky. We either left Kevin at the bar, or he told us to go without him, but either way, we got separated (he stayed for a little while longer, lost his sandal somewhere, and walked back to the guest house barefoot).
Hugh and I left the bar with beers in hand, and were met by two guys with motorcycles. Because it’s so much easier to get driven places than walk when you are drunk, we hopped on the back and zoomed away.
I remember very little from this point. From what Hugh told me, they pulled up to the hotel, I told my driver that I did not want to go home, but wanted to go to somewhere I could get more beer. With a big smirk on his face, he did a U-turn and took us to his buddy’s oceanside outdoors restaurant, where there was some sort of fish platter waiting for us on the table. We bought our drivers (who spoke no English) beer, and forced them to chug while yelling “one, two, three, cheers” in Vietnamese (mot hai ba Dzo). A few of their friends swung by during this time, and tried to sell us everything from prostitutes to marijuana (we are getting used to these types of offers in Southeast Asia).
After paying our bill, we told the boys to take us home. After getting halfway down the main road (which was completely deserted by this time), my motorcyclist was flagged down by a sketchy-looking dude on the side of the road, and forced to turn around. We asked why we were now going the wrong way, and in broken English, they repeated the word ‘gangster’ a bunch of times. Not realizing the severity of the situation, we told them to turn around and we would pay off the guy to let us pass.
Thank god the Mui Ne faction of the Vietnamese mafia wasn’t there when we drove back.
Saying thanks to the guys, we finally made our way back to our beds. We didn’t feel great in the morning.
- Jono
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