The winds of December

Well for those of you who don’t watch the news, or haven’t talked to my parents, there’ve been some interesting events transpire over the last few days. These events weren’t of a criminal nature, nor were they human in any way, shape, or form. This time we were affected by natural events.

Let’s begin Monday afternoon, the 4th of December. Dyk had made the trip down to the surf club in search of some waves. I had had a lively Sunday night and was still vegetating at the homestead. Shortly after arriving at the beach and witnessing the fabulous swell rolling in, Dyk sent me a message informing me of this good fortune. I dragged my lazy butt out of bed and tossed some clothes on to make the trip down. Upon turning the corner onto the beachfront road I too was able to see what magnificent luck we had been blessed with. Crashing into the shore were perfect looking, clean breaking, four to six foot waves, curling into barrels that were long and pristine. It was completely different from the wind generated, choppy whitewash that we’d been used to. Needless to say I gassed the bike and got there as fast as it would take me. For the next two hours or so, we bobbed about on a glassy sea, riding wave after wave as the sets rolled in. It was a spectacular day, and there was only one explanation for it; a typhoon. Further up the coast loomed Typhoon Durian, the fruitfully named storm that had recently barreled across the Philippines killing hundreds of people as it triggered mudslides and mass destruction. It was apparently poised to take a run at the central coast of Vietnam, following in the footsteps of its typhoon brethren before it. In Vung Tau, on the south coast, we thanked Mother Nature for this aquatic treat and called it a day, assuming that we’d seen all that Durian would throw at us. We went to bed later that night planning to head back to the surf club in the morning in hopes of a second go. Well, for one, our assumption was far from correct, and two, we didn’t make it to the surf club in the morning.

I was awoken at approximately 4 am to the sound of wind and windows against the side of the house. In a haze I realized they were my windows and they needed to be closed or else the wind was going to forcefully remove them from their hinges. Upon doing this it occurred to me that the power was out, as the fan in my room had stopped working, and the usual transcendent glow of the streetlight was not percolating through my curtains. It also occurred to me that it was raining, and perhaps I should close the other windows around the house as well. So, aided by the dim light of my mobile phone I stumbled to the living room, closed the windows and made my way up stairs to do the same there. At the top of the stairs I met Brandon, taking the same measures as I. We looked at each other and then took a look out the window, only to realize we had not in fact, seen the last of Typhoon Durian.

For the next two hours we stood by the door to our pool deck looking out over the South China Sea, as all matter of bedlam roared outside. The wind and rain gathered force and fury, whipping our mango tree about like a rag doll. Our vision was obviously limited, so we spent much of the time trying to decipher every crash and bang that was taking place around us. The general consensus was that we had no idea what the noises were, but this situation was bloody entertaining. After exchanging phone calls with Rudi and Antony up the street, we started to piece together the magnitude of the storm. Shortly thereafter we heard the biggest crash and bang yet, and it came from our third floor. Accompanying the noise was a few chunks of falling debris, which whizzed past the window in front of us on their way to the deck below. At that point the weather was too harsh to investigate the occurrence, but we would find out soon enough that the front wall of our outdoor solarium on the third floor had been shattered and the aluminum frame ripped from its place. This was the apex of the storm for us. By six o’clock the winds had subsided, screaming to a halt in what seemed like half a second. For a while we thought maybe we were actually in the dreaded “eye of the storm,” when in fact it was all but over. All that followed were some heavy rains and an attempt to get back to sleep, in a steamy bedroom which lacked functioning fans. When we rose again, around mid-morning, we went outside to check out the neighbourhood. It was a full on clean up effort at that point. Tin roofs and ceramic tiles had not fared well in the fury and resulted in a sufficient amount of cleanup for they’re poor owners. We walked up the street to check out Rudi and Antony’s places, finding them less scathed than we, suffering little to no damage at all. After a brief moment’s chat about the night, and a 15 minute wait for a passing rain shower we (Brandon, Rudi, Rudi’s mate Mark, and I) hopped on our bikes to do some rubber necking around town. From back of Rudi’s bike Mark shot over 100 photos of the wreckage, the amount of which was unbelievable. Durian had hit Vung Tau with a force that I doubt anyone predicted, and vast areas if the town was left in ruins. Everywhere we drove we saw trees uprooted, some measuring ten feet in diameter. There were homes and buildings flattened, billboards and signs removed from their moorings, power lines strewn about the streets like clotheslines in a Chinese laundry. The next day the newspaper would put the stats at 34 people dead and 6700 homes destroyed in Vung Tau province. As I said, it was not expected. We’d heard also that a storm of this magnitude hits this area once in 50 years, just like in Point Break starring Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze!!

All jokes aside, it was definitely something to behold, and I’m glad we were a part of it, that’s for sure. The past two days since it happened have been a mixture of interest and uncomfort, as we didn’t regain power for about 36 hours. This made sweating a ridiculously easy and common achievement, and the only real way I found to rid myself of the burden was to drive around on my motorbike without a shirt on. On the whole though, things weren’t so bad. The diligence of the locals was impressive when it came to repairing their businesses and getting them running again. There were no real emergency situations, like food shortages or water rations, although I did hear that purchasing candles was a rowdy task. In fact, the night after the storm ravaged us we even managed to consume cold beer at one particularly courageous public house which managed to procure a generator.

Things are almost normal now on Thursday night, power has been restored to a lot of the city, our house included (yay) and the majority of the streets have been cleared of fallen trees. It’ll obviously be a long while until the town looks the same again, but in the meantime we’ve still got our view. We’ll soon post some photos for you, so these words can be brought to life and no worries for us, we’re keepin’ on keepin’ on, and this time the cops aren’t involved!
Peace, love and roadhockey

Adam