Link

Here's the link for the photosite again, so there's no need to search for it deep inside the blog realm.

http://s104.photobucket.com/albums/m171/vandykandstevens/

there are now 18 new photos of our trip to Oanh's house and our venture at sea.

Later!

Adam

visuals

One more note. There are new photos on our photo site so check 'em out. If you've never visited the photo site before you can find the link in the blog called "photos" which was posted a few months ago. The new album on the photo site is called Oanhs house and boat trip, enjoy!

Also a shout out to the Man of Men, J. Scroggie, who read the entire blog in one sitting a short while ago. Well done!

Peace
Adam

A pirate's life for me!

Hello hello, and a happy January to all of you. I hope the sun shines as brightly for you as it does here for me. It’s the 26th now and I still can’t believe how fast time is moving. Monday was an exciting day. One of those days that you expect a lot of beforehand, and in the end it delivers a lot, because circumstances don’t allow it to do otherwise. So let me tell you about this day. It was the brainchild of our friend and co-worker Alex. Having recently been moved to a four day work week, Alex has lots of time to wander around town and explore. One of his explorations led to the discovery of a boat available for charter through a local restaurant. And so it was decided that said boat would be hired by the staff and friends of ILA. The cost of a 12 hour charter was 1.5 million dong. Fourteen of us boarded the boat yesterday morning at half past seven. After conversions and divisions the cost worked out to about six bucks a head.

Things looked great on arrival. The boat was moored a few yards off shore so it didn’t end up high and dry when the tide went out. Because of this, we were required to board a small raft and be ferried out to the vessel. As with most enterprises in Vietnam, the transfer to the boat was not uneventful. The “dock” that was provided to reach the raft was simply a shaky rope and plank bridge which led to a rocky outcropping covered in slippery sea moss and sharp shells. This outcropping was also the “stairway” which we descended to the king mattress sized raft. After witnessing Matt fall on his keester within eight seconds of setting foot on the rocks I made a note to myself to be damn cautious. No sooner had I made the raft when an over-zealous Alex upstaged Matt’s tumble 10 fold. With bags of supplies in hand, Alex’s feet went from beneath him and with the grace and beauty of a donkey on ice, skidded on his arse into the ocean. When he came to a halt he was knee deep in water with beer cans floating around him. One had sprung a leak and was spinning wildly while spraying suds about. There was a loaf of bread drifting away, and blood was dripping quite quickly from Alex’s hand. Whether he’d cut himself on a shell or a piece of glass from the champagne bottle that didn’t survive the crash is still undetermined. As things were gathered from the sea, Alex was helped back to dry land to have his cut attended to. Meanwhile the six of us that were already on the raft were taken out to the boat. This trip was made possible by a length of rope attached to the boat, along which one of the staff pulled us. We managed to board the boat without drama and then watched the goings on back on shore. Although our view was impeded by a plant or two, we could see that the remaining boat goers had gone back to the restaurant patio where Alex was. Several minutes later the lot of them finally came back down to the sea and made the crossing to the boat. We were filled in on what had happened. Apparently when Alex got back up to the patio the nature of the situation took hold of him and he passed out in his chair. Thanks to this, he now had a nice new set of marks on his forehead and left eye, where he had made contact with a wall, along with a bandage to top it off. His left hand sported two bandaids, something that would be a source of entertainment later in the day as well. But, for now everyone and everything thing was on the boat and ready to sail. Some of us were in better shape than others.

Our first stop on the high seas came about 10 minutes outside of port. Apparently the plan was to anchor just off of a local fishing net and drop our poles in the water. So, anchor we did, and drop poles we did. After an hour or so of reeling in fish the size of a tube of toothpaste, the crew decided this venture to be exasperating and we upped the anchor and moved on. Next we sailed along the coast to the west, away from the main area of Vung Tau, but still very much in sight of all of the disgusting oil and shipping industry infrastructure and even the school. Yes, that’s right we could see the school. It was staring at us like a face in the shadows watching us on our day off, our day at sea. Well, this was unpleasing to say the least. It was then that the first of a few small problems arose. When we expressed our desire to relocate to the area east of the city, around a headland, and in more open ocean from which the school could not peek at us, the three “captains” (they were restaurant employees) informed us that where we wanted to go was too dangerous. They offered us a different destination, further to the west. This was alright, but still did not relieve us of the foul and filthy water that flows down the Saigon River, toward which we were headed. After another lengthy spell of slow motoring we found ourselves in what looked to be a fish farm/on water market. The water was putrid at best and there was certainly nowhere inviting in sight. It was time for action. We asked Hoan, one of the TA’s that had joined us, to tell the lackeys we wanted to head east. Finally they pivoted the ship and we headed in the desired direction. About an hour later, after running aground on a sand bar, we were passing downtown VT, finally out of sight of the school and headed for open ocean. The high seas! It felt good to rock up and down on the swells and at times the water resembled a colour other than brown. Eventually we were forced to turn the boat around, the waves did in fact look ominous and there were several people feeling ill, and even acting on their feelings by visiting the rail of the boat. So we turned back. What ended up happening was the boat coming to a rest in the main harbour of Vung Tau where we would spend the rest of the day. Around two o’clock over half of our posse was actually evacuated on a small fishing skiff and taken ashore to relieve seasickness. That left six of us, floating on calm waters, eating, drinking and soaking up the sun. A little later on the captains got out some hotplates and cooked up the fish we’d caught. At six o’clock when the sun went down, we called it a night. We reached port just as the sun was setting, and it was a beautiful sight, bright red, with streaks of orange and yellow across the sky. The sun was not the reddest thing in view however. You see, our friend Alex, whose face was mentioned as a source of entertainment, had decreed that he did not believe in sunscreen. So now, at the end of the voyage his face was like a nicely cooked lobster, gleaming with tones ranging from fuchsia to vermillion, except beneath his forehead bandage, which was of course, the entertainment.

The day had taken a lot out of us, and when we got home at half past six we were thoroughly drained. It was a swell day on the high seas though (pun intended).

It’s three days later now and Alex’s face is peeling profusely. His forehead resembles a red canvas with a bandaid size patch of liquid paper smeared across it. It’s ok though, he doesn’t believe in sunscreen ;)

Adam

An adventure outside of Vung Tau

A little over a week ago, one of the TA's, named Oanh, invited Adam and I to visit her house in the country. After a few more questions we realized that we may have been asked because of our motorbike services, in order to transport two of her friends from her other school. I doubt however, that Oanh's thoughts were so malicious. And even if they were, I wasn't going to pass up a chance to get out of the city with an actual destination to see. The adversity of this trip just kept increasing, as Oanh decided we needed to leave at 7:30 am. You see, Sunday is the usual social night for us teachers, who usually have nothing to do on Monday. And it is often quite necessary to indulge oneself whether or not there is something to do on Monday. This sunday was no different, except for the fact that the two Aussie girls (Sophie and Ashley) who would be joining the trip to Oanh's were joining in our festivities. After some sake, some beers and some potato balls, and the closing of the bar we were at, the girls decided to call it a night in preperation for the trip. After dropping them off, we didn't heed to responsible decision, but kept the night rolling. Our dear friend Alex made the night more exciting by getting a plastic bottle of vietnamese alcohol. Whiskey or whatever, I don't know. All I know is it doesn't taste good, and when Giao, the lady we know who owns the food/drink stand we were at, tried to convince him not to drink it he plainly stated 'I don't care what it's made of, I just want it'.
After a sip of that swill we stuck to beer. Once we were done eating, it was around 3 am. But despite still having logical decision-making abilities, we decided to go to NASA bar for a night cap. Finally after a couple games of pool, we head home. Bed at 3:30, up at 7. Unsurprisingly we felt quite terrible when we started the trip. But the wind in the face did a lot to keep spirits up.
Our first stop was Long Hai for breakfast. We hung out on the beach for a while, but only Mau went for a swim. (Mau was the sixth member. Another friend of Oanh's, and an interesting character since he has a Malaysian father, a Swedish mother, was born in Montreal, and can speak 6 languages). Near us on the beach was a gang of 12 year olds riding around on their bikes. After watching them pop wheelies for a few minutes, I decide to show them up. So I borrow the one kids bike, and start riding around. The kids are loving it. Then I try a wheelie. Not working. My technique was poor. On the third attempt, I landed smoothly from a half decent wheelie, and the peddles suddenly felt loose. I was getting no propulsion. Turns out I dislodged the rear derailer from it's moorings. There was then a 10 minute, 6 child operation to fix the bike, but I don't think it ever got fixed. Bad start to the day.
We then headed on our way for the next journey which would take us all the way to Oanh's. The beginning of the trip was wonderful, driving along the edge of the sea, and looking at 'mountains' which have large boulders which will be good for climbing, when I have the time to develop it. Quite exciting. The rest of the trip was normal, except for the fact that Oanh had no idea where she was going, and had to ask passing motorists several times. The highlight of the drive wsa when we stopped at a sugar cane vendor and laid in hammocks. We could have stayed there all day and it would hvae been fine. But we trudged on and finally made it to Oanh's. In a work environment that is meant to look wealthy, you don't realize that some of your co-workers might not be rich. While Oanh does well with two jobs, her parents still live in typical vietnamese style. A rugged house, relatively open concept, an outhouse (though done up nicely), and not the plumbing we are used to. Their property was large, but there was no grass. There was lots of sand though, and chickens. Lots of bushes, a few dogs, a wild pig.... and that's about it. We were served a massive meal, that was utterly delicious with fish and chicken (from the yard) and soup and rice. Wonderful. And after a watermelon for desert, we crashed. Two of us on the hard bed, on on the hard couch, and the other two on the hard ground. Never thought I could pass 2 hours on a hard bed, but it felt great.
Refreshed, I notice that Oanh is going out. I ask to join her, and apparently Mau was going to too. Just before we left, Adam awoke, and it became a 4 person mission. But before we could get away, the other two awoke, and so the six of us departed for Oanh's farm. This was interesting. Farms apparently don't have to be very accessible in Vietnam. The little one bike path through the backlands of vietnam was quite the adventure, especially on the Bonus. The bikes faired fine, but it was a test of my driving skill. I feel I did well, and am prepared for much worse now. Eventually we turned a corner and saw a house. At this humble abode was lots more wild pigs, many chickens, geese, ducks, and a few fishing ponds. It looked like the perfect cottage. In fact, Oanh's brother often goes there with his friends for a vacation. They drink, kill pigs and chickens and have a merry time. Sounds good. I inquire about doing the same, and hopefully I'll get a chance.
By now it was approaching late afternoon, which meant it was time to hit the road again. Back at Oanh's house we did some good bye photos, and some good bye's, and hit the road. Of course this wasn't meant to be an easy ride for us, at least not for me and my passenger Sophie. Despite a wonderful driving experience on the way up, my bike decided to 'act up' on the way home. Sometimes the cylinders don't get enough gas (according to one bike shop) and it sputters for a bit and then dies. Luckily enough it starts up relatively quickly afterwards, but that doesn't mean it won't happen again. So after a couple stalls, a make shift repair job (which turned out really well becasue he spotted my leaky tire and the hole which was causing the leaky tire) we made it to Ba Ria for dinner. A delicioius meal consisting of veal salad, and a hot pot, ours filled with beef and tofu and eggplant and many other foods, and some beer. We then soldiered on hoping my bike would be alright. It wasn't, but I believe it only stalled once. After that stall I was determined to not have any more problems because we were very close to VT. I got up to speed, and hauled ass in fourth gear with the other two bikes trailing. Without an incident, we made it to VT in no time flat, feeling a little bit cool as the weather has shown us it's winter chill. Riding at night in a t-shirt isn't the warmest thing to do. And the cloud cover that has hung around for hte last weak has prevented the earth from staying warm. No harm done, we arrived back at home around 8:30. After such a long day it was time to cure all that ailed us, being a sore bum, a tired body, and a delerious mind. The best thing to cure that is a long sleep. And that's what happened. Even when I woke up I didn't wake up. It felt great.
Now it's back to the old grind. Perhaps more adventures next monday. Who knows. Ta ta for now.
Brandon.

Another year over, and a new one's just begun

Brandon went first, now it's my turn to give you nice folks a holiday update. It's January 3rd now, which means our "holidays" are over, but it doesn't mean I can't fill you in on what took place on a New Year's Eve in Vietnam. I'll start by saying, like Christmas, New Year's Eve is also different here. Of course, all the necessary decorative measures are taken by locals, but their true symbolism is most definitely lost somewhere between the exhaust of the motorbikes and the branches of the palm trees. Either way, our group of westerners was determined to have a good piss up. So we did what any normal ILA teacher would do on New Year's Eve... we worked. We worked until 4:30, and then found freedom. The night started off pretty calm, people dropped by our place for poolside cocktails. Eventually a decision was made, we needed to eat dinner. Off we went to a restaurant called Seaman Beer. As reproductive as it may sound, the grub was good, as was their homebrew. After dinner, the group of us drifted back to our place, one more round by the pool before really setting ourselves loose in public. When our clock struck twelve we all toasted our way into ot seven and then moved on with more pressing matters, finding other people like us to consume with.

This is where the night gets interesting. The only real plans we'd made for the night entailed viewing our friend and colleague Stuart, while he played bass in a small concert at a place called the Russian Compound, more on that later. When we left the house, we headed for a club called Hollywood, the same bar that found us as patrons one week earlier as a matter of fact. On arrival we found those who we'd been looking for, Stuart, an ILA Vung Tau teacher, along with Jake, Quentin and Steve, two current (Jake and Quentin) and one former (Steve) ILA Saigon Bigwigs, who had made their way to VT for this festive occasion. We had been previously unaware of their plans to visit and upon becoming aware, shifted up a gear accordingly. We weren't at the bar for long. Stuart was scheduled to play at 1 am and we'd arrived around 12:30. Copious drinks were quickly finished and the lot of us headed toward the compound.

Twenty years ago in Vung Tau something big was happening. The cold war was bustling away and Vietnam was still in the throws of post war reclusiveness and communist obscurity. When the first hints of black gold were surfacing off the South Vietnamese coast, the soviets got wind of it and seized a chance. The chance was this: to head to the tropics toting a wealth of oil extraction knowledge and the intention to make enough money that they could eventually print their own. Well the latter may not have happened, but they did manage to found the largest oil providing firm in the country, VietsovPetro. Over the years things were good to the Russians. Like the Vietnamese, they too were a Socialist State, and like the Vietnamese, they too had a serious beef with the US. The marriage was a perfect fit. The Russians were making money hand over fist and the Vietnamese had an economic boom like they hadn't seen in years. Most of this excitement was centred around Vung Tau, well all of it actually. VT is the oil hub of the country. In those early years the Russians were living in the nicest houses in town, overlooking the sea. Outside of work they did little as far as meshing with their hosts. They kept to themselves and there were very few problems. Over the years however a trend began to develop. Despite the large influx of Rusties, as I call them, the Vietnamese slowly began taking control of the industry. You see, what was happening was this, after a few years of working at a job, the Vietnamese found that they new enough about it to teach their buddies how to do it as well. And so, as a handful of Vietnamese moved up the ranks of the companies, it seemed that more and more job vacancies below them were being filled by their friends rather than the originators, the Russians. Nowadays the Russian population in VT is decidedly smaller than what it was 10 years ago, but there are still quite a few of them around. One glaring difference on the face of their existence however, is their place of lodging. Now almost all Russians in VT live in the "compound". It consists of a series of stout and utilitarian apartment buildings surrounded by a 10 ft concrete wall with a foreboding entry gate and security post. The compound is a tribute to the Motherland indeed.

So now back to the story. As mentioned, we were headed for the compound, of all people and all places, Stuart was playing with a Russian band, inside their stronghold. We were all intrigued to say the least. Upon arrival we had to check in with securtity at the gate. The person in control that night was a middle aged woman with a look of stone and matching shoulders. I think she could have bitten me in half and curled my upper and lower chunks in rythm. I'm not sure, but I don't believe she was related to Anna Kourinkova. Anyway, after security we ambled into the main courtyard area in the centre of the compound, and gazed upon the huge stage, all lit up, with a christmas tree in front, also aglow and decorated. It took a very short time to realise that we were the only ones there. Not a Russian in sight. I was beginning to think we'd been duped. Sure enough though, over the next 20 minutes, a pack o' siberians descended on the area. Before we knew it there was a band playing, not Stuart's yet, and a case of beer and bottle of Jagermeister had found their way into our clutches. Clearly the party was on. We sat on the bleachers and we danced some jigs, there were pictures taken and bottles emptied. Eventually Stuart and his bandmates came on and played songs that vaguely permeated our clogged heads. At the end of their set the music came crashing to an abrupt halt and the lead man leaned toward the microphone and uttered "that's it." And so that was it. We decided to make a break for it, the time seemed right. Dyk and I hopped atop my rented scooter (my bike was in the shop) and blazed off in the direction of Stuart’s house. We had heard that the party had shifted there, so it was destination numero uno. With a half full bottle of whisky in his hand, Brandon straddled the back of the seat with me in the cockpit as we roared across town. We were within a couple hundred yards of Stu’s place when a patch of loose gravel jumped up and took us down from beneath, like a finely executed ankle tackle. We skidded to a halt with the tiny bike on top of us, coming to rest in a cloud of dust. In the instant directly following the crash we checked vitals and realized everything was ok, including the bottle, which Dyk had saved. In the next instant, the searing pain of melting flesh made it occur to Brandon that his leg was resting nicely on the white-hot tailpipe. With a yelp he was up and dancing about in pain, as I laid in a stupor under the bike. In a few moments we’d righted the ship and were back on the road again, this time in search of a sink rather than a party. Using our phones, we discovered that the majority of our friends had actually headed to a bar after leaving the compound, so, boneheaded as we are, we decided to go there. We figured that a bar would have a sink, as well as fun and laughter! Upon arriving at the bar, I felt completely ravaged and decided to call it a night. Brandon stayed however, determined to party on, through the blinding pain in his leg. I arrived home and went quickly to bed. In the morning I would find out that I missed a great deal of hoopla at the bar. Apparently one of our compadres from Saigon was provoked enough by a member of bar security to engage in a full on rumble in front of the establishment. It was one against many, as the rest of the security team came flocking. In the end, He managed to defend himself, and made his exit, but the repercussions have really yet to be seen. That was the apex of the night I would say, and a heck of an apex at that. I slept until 3 the next day, and felt like a million bucks afterward (seriously). It was a New Year’s Eve to remember that’s for sure, but then again, I can say the same about most days here, festive or not!

I hope that all of you had a stellar holiday season. I’d like to extend thanks and apologies to my family, thanks for all of the good wishes and unexpected packages (mom and dad) and apologies to those whom I didn’t get a chance to talk to on Boxing Day. Even with all of our advances in technology, sometimes you can still be a world away. Lots of love and laughter in 2007!

Adam

A thought

Picture this. You're a 40+ male. As far as I can tell, you have 5 choices to fill your day. You could be one of the educated few who had a good and lucrative job with one of the oil companies, in which case your children probably attend ILA and you live in a beautiful house and/or another one which you rent it out to the teachers who teach your children. Second you could own a motorbike, on which you spend most of your time either at the boat dock waiting for tourists to come and request a journy to a hotel or, if you're lucky, and tour around town. You have a nomadic lifestyle basically because you just hang out all day and wait for someone to request your services. Third you could onw a store with your family (a grocery, phone store, restaurant or any typical store) and you work at that with your family for many many hours a day. You could also be a labourer, fixing houses or motorcycles, where your services are almost always needed, and your time is worth piddly. And lastly you could be a cyclo driver, which means a cyclo and a couple changes of clothes are probably the only things you own in this world, and the cyclo is not only your job, but your home and bed as well.
Of course, for any of these people (except the oil company men) it is completely acceptable for them to take a 'break' from their job, and play a game of chinese checkers (or whatever game groups of men play in this country) on the sidewalk of any street they so desire. these groups of men are frequently obvious, and seem to enjoy these games, that they play every day, immensely.
Oh what a society.
Enjoy.

The pool

So the pool is becoming a bit of a hinderence. Ever since it got barraged with junk from the hurricane, it hasn't been the same. Maybe it didn't like having massive tree branches, leaves and dirt, and that blue corrugated fiberglass that many people here use as their roofing, swimming in it. After draining that mess and cleaning the algae that started to grow on it, we decided to fill it up again, for the holiday season. It took another 6 or 7 days, but we got a solid 2 days of clean water, and then it started to get murky again. I believe the problem is the dry season. All the flora and fauna that makes living on a mountain so exciting, is polluting our water with pollen and dead leaves. I also blame the terrible pump system our landlord installed. One little pipe in the bottom corner with one little jet just doesn't support a good recirculation of water. I keep swimming it it, but it just doesn't feel like a nice pool. We'll have to do something.
It's still cool.