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