Party tonight in Phuket Town. Meet us at the boxers bar at 10. See you then.
M.
Its on. My friends and I pull into the boxers bar and look around. We don’t know anyone… It’s supposed to be people from our camp, but it seems that its the fighters from the rival camp up the road, and they aren’t friendly.
I spot a nice looking guy, tall, with sky blue eyes and dimples. A full sleeve black and white tattoo, he wanders over to my table and starts talking my friend about their tattoos. We strike up a conversation. He is funny, cocky, and quite gorgeous. He has the kind of face that you want to look at for hours because he’s just so…pretty… and he knows it. But who cares? He’s funny and charming and he’s the friendliest man in the bar right now.
Our taxi arrives and we pile in. Girls in the cab and the guys in the tray. In phuket town normal laws don’t apply.
The bar is packed and airconditioned to winter. A cover band is playing heavily accented versions of 80’s hits. We’re all bored.
Theres a guy I’ve seen at my gym. He’s short, with dark skin the colour of milk chocolate. The type with the soft centres that melt in your mouth. He saw me watching him in the gym just yesterday. When he smiles his eyes crinkle, and his muscles make his skin taught when he’s just standing around relaxed. His is the type of body that looks like he takes care of himself but doesn’t spend all his time lifting weights. This is a functional body, a fighters body. He’s out with us tonight, and he won’t speak to me.
I walk outside. He’s there.
“So… where are you from?” I try to strike up conversation
“California.” He replies. Nothing. His buddy looks at me suspiciously.
Blank.
I’m lost for words. I seriously don’t know what to say. I’m not used to having such a hard time talking to someone but he’s making it hard. I don’t know if its just nerves or he really doesn’t want to talk to me. Whatever.
I find my friends and make typical small talk. We’re going to change bars.
Moving a group of 15 individuals across town is no easy feat. We pile into a tuk tuk and find our way to our intended destination. But the nightclub won’t let the guys in who are wearing sandals. Clandestine operations to change shoes and sneak past bouncers take place and we’re all in. Our group instantly splinters into 5 groups of 3.
“These guys are such assholes” I tell my friend, “they just don’t want to talk to us. Is it because we’re new?”
“nah, its just because they’re in a clique.”
“we gotta make our own clique”
“we already ARE a clique!” she laughs..”look at us, its always the three of us” she points out.
I take a break to grab some air and see the guy from my gym and his 2 friends about to take a taxi home. I though the idea was that we stay together and go back to the camp together. They’re not interested in playing friends though. I’d call that Jack where I come from. His level of appeal has dropped significantly.
I’m really trying hard not to make swift judgements on people. Trying to keep an open mind but they’re making it hard.
Back at the front of the club is raining slightly. The rain that doesn’t wet you. Its pleasant with the Thai heat.
Sam is there. Another guy who completely ignored me this evening. Practically said “talk to the hand”. Suddenly a camera comes out and he grabs me by the waist and calls out to a friend “hey take a photo of us.”
I’m confused.
“you’re awesome” he says to me, his face close to mine.
“huh?”
“you’re like.. a gypsy”
“is that supposed to be a good thing?”
“yeah! You’re awesome!”
“you don’t mean that. A minute ago you didn’t like me.”
“what are you talking about? I don’t remember that…”
I shake my head and pose for the photo. The cocky boxer joins us and we stay outside the bar, joking around, flirting, carrying on. The boys tell me I don’t give myself enough credit. I blush and wonder what they’re talking about.
I’m so flattered by the attention but a little confused. Constantly surrounded by prettier, smarter, fitter girls I can’t believe they are talking to me. These guys are fit, attractive and funny. They could have any girl they want.
“you could have any girl you want.” I poach,
“What are you talking about, i’ve been hitting on you all night!” Apparently I needed more of a hint than that.
“I’m going to be trying to get you into bed in about half an hour” Now thats pushing it. Not sure if I should be offended or flattered or both, I steer the conversation away. I like the flirting but as cute as these guys are.. They’re not my type and besides, part of me wishes I was flirting with shortie from the gym. But he’s a ass, right?
Epilogue: One is inclined to change one’s opinion. After writing this story I have actually spent more time talking to this guy, and i’d like to say we’ve become friends.. He’s a funny and genuine guy. I learnt the valuable lesson of not judging someone on the first time you speak to them. In fact… Don’t judge. Just be cool.
Aaahh the joy of travelling. This is the short list of things that I never travel without, part one, because there are quite a few.
As you can see, I’m not much for travelling light. I like to be in contact and know whats going on at home. I want my creature comforts… within reason.
Ipod
I admit it, its true. I am one of “those” travellers who always has an ipod on me. I bought Dawn many years ago, the battery ran dead and has been replaced, so Dawn has many scratches and nicks, she’s been dropped more times than i care to admit but she’s still going. Filled to bursting with Dylan, Punk Rock and Miley Cyrus (I kid you not). I found a pair of Sony headphones on a necklace type lanyard which keeps itaround my neck and I usually put the ipod under my jacket so it can’t be ripped off by wandering hands.
Mobile phone
I have a phone with me now that i bought in 2001. I remember it well, the first time i bought a ‘nice’ phone. It was the smallest at the time, strangely, phones got bigger for a while, and suddenly they are heavier…. So now my 7 year old phone is just as good as any other phone as far as i can figure. If it gets stolen I will be most upset because we have history. I’d rather my old brick phone than a new phone. How upset will you be if your new iphone gets lifted, or if your crackberry goes swimming in the toilet? Take a cheap phone with you!
For international travel your phone must be compatible - i think its called tri-band? Either way, you can pick up a phone for under $100 pretty much anywhere. Make sure you aren’t locked onto a network before you leave home, and buy a sim card when you land.
In Vietnam, my sim card was around $8, included $10 of credit, and it usually lasts about 3 weeks, depending on how often i call Australia.
Running shoes
Okay, I don’t run half as often as I should, but i always take some sort of sports shoe, even if its just for walking. I randomly joined a touch football team here and these came in very useful.
If you are the running/walking/drinking type, you will need a pair of shoes for Hashing! Hash House Harriers run in just about every city on earth and its probably the quickest way to make new friends. All you need is a pair of shoes and a mouth for drinking.
Laptop
Lets be real here. I’m no flashpacker. I don’t travel with wads of cash, and i avoid backpacker hotspots as I would avoid leper colonies. I listen to punk rock for Gods sake!
But i absolutely can’t travel without my Laptop. Not just because I blog and what not.. But… how else do you stay in touch with the world? In many countries it is almost impossible to get news from home without a laptop (unless you love CNN).
Your laptop must be fitted out with some usefull applications and programs though. The short list is:
Stay in touch with home, chat, call home for free and make cheap international calls with Skype - what could be better? I use Skype pretty much every time I am connected to the internet.
Bloglines or Google Reader
For the all important Internet Stalking of your friends blogs… um, i mean, reading the news and staying up to date with stuff!
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, allowing the soft perfume to wash over me.
I step over the threshold and I’m in Macys, Myers or David Jones. This Vietnamese department store has every perfume on hand. For $100 I could smell like J.Lo.
The bright lights attracted me in off the street. Here past the Casio watches and the diamond rings is a tiny perfume lover’s utopia.
I walk slowly down the aisle, admiring the beautiful bottles neatly lined up behind the shiny glass. A colour catches my eye and I’m walking possessed. My eyes glaze over a little as I pick up the delicate eye shadow case and flip open the lid. Sparkly pinks, greens and blues stare back at me… ‘Buy us’ they say ‘buy us and we will make you happy’. Its retail guilt at its most enticing.
I can’t. I have to move house tomorrow. I snap the lid shut on the tantalising colours and push them to the back of my mind. I must be strong. I must resist temptation. I will not be seduced today.
The music is thumping, the dance floor is packed… fly boys and girls gyrate skilfully to the hip hop beats from the imported DJ’s in the corner.
My mouth hits the floor. Two minutes ago I was sharing a motorbike with 2 of my friends, dodging the holes in the roads and precisely avoiding the melee of bikes, taxis and buses. The sole of my right high heel has melted through from having my foot on the muffler. And now, here on the 20th floor of the Sofitel plaza, we have found a modern utopia overlooking the antiquated city of Hanoi, and now we are in a modern, polished, 4 star hotel. We could be anywhere in the world right now.
I struggle my way to the bar but my hips can’t help but sway to the music. I notice more than one man noticing me. For once I am dressed for the night with a designer dress and push up to enhance what my momma gave me.
At the bar I wait patiently. Everyone seems to be getting served, and it’s a western bar, right? Wrong. 10 minutes passes. Getting agitated now. I call out to the girl behind the bar and order a cocktail. Mojito. With berries.
Another 10 minutes go by. I order again, from another bartender. He asks me to pay in advance, and I tell him I won’t pay until I have my drink.
A Britney spears song comes on, mixed up with some ghetto gangster and my attention is taken from the bar and I join my friends for a dance. Some other women are dancing around, my friend is busting out some serious moves that involve her being given a clear berth while she impresses.
Eventually I find my way back to the bar. I ask for the drink… again, and it magically appears. A purplish concoction with mint leaves floating around. This is most expensive and weakest drink in the history of Hanoi. Must remember to write a bad review.
I take my drink and try to find some air. All the bars here get hot and smokey to the point that breathing becomes difficult. The view from the 20th floor is worth withstanding the average drinks. 180 degree views over a stunning lake, the full moon high in the sky and nary a backpacker in sight.
I find a comfortable arm chair and sit back, taking in the sights. This city can be so romantic at times it’s almost like nothing bad ever happens here.
I barely notice the young man who comes and sits next to me. Fine-looking, in the way only a man in his early 20’s can be. All the innocence of his age mixed with the experience of a world traveller. A well cut suit, pressed shirt and no tie. Top button open to reveal a hair free chest. He speaks with a heavy French accent which makes him sound more sophisticated than he probably is. He is very charming. They always are.
In 2 weeks I will have achieved yet another goal of the 5 that I wrote on my mirror 6 months ago.
So why do I feel so uncomfortable right now?
I think I am suffering a little culture shock (*gasp!) yes, that’s right, this is my 3rd visit to Vietnam, my 10th trip to Asia, and yes, I have already lived in 3 different countries, but this time… its taking its toll.
It could be my roommate, Ratatouille; he is a rodent the size of a Chihuahua. On nights when I am a little peckish I consider cooking him up in hot sauce (especially when I find him in my clothes). It could be that for the last 3 weeks I haven’t read anything that resembled a novel or a newspaper. Everything I touch has to do with the various courses I’m taking.
Or it could be that I miss home just a teensy bit. Specifically I miss my mum and the critters I lived with before coming here.
In Vietnam, there are animals on the streets, occasionally I see dogs on leashes, or hear them barking in the distance. Just a few doors up from my hotel there are a couple of puppies that play in the street… but they just aren’t like the dogs at home.
I get the feeling that dogs in Vietnam know that they are just one wrong move away from being dinner.
1 more block down from my hotel they sell dog meat for dinner. Every time I eat in this area I scrutinise the menu to make sure I don’t accidently order Fido and chips.
Of course, I believe that this moment of culture shock is entirely to do with the intensity of the CELTA, even though, by all accounts, I’m passing relatively easily. In fact, yeah, I could be trying ALOT harder. Maybe it’s a little fear of failure. I don’t want to put in 100% in case I still stink at it… And besides, I still have my university exam next week. 5 more philosophers to study in between all the lesson planning and assignments. I don’t know why I thought that would be a good idea.
I tried to extend my visa today. Only to be told that they no longer do visa extensions and that multiple visit visas aren’t available. Oh the drama. Why can’t it just be easy?
So in between missing home, rats the size of Chihuahuas, dogs for dinner, university assignments, non-extendable visas and lesson planning, the hotel that I am staying in doesn’t like me coming home late at night. Ever. On Fridays I want a drink and hang out with my friends. Normal, right? Not here. Apparently, they are insistent that I come home at 11pm. It’s worse than living at home! SO not only do I have all these crazy things happening, I now can’t go out and drink my sorrows away! The horror of it all!
I get the feeling that people think this is a walk in the park. Like I’m at ease in this city. People often say to me that I look calm when I’m actually flapping. I’m sure I look like this is all a walk in the park but inside I feel like that duck that’s sitting on the surface of the pond looking completely serene but underneath the water my little webbed feet are doing double time just to stop me from sinking.
In reality, when I get on my bike, and cruise around I realise that… I know how to avoid the dog meat. I can plan and teach a lesson. I can write an essay from overseas and still get higher than a pass. I can simply buy another visa and dammit, Ratatouille is kind of cute. So yeah, I got this. No worries.
It amazes me how easy it is to feel lonely in this city.
And its not for lack of company. In fact, I am rarely alone except for when I sleep. But i’m talking about the kind of company that has meaning, not just the random strangers you meet and interact with for one minute, one hour or one day.
The type of friendships that last a lifetime, in my opinion, are not formed in bars or nightclubs.
Instant friends.
The type you only speak about sport, drinking and fun in the sun with. The type that doesn’t know or care what your last (or first) name is… The kind you drink with one night, and have to be re-introduced to the next.
There are very few people who I can open up to.. I mean, really open up. I’m a very gregarious, friendly, bubbly type. I make instant friends easily, but its all surface, all for show.
I desperately want to be able to drop the act. To be calm, quiet, almost introverted. I would like to be able to spend my nights having quiet dinner and a glass of wine (imported, of course) and discuss belly button lint, but it seems that to get to that stage, one must meet others while out drinking.
And so one faces the conundrum, do I stay in, quiet and calm and lonely, or go out, have superficially fun times and meet some other superficial people?
Are other people as vacuous as I think they are, or is it just me?
I am sitting in class, our tutor is trying to explain the nuance of “used” so that, in future, we can explain how to use “used” to our students.
The windows are slightly fogged. Our brains are slowly turning into stew. It’s not that the material is hard its that… well… I’ve never had to worry about using “used” before.
She used to be a bitch. The only sentence I can think of. Does this mean she was a bitch, and no longer continues? I don’t know. It means, in the past, she had a habit of being a bitch, but she no longer does. Oh, I see.
I stay quiet. Better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.
My first 40 minute lesson was this morning. I don’t know if the students learnt anything, but they had fun. What did I learn?
Stay CALM, don’t talk so fast I thought I WAS speaking s-l-o-w-l-y. Speak naturally, not too slow. Give instructions, and then ask a checking question to make sure that the students know what to do.Don’t get angry. Whatever you do Don’t Swear (oops)
I miss riding my bike. The course is at such intensity that everything else falls aside. Today is Wednesday, my first evening to myself, but I do have homework… but not due until Friday for my next lesson.
“Zoe, are you listening”
“uhhhhh… yeah?”
“Give an example of the present perfect”
I bat my eyelashes and stick out my lower lip.
“I am pouting?”
He leaves me alone, I’m too loud, too easily excited. Find most of the work relatively easy. If only I was quieter. I sit on my hands and bite my lip so as not to answer too many questions. Being gray is not my thing.
Five pm rolls around. An early mark, no homework due tomorrow. My free night!
15 mins later I roll my motorbike out onto the street, to the bemused glances from the locals. They still seem surprised to see a foreign girl with a moto and no man in tow. Here, I am an anomaly.
My bike is red, and handles like a dream, except for one thing. The stalling. Pulling into the traffic, she stalls. Then again at the lights, I can hear the chorus of honking behind me as it takes a few seconds to get going again.I drive up the street with a thousand other bikes my confidence is growing as I manoeuvre into prime position to get around the corner fastest, whilst avoiding the buses and bicycles, and pedestrians.
Two right turns later I am at JoJo’s Bar. This is a funky, western run bar seats around 30, sells everything at Aussie prices, and has a great feel. My wine is $7 USD. Probably more than I would pay at home for house, but its a welcome respite from hectic Vietnam. Here on this couch, i could be anywhere in the world. Buble is on the stereo, there is no one around. I cosy myself into the corner bar and kick off my shoes, fold my feet underneath me and notice my skin sticking to the pleather. It could be leather. I wouldn’t know the difference anyways.
The staff have lit candles, making the whole bar seem very romantic. I know the manager, but it’s not like that. In fact, I’m not even sure he knows that I am female.
The romantic feel highlights that I am just one of many single white females in Hanoi.
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