Dearest Rachel -
Since I thought I might need to get my hands on some of the local currency in case I have any significant expenditures to deal with while ashore (if nothing else, having cash to tip our tour guides with can't be a bad thing), I figured I would look up the local exchange rate. All I can say is that, it's a good thing Regis Philbin wasn't Vietnamese, as their version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" would lack some of the punch our version had, since where's the thrill in winning a lousy forty bucks U.S.?
Of course, it's quite likely that a million dong goes farther here than forty dollars does back at home. And yes, that's what their currency is called; but before you make any juvenile jokes about it, understand that it's apparently pronounced "dom," not "dong." It seems to be a common thing in Vietnamese; even their signature dish, phở, is pronounced "fuh," rather than "foe," like you might think. Leave it to the French to give their colony a Latin alphabet, and yet have them spell every word differently from how they're actually pronounced.
In any event, as we're waiting to get into Nha Trang's harbor, I'm contemplating whether or not to make myself a momentary millionaire by grabbing eighty bucks worth of dong out of a local cashpoint once I get ashore, in case I need/want to spend some money here (besides, I've rather run out of U.S. currency at this point, and the local stuff might be more useful than anything else I still have in my stateroom, to be honest). Even if I don't spend it in Nha Trang, there's always Ho Chih Minh City tomorrow.
The morning is fairly straightforward, apart from the fact that we're back to tendering for the first time in what seems like over a month - was our last time at this in the Whitsundays? I can hardly remember, it's been so long.
Although I don't think I'm ever going to get used to the sight of a city with these immense mountains right behind them like this. Sure, parts of Nha Trang look like home, with little more behind them than the bright blue sky, but much of it seems to be built on one large hill or another. It's all so foreign to me; of course, given where we are, that shouldn't come as any surprise.
***
Our first stop is the Marine Institute, and quite honestly, it feels as if we haven't so much as ventured out of the parking lot. I realize that such a place ought to be on the waters' edge, but it leaves me wondering why we bother even getting on the bus in the first place. Then I get off, and this wave of hot humidity smacks me in the face. Ohhh… that's why.
At some point, I hear someone compare the place to a well-appointed pet store. That's not entirely fair; a pet store wouldn't have taxidermied animals on display.
Although some of the stuffed specimens don't seem to be expertly done, if I'm being honest. But I guess that's how things are.
To be fair, the underwater tunnel is kind of cool; but it's been a while since I've been to the Shedd back at home, so I've no basis for comparison.
It's a challenge to get back to the bus; I have to turn around and retrace my steps for quite some length before I can find the exit. Thankfully, I'm not the last person on the bus, but I'm pretty close.
Turns out, we're already running late; we were only supposed to be here for about half an hour.
And getting out of the parking lot is something else; this is a view of the traffic right from my window.
Our guide punctuates pretty much every sentence with a "nyah" sound; I think it's just a verbal tic, like saying "yeah" in English, or "eh?" in Canadian. He also takes some time to teach us a few Vietnamese phrases, such as (and I know I'm going to spell these wrong; I'm just going to transcribe what I heard) "sin chow" for 'hello,' "gam on" for 'thank you,' and a chant of "hai-ban-yo!" before drinking, roughly equivalent to saying '1-2-3… drink!' in lieu of saying 'cheers!' or 'bottoms up!'
Our second stop is at the local craft village, and it's clear they saw us coming. I suppose it's nice to be welcomed with open arms like this, although one can't help, but recognize that the enthusiasm has more to do with a capitalist bent, no matter how much they would consider that a great evil, being socialist and all that.
The odd thing is, most of what they display is too big to take home (even if I still had room in my newly-purchased suitcase, which I don't - in fact, I didn't have enough room for what I've already acquired), and it's debatable as to whether or not much of it is even for sale.
I have to admit, being into calligraphy like I am, to being impressed by the posters combining names and portraits of various Western and Asian celebrities and historical figures.
I'm out the exit probably twenty minutes before I need to be. As in Lombok, there are touts here waiting for us with goods to sell. As this is (I think) a place for shopping, I'm not nearly as offended as I was there (I may not be Muslim, but I see that on the grounds of a religious site as bordering on sacrilegious), but I can't buy anything from anybody, even if I wanted to. It so happens, when I checked my wallet, I'm literally down to my last dollar; without a stop at a cashpoint, any dreams of becoming a local millionaire - and being able to buy anything - are just that, dreams.
Still, those twenty minutes of air-conditioned comfort are quite welcome, and we've another twenty to go before we arrive at the Po Nagar tower. I'm actually concerned about the fact that this humid eighty-plus degree weather is what we're going to be dealing with from here to Dubai. As if I needed one more reason to miss Japan.
Our next stop is the Po Nagar towers, which, contrary to what I'd thought I'd read, seems to have been built in honor of a quasi Hindu deity, the mother goddess of the Champa. Apparently, various individual towers contain a sculpture of either a Lingham or a Yoni, representing the male or female essence; expectant parents would enter into a temple containing one or the other in order to pray for either a boy or a girl, respectively. While no cameras are permitted within the towers (nor, for that matter, are shoes or excessively revealing clothing, the latter of which seems particularly odd, considering the image the worshipper is paying homage to. But hey, what do I know?)
Still dealing with hawkers, both in the square in which the towers stand, and on the way down. Again, apart from not having more than a single U.S. dollar to spend (and no opportunity to access more, local funds), the latter doesn't bother me so much as those on the temple grounds. Is Christianity the only religion that has a problem with commercializing its sacred spaces? Or am I giving Christianity too much credit? What would Jesus do? And no, I'm pretty sure He wouldn't endorse those rubber "WWJD" wristbands…
We make another relatively quick stop, this time at a shopping mall. I try to use the ATM, but it rejects my card twice. Turns out, the bank it's attached to is closed down. I try to head around the block to find another bank, and find another mall with an ATM. But this one, too, is out of service. Finally, a little further on, a third mall has a couple of machines, one of which actually works. So now, for now, I'm a Vietnamese millionaire. However, at this point, I don't have enough time to actually buy much – especially anything to eat. I do grab a couple of things, but it doesn't amount to much.
We do have one final stop, at a coffee shop situated on the beach. We're offered a selection of beverages and, for the sake of doing something different, I choose coconut water, served right in the coconut. Well, if I was stranded on a deserted island, I'd probably be okay with it, but all things considered, I think I could go the rest of my life without trying that again. Some new flavors are like that. I do however manage to wander onto the beach, and decide that you might not mind spend a little bit of eternity here.
Our guide describes his people like the bamboo that grow throughout the country. It may be light and fragile-looking, but it will grow anywhere. Not even the bombs from the war could destroy them. Whether oppressed by the Chinese for a millennium, the French for a century, or the Americans for a quarter century, the Vietnamese survive and thrive, just like the bamboo. As ambivalent as I am about Vietnam (and, given recent – well, within my lifetime – history, I'm sure the sentiment is mutual), I have to respect their resilience in the face of adversity, even as I embarrassedly have to acknowledge that some of that adversity came from us. I wish him and his people well; I have to, if for no other reason that as a guest in their house.
Anyway, that was my day in Nha Trang; it may get that much more heavy-handed in Ho Chih Minh City tomorrow. Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I'm going to need it.
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