Rainy Day Ruminations

As the rain pours down outside, I have plenty of time to ruminate. Beware. There is a river flowing down what yesterday was a road outside of our beach bungalow enclave. Yesterday we told the staff here that we would be checking out this morning to move to another hotel (a sweet little eco-lodge on a remote beach with nothing but pounding surf and sunshine) for our final day on Phu Quoc Island. They smiled sweetly as if they understood, and then they summoned the thunder gods and brought on the monsoon (Damn tourists! Who do they think they are switching hotels? We will show them who’s in charge here). And indeed they have.

The rain began pounding on the roof last night. It does that a lot at night, so we thought nothing of it. The power surged on and off (I know because I kept waking up to reprogram the A/C), but it does that a lot, so we thought nothing of it. This morning we waited and waited for a let up in the rain to make our sprint to the breakfast patio. There was no reprieve, and we were hungry, so we dashed through the downpour. Sitting at breakfast that I noticed Brianna was wearing my clean, dry clothes (as I sat in dirty ones – not wanting to get the clean ones wet and dirty in this weather). Evil offspring.

It was after we had ordered the usual mango pancakes and hot tea that I happened to glance out at the road. It was/is a river of raging, muddy water. You could literally raft down the thing if you had a death wish. “Alrighty then,” I thought. Transferring to Mango Bay, the sweet little eco-lodge with no television, seemed like a really dumb idea. Three kids + pouring rain + rustic bungalow = big headache. The nice guy who served us breakfast inquired politely as to when (and how) we were leaving for Mango Bay. I think there was an evil little glint in his eye even though his inquiry seemed innocent enough.

John and I looked at each other and said that we thought we might actually just stay here for one more day. Our Vietnamese friend smiled sweetly and nodded, but I think he wanted to cackle with glee. We resigned ourselves to a day of watching the rain come down. We broke out John’s Vietnamese phrase book and took advantage of some time with the staff to practice the basics at which we have been failing so miserably (please, thank you, and numbers). I think it was helpful, but it was hard to tell from the hearty laughter of our language teachers if they were laughing at us or with us. I can only imagine what they were actually teaching us to say. As we stood up to make the sprint back to our bungalow, they gestured at the nearby river and said, “No planes in this weather.” There are worse places to be stuck than a tropical island. But did I mention the smell in the bathroom?

Chics with a death wish

Island life has been treating us well. Phu Quoc has provided us with a nice mix of Vietnamese cultural experiences and island relaxing. Yesterday, day two on the motor bikes, confirmed my belief that the most dangerous thing we have encountered in Vietnam thus far is the ATPF piloting scooters. John (perhaps feeling the effects of his shot of cobra wine) decided to demonstrate his manliness by choosing a manual model. All three kids refused to ride with him after watching him take a quick practice run. I just rolled my eyes, clung to my automatic death machine, and reminded everyone that I was not qualified to drive a scooter by myself – never mind with three children hanging off it. Foster and Nolan lost the battle and had to pile on with John. Brianna lost the battle and had to climb on with me. Never has there been a more perfect example of a “no win situation.”

The manly-mobile

Because I had a full day of scooter driving experience under my belt, John thought he would lead me through a crowded market and across a rickety bridge packed with scooters and shoppers. I reminded Brianna to swim if I ditched the bike in the river. Then I stopped and told John to cross the bridge and come back for my bike. I might be game for endangering myself and our daughter, but I really could not live with the guilt of killing innocent Vietnamese citizens. Brianna and I walked across the bridge and remounted on the other side. I breathed a brief sigh of relief. Sadly that was only the first of many bridges yet to come. Fortunately there were fewer people around once we got out into the countryside. I figured if I took out a cow or a stray dog it would be slightly better than hitting a person. So, each time we came to a rickety old bridge, Brianna and I held our breaths, concentrated on driving in a straight line, muttered prayers under our breath, tried to ignore the sound of cracking wood and loose nails, and gunned it. We survived to tell the tale, but it wasn’t pretty. I’m dreaming of a nice pedal bike in Hoi An – one that I can stop on a dime, one that doesn’t weigh four times more than I do, one that can’t maim people if I hit them. I’m not cut out to be a Vespa girl (never mind a Harley girl – sorry, honey, I know that was your retirement dream).

Perhaps a good day of watching Cartoon Network and HBO trapped in a bungalow by the rain is just what I need to recover from the stress. Alternatively I can read the quality literature I found in the hotel’s book exchange. There was one English book among about two hundred German options. Thus I am proud to report that I have slogged through 179 pages of “Bonk: The curious coupling of sex and science.” It claims to be a New York Times Best Seller. I’m guessing that’s due to the title more so than the content. If I find a section on the scintillating powers of snake wine, I’ll be sure to share my findings. Stay tuned…