Not Fake News. Urban Legends

The Vietnamese are horny bastards.

Sorry, nothing to do with sex, just that noise pollution is the first thing you’ll notice on the roads here.

Horns blare like Morse code. In New Zealand a horn blast often equals a middle finger. Here , it’s just a way of announcing your presence.

Until I realised this , I was as jumpy and aggro on the roads as a moose in the Roar.

Then, I stopped taking it personally.

Rather than slowing down and looking both ways, many Vietnamese motorists will just blast their horns at an intersection, most of which have no lights.

Ive listened to car drivers travel hundreds of metres down a straight thoroughfare, blasting their horns every 20 or so metres.

Car drivers are a privileged breed here – import tax is very steep – so they’re outnumbered by at least 10 to 1 by motorcycles.

Still, there’s an arrogance about them. I guess it’s built-in – there’s a certain nonchalance required to clog up the narrow road arteries with a sausage-like SUV.

Doing the Rounds

The many roundabouts are especially… exhilarating. Nevermind the fact that they must be negotiated anti-clockwise, as opposed to Home’s clockwise route.

On the big ones there can be, what, a hundred-plus bikes riding one at busy times.

The trick, I’ve discovered, is to choose a line, and stick to it. Hesitate, or do something unexpected, and you’re roadkill. Or , stranded in the firing line like a sitting duck.

All that said,the Vietnamese are mostly very skilled motorcyclists. They’re so blase about it, every third guy is smoking and riding, every second girl is checking her cellphone, every 5th bike is loaded with a cargo-full, and every 8th bike is loaded with three people or more.

On the other hand, unlike Thailand, you’ll rarely see helmet-less riders.

On the third hand, I’ve only ever seen cops directing traffic, as opposed to collecting taxes and Christmas fund donations.

The ride to work is 15-20 minutes, but I enjoy it. Nothing like a bracing ride in the warmth, followed by a stiff coffee with butter, to get the juices flowing of a morning.

I used to love dogs, really I did.

But I tell you, these Vietnamese mutts are a different breed. I don’t like ’em at all, and the feeling’s mutual.

Their alien radar seems to be on high alert, so every time I walk past one, it can’t resist a bit of a sniff and a worrying attraction to my heels.

With my ankle still only 95% healed from the bike accident in June, I can’t risk a nip from one of these wee devils.

Barking Mad

All that aside, the worst thing about them is their yapping. But these aren’t the throaty roars of a self-respecting English-speaking dog.

Oh no, they’re the high-pitched yelping of castrati, and they take it in turns to go off their heads at any provocation.

Off their heads being the operative phrase. They need professional help, most likely because many are kept inside and/or on a chain 24/7 . With the result that every few minutes one of them lets loose with volley of protest.

In comparison with the Thais, the Vietnamese are much more security-conscious. The apartment I just moved from had five locks on the inner door. I’m not kidding.

Which explains why they keep these pitiful excuses for dogs. They make a noise. Never mind that they’d be an easy snack for a corgi, or an appetiser for a heavyweight hamster.

All dogs think they’re Rottweilers, and these things are no exception.

So it is back to the North for me, and signed up for a month.

Pros: ( relative ) peace and quiet, 2 minutes drive to the beach, and cheap-ish at 4.5 million VND / month. Cons: 20 minutes drive to work, and not as well equipped as the last apartment.

Work

Old home to new home

I was peacefully ambling back from my morning caffeine when Gollum appeared.

At first, I mistook him for one of the ubiquitous, noisy, and loathsome local mutts.

But a third glance revealed sandals on his hands, which were two of All Fours.

As I got closer, the poor bastard – a cripple of some sort , maybe 30 – looked up from his lope with a genuine and beatific smile.

I gave him an idiot grin back, and kept going.

He offered a passing motorcyclist a hat, which was duly filled with small bills.

Mr. Churlish here finally clicked, and chipped in. I got a “thank you”, in perfect English.

Genuine gratitude , for which reminder I paid a pittance.

 

The monring coffee ritual is turning out to have a double benefit.

Frequenting the same cafe has meant I’m starting to make some connections here in Nha Trang.

The latest is a French Vietnamese named Claude, a man who could read a bus timetable, and make it sound like Remembrance of things Past.

He ambled over to my table to say hello after I stared at him, trying to figure out whether he was part Maori. He has the skin tone, and flat, hooked nose for it.

He is almost my age, and grew up in Paris , leaving school at around 15. “I did not like getting up in the morning, you see”.

He is part Vietnamese, and came to Vietnam after crossing the road to buy a ticket to the US. “The tickets for ze States was ‘ere, and ze ticket for Vietnam was over ‘ere. I thought, no, I am going to Vietnam.”

He’s been in Vietnam now for 14 years, and is relentlessly cheerful, and carefree.

The other day, the entire contents of his under-construction house had been stolen. Maybe it was bravado, but he shrugs. “I do not care”. He guessed the value at a few million VND ( ~= 200 USD ).

He appears to knows his way around Nha Trang, and he’s street-smart, an original thinker, and speaks four languages.

The good coffee, and a dose of The World According to Claude, are the perfect morning filip.

Those above be my new knock-about and jogging shoes.

They’re actually listed on Lazada ( the TradeMe of these parts ) as diving boots / gym shoes.

I guessed they’d be flat and very lightweight with some solid rubber underfoot, and so it proved.

Very comfy, possibly not long-wearing, we shall, but for VND 137k (~= NZD 9 ), that’s ok.

As you see, the ankle infection has almost gone. So back to some old man jogging in a couple 3 weeks.

What’s that about panties?

From New Boots and Panties