Due to the previous day's failure to
launch from the charming grip of Hoi An, it was necessary to make Day
25 the longest driving day of the trip, during which I had to cover
320 Km (about 200 miles). Though this may not seem like the marathon
journey I'm prone to make it out to be, it was nearly 100 Km longer
than any other drive I'd undertaken thus far, and quite an
undertaking on roads of variable quality and a bike that tops out at
about 80 Kph (50 mph).
I woke early, grabbed some market food,
and headed out of Hoi An, this time with my passport most certainly
IN my possession. The first hour and a half of Deja Vu Drive went as
smoothly as it had the previous day (sigh...), and the following hour
and a half provided similar predictability, and slightly different
scenery. I neared my beach-side lunching destination right on time,
but first had to stop at a museum in Son My village, the location of a
brutal, controversial, and eventually well-publicized atrocity of
war, referred to simply as the My Lai Massacre.
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| this plastic reenactment could actually appear comical... except for the fact that it actually happened. |
Some brief background: the small
coastal village called Son My, just south of the Demilitarized Zone,
was suspected (or known) to be housing Vietcong supporters/members,
and a small group of US soldiers were given vague directions to go take care of the issue, as soldiers are so frequently ordered to do.
Something in the directions or the men's brains was off that day,
however, and it resulted in the mass slaying of over 100 innocent
villagers in My Lai hamlet; men, women, children, and elderly, without discernment.
The place was torched to the ground, with the few remaining survivors
left to pick up the pieces of their decimated families and homes, not
to mention dealing with the subsequent bombings of the area, supposed
to be attempts by the US Military to cover their transgressions.
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| Persevere |
Like the rest of Vietnam, life today in
rural Son My ticks along normally. The museum, a moderate flow of
tourists, and an annual remembrance of the victims are the only traces
of what happened, which is all probably for the best. It is now
simply another story of innocent people meeting a tragic end, all at
the hands of warring governments who decide it necessary to their
Empire to put their citizens directly in harm's way. War is a sad, ugly, childish thing.
Read on for some less depressing
stuff! Really, I promise...
After visiting the
museum, I went to the nearby strip of beach restaurants, where I did
my damnedest to enjoy a particularly poorly prepared plate (always
appreciate alliteration!)of grilled shrimp, then set off once more,
the coastal town of Qui Nhon my next stop, a mere 180-something Km
away. The drive was long, littered with big trucks and patches of
rough highway, but with the sun beginning to set, my bike in
desperate need of gas, and my ass about to resign its post and take
up early retirement, I pulled in to a large motel a block and a half
from Qui Nhon beach.
Marathon Drive:
accomplished.
Qui Nhon, while
scenic and fairly heavily populated, held very little of interest for
a seasoned traveler such as myself. Still, it's always nice to make
it to a place where you can enjoy a sunset dip in the ocean, a cold
local beer, and know that you are the only white person for miles. My
sore-thumb-like status was later made even more obvious: while
searching for some dinner, I happened across a night market and I
figured I'd have a look around. After about a minute of walking
through the market and getting stared at by nearly every person
there, I realized there were a whole lot of girls and not many men...
I then realized how ridiculous I looked wandering, alone - a
full head taller and whole lot whiter than the nearest competitor -
through what was clearly a market of exclusively women's clothing...
SUCH an Ian move...
SUCH an Ian move...
Embarrassment all
but forgotten, the next morning I got right out of boring Qui Nhon,
and made the relatively short drive down the coast to a small
“backpacker's resort” called Jungle Beach, about 60 Km up the
coast from the most heavily touristed Vietnamese beach town, Nha
Trang. The cost per night was pretty high, but was all-inclusive and
just under my daily budget, so it seemed like a good place to stay a
couple days and build up the ole base tan in anticipation of heading
to Indonesia a week or so later. The place was peaceful enough, and I
grabbed the cheapest “room” in the place: a full $5 cheaper than
all the other rooms! Such frugality deserves awards.
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| my "room". the top is allllmost fully covered. by a tarp. |
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| Beachin |
I spent my 2.5 days
there enjoying the sand, surf, and sun, hanging out with a few
Germans and a 6 year old British kid named Ja-Go (pronounced
jay-go... what??) visiting with his mom, who was clearly happy to
have someone willing to play with her energetic son. After doing not
much, I was looking forward to moving on to Nha Trang, where I'd be
meeting up with a friend from Hanoi who was living there (let's hear
it for free accommodation!)
Next time:
Russians. Lots of Russians.
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