I
woke up to darkness. An all pervading black. I knew it was daylight
because I could hear Vietnam doing what it does best on the roads
outside the hotel window. The cacophony of commuting traffic had been
singing in disharmonious accord for an hour or two at least. My
discombobulated thoughts were unable to arrange themselves into a
logical enough order for me to be able to understand my predicament.
I took it as a sign from God that not being able to open my eyes was
a sure indication that I was meant to sleep in.
Two
hours later my eye lids felt even more glued together. Sleeping for a
month was an option but my thoughts were starting to form a picture
of something similar to panic. In my blindness, I staggered over to
the mirror and with a concerted effort, I managed to peel each lid
open. I sincerely wished that I hadn't. My eyes were red and swollen.
Not 'smoked a few bongs and feeling giggly' red. Blood red like I was
a goldfish swimming in strongly chlorinated water. It looked and felt
Like I had red hot coals for eyes. Tiny needles pricked at the entire
circumference of the balls like it was infected by that rare Chinese
medicine micro-organism, 'bacterilis acupuncturist'.
Uma
woke mirroring my condition and suspicious I was super-glueing her
eyes during slumber to prolong the morning peace. Even though I felt
pretty shitty too, I've spent most of the last year looking like this
so I hardly found it grounds for much concern. With Uma's run of
luck, she strongly disagreed so Shrek and Princess Fiona hopped on
their moped and headed back to the hospital for the third time in
four days. The cookie nurse was in attendance again so no
explanations or diagnosis was necessary. She laughed at our highly
stoned appearance and was probably thankful she had gobbled all the
cookies before we showed up on a gargantuan munchie mission. Great
rivers of custard was cleaned from all eyes which the cookie monster
delighted in showing us curing any hunger pains we might have felt.
I
didn't think it would be too difficult to explain administration
frequency with charades, a clock and a Romanised numbering system.
Boy, was I wrong. It took four of them gesticulating like stock
brokers on the day of a crash, all the while laughing like they were
stoned too. It was a blur of movement behind our cataract clouds, so
we paid our $6 each and stuck with the 2 hour schedule the Malboro
Moose doctor had given Uma the night before.
I
thought the charades had been blurry but I soon realised that was
crystal clear compared to what confronted us on Hell's highway. I
drove so slowly that we were being over taken by dogs. The closeness
of passing traffic was barely seen but felt like bullets that whistle
passed your ear. Being virtually stationary made it easier for others
to pass by us even closer than normal.
Inexplicably,
being blind made reading the map easier even though it was more like
the maze you get on fast food trays. Without English signs we still
found our first destination without a wrong turn. Mua Cave was a dark
crevice, as caves tend to be, with the added bonus of a gorgeous pond
and hill top look out to compensate for being just another whole in
the ground. The pond was nothing short of idyllic with crystal clear
waters, weeping willows and the dodgiest bamboo bridge that Uma
nearly went ass up on. A newly wed couple made the most of the
picturesque setting by striking numerous poses of love that probably
felt rather awkward in front of two gawking stoners.
Having
done enough gawking at wedding spectacles recently, we left them to
it and started the climb up the 500 or so steps. Uma's foot was still
giving her grief, further swaying my support for euthanasia, and
taking each step like a mindful monk. The view got more spectacular
with each step and made the slow ascent more stunning being forced to
take the time to appreciate it. A solemn shrine to Quan Yin, the
Goddess of Mercy, crested the hill and her presence must have
provided untold merit for those who got her there. One side looked
over the fields far below, stretching all the way back to Ninh Binh
with its industrial skyline lost in its own excrement. The other side
looked down on the Tam Coc row boats gently paddling between the
massive Karst surrounds.
Finding
Tam Coc proved easier than we thought with a massive double lane
highway leading all the way there. The place was a tourist magnet,
one of THE places to go in Vietnam, particularly if your holiday is
shorter than a Spanish lunch break. We needed food and a place to
scrub eyeballs first so we wandered amongst the restaurants guided by
our noses more than the menus thrust at us. Westerners look like
walking dollar signs, but in our current stoned state we would have
looked like a retirement fund on legs to any one selling food. It was
mid afternoon by this stage so we went hard enough to humiliate most
pantry's, yet still we spent less than $5.
We
had left the boat ride till late in the day hoping to find the river
less crowded than the roads were. Our timing was perfect as ours was
the last boat to go out for the day with a congenial rower. Other
than the constancy of the jaw dropping beauty around us, our oarsman
spoke of the infrequent points of interest in Vietnamese, French or
'Australie'. Beyond that, nothing broke the silence except for his
repeated requests for me to help him row. Other boats drifted past,
rowed by foot like recumbent bicycles with stoic looking westerners
disappointed their $3 didn't get them out of doing some of the work
either.
Comparisons
could be made to Halong Bay, but this was far more intimate. The tiny
river carved between the massive pillars, casting contrasting shadows
interspersed with rays of light that airbrushed the scene more than
our blurry vision did. Simple folk in canonical hats scoured the
river with nets, seemingly unconcerned the river was more frequented
by tourists than fish. We could have gone back a thousand years, or
even been Samwise and Frodo as they rowed between the Argonath
statues on the River Anduin all the while indulging rather liberally
in 'Longbottom leaf'.
Kodak
moments piled one upon the next until it became obvious I was just
taking photos to get out of rowing. Thankfully, I'm often one of
those smart bastards who can concoct justifications for drinking beer
and doing bugger all at the same time. The next 7-11 to row passed
might have started the day with ice, but late afternoon heat had
taken its toll.
Two
warm beers were better than none and Mr. 'Lets share the load' did
him self no favours by stating the beers cost him one fifth what they
do me as a foreigner. He was a happy old chap none the less, and
seemed totally unconcerned we could barely understand a word he said.
I thought of tipping, thinking that $2 was nothing to us but would
allow him 10 beers should he chose to spend his money like I did.
Even though I was sharing an extremely small portion of the load, the
opening of the souvenir box cost him more than he would ever know. He
still got the $2 he was going to get anyway, and in exchange I got
the cheesiest looking embroided t-shirt I had ever seen. The design
was so amateur, it looked like the sort of drawing done by a
pre-schooler that a proud parent would stick on the fridge. Someone
back home is going to be pretty pissed off with the souvenir they get
from me.
An
hour and half later we docked, grateful for our good timing as the
sun set as we stepped ashore. As our last activity before heading to
Hue on the night bus, Tam Coc ensured our time in Ninh Binh will be
remembered for the superlative sapping scenery more than the stoner
eyes we had to see it all through.
