pretty strings in the wind (3/4)

by cthurst6

Nha Trang with its white concrete buildings. more than Da Nang it felt like a foreign land, with Russians everywhere. it seemed to suit them. the cold statues, the blocky architecture, the long beach with shallows sinking rapidly into the deep. it was warm, but it didn’t look it. there were garbage bags and dead chickens and food floating and laying on the sand. we swam for a brief while, but that was before we found these things further down from our towels.
but maybe i’m too harsh. it’s simply hard not to be jaded when you’re coming from Hoi An.
so Steve ordered some beer at a beachside bar while i explored the city, looking for a toothbrush. returning empty handed, we went elsewhere. then back to our hotel, then out for dinner. while eating someone approached us with a box full of books for sale. that’s when i picked out the life of pi. another followed but i had already used all the money i had on me. it was unfortunate, because i saw some that i wanted, but also good, for the space in my bag was limited.
nighttime was aglow with signs as we stepped from the restaurant, with pretty masseuses and club girls beckoning us on. but we bought some snacks and returned to our hotel to get some sleep for the next day.
we left early on the sleeper bus, bound for Mui Ne. with not much food offered on these generally long trips, we resorted to our snacks of Oreos or Ritz crackers (which, for some reason, were sold in almost every convenient store in Vietnam). because we purchased open tickets for these sleeper buses up north in Hanoi, we were able to jump off and back on at any of the major cities this bus line ran through. during the nighttime drives, because the seats were able to fold back into semi-beds (though they were still too short for taller Americans like us), the lights were turned off and everyone onboard fell into a fitful sleep until our arrival. however, in the morning i did not feel tired and instead continued to read one of the books i’ve already mentioned, looking up every now and then to take in a particularly beautiful sight.

travel is a strange thing. the reasons for which one travels are as diverse as he or she who does the travelling. very few of the inhabitants i met while in Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, had travelled. they all, the young especially, have dreamt about leaving the confines of their homeland, but lack the resources needed to cross the sea or purchase the ticket for the train, the room, the board, the sight-seeing journeys along the way.
it is an expensive thing, expedition. worth it in many ways, but reserved mainly for the wealthy of the world and
often times lonely.
the only ones you meet on the road are those who have also chosen to be on that road. sometimes you speak, but if you do it is in passing, and very often when you are weary and dirty and red-eyed from too long on the bus or tuk tuk you simply walk by each other. and they understand. they’ve been there too. and any relationship you build with one another is temporary anyway–each using the other as an instrument to combat their loneliness or boredom for a few nights more.
this is not to downplay the glory that is travel. and there are many we have met on our trip who have been excellent companions and hosts. however, there are few i have even added on Facebook due to the fact that i won’t see them again in the near future. i also grow weary of the overenthusiastic children, those with the newly purchased equipment still smelling of REI. we all started there at some point, i agree, but the ones who openly declare how much better it is abroad than home, these eager explorers, i have found, are simply so taken by the fact that they are in a different land than they are accustomed to that they will allow any transgression by said foreign land on account of the novelty factor. to me, these types have not had enough time to contemplate on history, humanity, or culture long enough to understand that there are in fact many sides to every place of residence–and though Bangkok may be more interesting to you than London from whence you came, it is often only because you are a tourist and the powers that be show you only what they wish you to see.
no conspiracy theory: that is the way of the world. we travel abroad, pay for our tickets to paradise, laugh and take pictures of the locals, and return home, or come back one day to make for ourselves a comfortable living in a permanent abode in the form of one of most luxurious bungalows outside of town.
that is not everyone, it just seems to be many. there are of course teachers, aid organization volunteers, doctors, people with a general interest in the natural communities of these countries. it’s simply hard to find them. i suppose to do so you would have to venture off from the sleeper tour buses, beach towns, and traveler hostels.

either way, the ride was pretty, and air conditioned, and i reflected on all these things as i considered the economics of Vietnam, the memories of my childhood, and how strange it is that everyone has a brain.