Party tonight in Phuket Town. Meet us at the boxers bar at 10. See you then.

M.

Its on. My friends and I pull into the boxers bar and look around. We don’t know anyone… It’s supposed to be people from our camp, but it seems that its the fighters from the rival camp up the road, and they aren’t friendly.

I spot a nice looking guy, tall, with sky blue eyes and dimples. A full sleeve black and white tattoo, he wanders over to my table and starts talking my friend about their tattoos. We strike up a conversation. He is funny, cocky, and quite gorgeous. He has the kind of face that you want to look at for hours because he’s just so…pretty… and he knows it. But who cares? He’s funny and charming and he’s the friendliest man in the bar right now.

Our taxi arrives and we pile in. Girls in the cab and the guys in the tray. In phuket town normal laws don’t  apply.

The bar is packed and airconditioned to winter. A cover band is playing heavily accented versions of 80′s hits. We’re all bored.

Theres a guy I’ve seen at my gym. He’s short, with dark skin the colour of milk chocolate. The type with the soft centres that melt in your mouth.  He saw me watching him in the gym just yesterday. When he smiles his eyes crinkle, and his muscles make his skin taught when he’s just standing around relaxed. His is the type of body that looks like he takes care of himself but doesn’t spend all his time lifting weights. This is a functional body, a fighters body. He’s out with us tonight, and he won’t speak to me.

I walk outside. He’s there.

“So… where are you from?” I try to strike up conversation

“California.” He replies. Nothing. His buddy looks at me suspiciously.

Blank.

I’m lost for words. I seriously don’t know what to say. I’m not used to having such a hard time talking to someone but he’s making it hard. I don’t know if its just nerves or he really doesn’t want to talk to me. Whatever.

I find my friends and make typical small talk. We’re going to change bars.

Moving a group of 15 individuals across town is no easy feat. We pile into a tuk tuk and find our way to our intended destination. But the nightclub won’t let the guys in who are wearing sandals. Clandestine operations to change shoes and sneak past bouncers take place and we’re all in. Our group instantly splinters into 5 groups of 3.

“These guys are such assholes” I tell my friend, “they just don’t want to talk to us. Is it because we’re new?”

“nah, its just because they’re in a clique.”

“we gotta make our own clique”

“we already ARE a clique!” she laughs..”look at us, its always the three of us” she points out.

I take a break to grab some air and see the guy from my gym and his 2 friends about to take a taxi home. I though the idea was that we stay together and go back to the camp together. They’re not interested in playing friends though. I’d call that Jack where I come from. His level of appeal has dropped significantly.

I’m really trying hard not to make swift judgements on people. Trying to keep an open mind but they’re making it hard.

Back at the front of the club is raining slightly. The rain that doesn’t wet you. Its pleasant with the Thai heat.

Sam is there. Another guy who completely ignored me this evening. Practically said “talk to the hand”. Suddenly a camera comes out and he grabs me by the waist and calls out to a friend “hey take a photo of us.”

I’m confused.

“you’re awesome” he says to me, his face close to mine.

“huh?”

“you’re like.. a gypsy”

“is that supposed to be a good thing?”

“yeah! You’re awesome!”

“you don’t mean that.  A minute ago you didn’t like me.”

“what are you talking about? I don’t remember that…”

I shake my head and pose for the photo. The cocky boxer joins us and we stay outside the bar, joking around, flirting, carrying on. The boys tell me I don’t give myself enough credit. I blush and wonder what they’re talking about.

I’m so flattered by the attention but a little confused. Constantly surrounded by prettier, smarter, fitter girls I can’t believe they are talking to me. These guys are fit, attractive and funny. They could have any girl they want.

“you could have any girl you want.” I poach,

“What are you talking about, i’ve been hitting on you all night!” Apparently I needed more of a hint than that.

“I’m going to be trying to get you into bed in about half an hour” Now thats pushing it. Not sure if I should be offended or flattered or both, I steer the conversation away. I like the flirting but as cute as these guys are.. They’re not my type and besides, part of me wishes I was flirting with shortie from the gym. But he’s a ass, right?

Epilogue: One is inclined to change one’s opinion. After writing this story I have actually spent more time talking to this guy, and i’d like to say we’ve become friends.. He’s a funny and genuine guy. I learnt the valuable lesson of not judging someone on the first time you speak to them. In fact… Don’t judge. Just be cool.

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I close my eyes and take a deep breath, allowing the soft perfume to wash over me.

I step over the threshold and I’m in Macys, Myers or David Jones. This Vietnamese department store has every perfume on hand. For $100 I could smell like J.Lo.

The bright lights attracted me in off the street. Here past the Casio watches and the diamond rings is a tiny perfume lover’s utopia.

I walk slowly down the aisle, admiring the beautiful bottles neatly lined up behind the shiny glass. A colour catches my eye and I’m walking possessed. My eyes glaze over a little as I pick up the delicate eye shadow case and flip open the lid. Sparkly pinks, greens and blues stare back at me… ‘Buy us’ they say ‘buy us and we will make you happy’. Its retail guilt at its most enticing.

I can’t. I have to move house tomorrow. I snap the lid shut on the tantalising colours and push them to the back of my mind. I must be strong. I must resist temptation. I will not be seduced today.

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The music is thumping, the dance floor is packed… fly boys and girls gyrate skilfully to the hip hop beats from the imported DJ’s in the corner.

My mouth hits the floor. Two minutes ago I was sharing a motorbike with 2 of my friends, dodging the holes in the roads and precisely avoiding the melee of bikes, taxis and buses. The sole of my right high heel has melted through from having my foot on the muffler. And now, here on the 20th floor of the Sofitel plaza, we have found a modern utopia overlooking the antiquated city of Hanoi, and now we are in a modern, polished, 4 star hotel. We could be anywhere in the world right now.

I struggle my way to the bar but my hips can’t help but sway to the music. I notice more than one man noticing me. For once I am dressed for the night with a designer dress and push up to enhance what my momma gave me.

At the bar I wait patiently. Everyone seems to be getting served, and it’s a western bar, right? Wrong. 10 minutes passes. Getting agitated now. I call out to the girl behind the bar and order a cocktail. Mojito. With berries.

Another 10 minutes go by. I order again, from another bartender. He asks me to pay in advance, and I tell him I won’t pay until I have my drink.

A Britney spears song comes on, mixed up with some ghetto gangster and my attention is taken from the bar and I join my friends for a dance. Some other women are dancing around, my friend is busting out some serious moves that involve her being given a clear berth while she impresses.

Eventually I find my way back to the bar. I ask for the drink… again, and it magically appears. A purplish concoction with mint leaves floating around. This is most expensive and weakest drink in the history of Hanoi. Must remember to write a bad review.

I take my drink and try to find some air. All the bars here get hot and smokey to the point that breathing becomes difficult. The view from the 20th floor is worth withstanding the average drinks. 180 degree views over a stunning lake, the full moon high in the sky and nary a backpacker in sight.

I find a comfortable arm chair and sit back, taking in the sights. This city can be so romantic at times it’s almost like nothing bad ever happens here.

I barely notice the young man who comes and sits next to me. Fine-looking, in the way only a man in his early 20’s can be. All the innocence of his age mixed with the experience of a world traveller. A well cut suit, pressed shirt and no tie. Top button open to reveal a hair free chest. He speaks with a heavy French accent which makes him sound more sophisticated than he probably is. He is very charming. They always are.

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The type of friendships that last a lifetime, in my opinion, are not formed in bars or nightclubs.
Instant friends.

The type you only speak about sport, drinking and fun in the sun with. The type that doesn’t know or care what your last (or first) name is… The kind you drink with one night, and have to be re-introduced to the next.

There are very few people who I can open up to.. I mean, really open up. I’m a very gregarious, friendly, bubbly type. I make instant friends easily, but its all surface, all for show.

I desperately want to be able to drop the act. To be calm, quiet, almost introverted. I would like to be able to spend my nights having quiet dinner and a glass of wine (imported, of course) and discuss belly button lint, but it seems that to get to that stage, one must meet others while out drinking.

And so one faces the conundrum, do I stay in, quiet and calm and lonely, or go out, have superficially fun times and meet some other superficial people?

Are other people as vacuous as I think they are, or is it just me?

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I am sitting in class, our tutor is trying to explain the nuance of “used” so that, in future, we can explain how to use “used” to our students.

The windows are slightly fogged. Our brains are slowly turning into stew. It’s not that the material is hard its that… well… I’ve never had to worry about using “used” before.

She used to be a bitch. The only sentence I can think of. Does this mean she was a bitch, and no longer continues? I don’t know. It means, in the past, she had a habit of being a bitch, but she no longer does. Oh, I see.

I stay quiet. Better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.

My first 40 minute lesson was this morning. I don’t know if the students learnt anything, but they had fun. What did I learn?

Stay CALM, don’t talk so fast I thought I WAS speaking s-l-o-w-l-y. Speak naturally, not too slow. Give instructions, and then ask a checking question to make sure that the students know what to do. Don’t get angry. Whatever you do Don’t Swear (oops)

I miss riding my bike. The course is at such intensity that everything else falls aside. Today is Wednesday, my first evening to myself, but I do have homework… but not due until Friday for my next lesson.

“Zoe, are you listening”

“uhhhhh… yeah?”

“Give an example of the present perfect”

I bat my eyelashes and stick out my lower lip.

“I am pouting?”

He leaves me alone, I’m too loud, too easily excited. Find most of the work relatively easy. If only I was quieter. I sit on my hands and bite my lip so as not to answer too many questions. Being gray is not my thing.

Five pm rolls around. An early mark, no homework due tomorrow. My free night!

15 mins later I roll my motorbike out onto the street, to the bemused glances from the locals. They still seem surprised to see a foreign girl with a moto and no man in tow. Here, I am an anomaly.

My bike is red, and handles like a dream, except for one thing. The stalling. Pulling into the traffic, she stalls. Then again at the lights, I can hear the chorus of honking behind me as it takes a few seconds to get going again. I drive up the street with a thousand other bikes my confidence is growing as I manoeuvre into prime position to get around the corner fastest, whilst avoiding the buses and bicycles, and pedestrians.

Two right turns later I am at JoJo’s Bar. This is a funky, western run bar seats around 30, sells everything at Aussie prices, and has a great feel. My wine is $7 USD. Probably more than I would pay at home for house, but its a welcome respite from hectic Vietnam. Here on this couch, i could be anywhere in the world. Buble is on the stereo, there is no one around. I cosy myself into the corner bar and kick off my shoes, fold my feet underneath me and notice my skin sticking to the pleather. It could be leather. I wouldn’t know the difference anyways.

The staff have lit candles, making the whole bar seem very romantic. I know the manager, but it’s not like that. In fact, I’m not even sure he knows that I am female.

The romantic feel highlights that I am just one of many single white females in Hanoi.

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I first came to vietnam in 2001 and loved it, came back on a holiday, and then just.. got sick of working in the a boring job, going out on the weekends.. you know, the typical daily grind shit. i figured i’m not getting any younger – so why not go?

And so, i booked myself a flight, and here i am. I’m actually loving it I miss my mum and some of the creature comforts of Australia, but at this stage i dont want to go back. I want to keep travelling.

In vietnam i have met people who left home at 25 and have never returned, the professional ex-pat set, if you will… Sounds like a dream to me, which is why i’m continuing my degree, doing the double major with journalism. Every now and again i wonder if i’m just chasing some glamour careeer and then i go “so what?” you know? I mean, whats the point of living, of getting older, if you’re not doing something that interests and excites you?

I’m such a product of my upbringing, my mum is an expat, and my father was too.. They met in North Africa in the 70′s and never returned to their home countries. When people ask me about my background i usually respond with monosylabic answers, becuase its just too detailed!

Oh, and i finished my essay (blah) and turned it in early (yay). Also, did enrol in SSK12, wish me luck!

Zoe

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There are days when I wake up and I hate Vietnam. There are days when I love it so much I never want to leave. Today is somewhere in between.. So far

At 10pm last night I was with the crew of expat blokes I have been hanging out with lately, I won’t mention their nationalities, lest I be considered too nationality focussed (as some have accused me of!) but I will say, they are a good bunch of men.

The evening started for me at one of my favourite cafes, cafe Puku, where I was enjoying a glass of sweet lemon juice – perfect for the throat after late nights and 2^nd hand smoke – and the most wonderful banana muffin – so very not-Vietnamese – when my phone sparked to life.

“Oi what are you doing?”

“I’m finishing my essay, mate”

“Right, well, we’re at Bia Hoi corner. Come and drink”

“Err… okay” I shrugged. I keep trying to stay in at night… but it just doesn’t quite work out for me.

I finish off the rest of the essay that I was working on, and pass it on to “smart learning” for a pre-submission. I’m trying to find out what I have done wrong or right… this time round.

I pack up my laptop, phone and iPod and head out of Puku. My bike is where I left it, I like to think it is being looked after by the shop next door but I do get the feeling if I forget to lock it, there would be no bike and no one would know what happened to it…

The sun has already set here; it gets dark early, around 5pm. I flick the bike into 3^rd and ease off the pavement into oncoming traffic. It takes some getting used to and I’m still not 100% confident but my mantra keeps repeating “just go… just go… it’ll all be okay”. Heading north part the famous Lake Hoan Kiem I take a right turn on Ta Hien, the lady who does my laundry is here somewhere… I must find where though.

After a few minutes of searching I find her…

“You forgot yesterday!” she says, indignant.

“Oi Zoi Oi… I got lost!” we both laugh and I pay her around $7 for my now clean, dry and folded laundry. I wonder how much of my stuff came back, or if they laughed at the size of my bra’s. The Vietnamese never come in this size (!)

Back on my bike I have my laptop on my back and my laundry between my legs, I’m trying to navigate with the bike, in the dark, and keep dropping things. I do a few blocks around, narrowly avoiding dogs, cats, bikes and trucks until I eventually find my friends on the corner.

“Yay, finally you made it”

“I told you I had things to do!”

“Is that your laundry??”

“Yeah mate, I haven’t had clean clothes for ages”

Again we laugh and moments later my bike is parked in front and a fresh beer is in my hand, all the grand sum of 3,000VND, or around 30c Australian. Not bad for daily, fresh beer, with no preservatives (but god only knows what in it instead)

Not long after I sit down the street hawkers start on me.

“Madam, lighter” a young Vietnamese man says with his clipped accent.

“Madam… Bananas” says another

“Madam, Book” (argh)

I wave them away with a flick of the wrist and a short, but not too sweet smile.

A lady with donuts approaches; I bought some from her earlier but didn’t like them…

She laughs, as she recognises me.

As yet I haven’t tried the sweet balls of sugary goodness on her tray so I opt to try one.

I point and say “mot” the Vietnamese word for “one”

“How much?”

“10,000” she says

“Oi Zoi Oi!” I say… “I’ll give you 5”

She laughs and calls me cheap, but takes the money and hands me 3 small, deep fried ball-things. They look like 2 day-old Krispy Kremes.

I take a tentative bite of the first one, its sickly sweet and sticky, with some type of paste inside. Actually quite tasty. Unfortunately the other 2 are pretty stinky so I offer them around but with no takers, I do like everyone else and toss them away.

One of my buddies has been here a long time; he is talking to a young Vietnamese who could only be described as petite. He could be my age but I have a foot in both directions on him. He’s trying to sell us books but my friend talks him into being a runner, to get us food. $2 later, we all have kebabs, all without having to get up.

We like it better when the food comes to us, just like cats.

Throughout the course of the evening, the people we sit with flows.

First, a group of middle-age men who have done a bike trip around Vietnam sit down, then various Australians, Americans, and Europeans come and go. Bia Hoi corner is THE cool place to meet people.

Situated on a cross roads, we sit on tiny plastic stools that my western butt barely fits into. The world passes by on Vietnam time and it’s just about all the people watching one can handle. Occasionally someone we know comes past and joins, but mostly it’s just friends we haven’t met yet who pull up a plastic chair and grab a beer with us.

Just the way it is, in Vietnam.

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Waking up this morning, I couldn’t hear the rain. I put my hand on the door handle and it starts. Hunger is a powerful thing, and I thought I would be okay outside. I stumble out the front door of the hotel; the rain is coming down consistently, not heavy.. Just enough to get soaked through.

I walk around the block, searching the streets for a cafe. The rain is gathering momentum. I take a side street, maybe there is food down there?

It just keeps raining.

More fucking rain

The streets are now flooding, it starts very quickly. One second there is just water a little water on the road, next thing it’s up to my ankles. Just moments later the water is calf high, then knee high.

I take refuge in a guest house. No one speaks English. I took too many turns, and I’m completely lost.

“Fuck” stupid fucking rain.

The skies hear me and thunder rolls, it’s getting heavier. I have nowhere to go.

“Taxi?” I ask the hotel staff

They shake their heads; they have no idea what I am asking.

Twenty minutes pass. It’s not just raining cats and dogs; this is raining horses and goats. All the water that Australia needs to break the drought is here, in Hanoi. On my street.

I brave the flooding to find the next hotel. I have to find transport. I have to get to my hotel. Still, I haven’t found food and my stomach rumbles as loud as the thunder in the streets.

Strangely, when it rains in Hanoi, the taxis stop operating. I must find out why.

I come to the steps of another guest house, they have a map. I take a copy and locate my hotel on it. A lady outside is selling raincoats made of the same strength plastic as a plastic shopping bag. I pay 5000 dong, about 50c, and pull it over my head. It rips instantly. But at least I’m mostly covered.

My head is pounding from the cheap alcohol of last night, not only have I not found food, I haven’t found water either. Luckily I took a panadol before going to sleep and I am at least partially functioning. Clearly my sense of reason isn’t back or I would never have left the hotel in this rain. It looks innocuous enough, but is actually an evil rain, that just never ever stops. It seems to, for just a second, just long enough for a false sense of security, and then it comes back twice as hard and for hours at a time. It’s been 3 days now, and it hasn’t been sunny enough to wear my sunglasses yet. But I don’t want to complain. I came here for adventure, right? Well, here it is. Lost, wet, hungry. Did I mention really really lost? And really hungover?

My head is thumping. I need to get back. God, I need a coffee.

Finally, a motorbike driver sees me and I offer him the equivalent of $2 to take me back to my hotel. He accepts, it’s more money than he will probably make all day, and we set off.

Back in my hotel, I’m warm, safe and dry. And bored. I can’t hear the rain from my room, and besides, it doesn’t look so bad out there….besides, I still need that coffee.

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