Ba Ho: Shelter From the Storm

Ba Ho: Shelter from the Storm

Two and a half weeks ago, eager to experience in mind, body, and soul the naturalistic Nha Trang countryside and all its chromosome carrying inhabitants, Jenny, a volunteer English teacher for Travel to Teach whom I have become good friends with, and I, without trepidation, journeyed 20 mostly paved kilometers north of Nha Trang to seek excitement and enlightenment from an isolated scenic pleasure known as the Ba Ho waterfalls. We selected Ba Ho as our destination of leisure due to two main factors: its alleged beauty - water cascading down cliffs of igneous rock gracefully and into chirping pools of ripple, and its remote location - stationed at the conclusion of two kilometer dirtrock road west of Phu Huu hamlet.

The combination of Ba Ho’s scenic splendor and geographic seclusion appeared to provide Jenny and I with a perfect escape from not only the rigors of teaching adolescents English as a second language, but also, to free ourselves from, if only for five or six hours, life in Nha Trang’s tourist district: the continuous low glow and high locus hum of neon signs, the de rigueur social solute, an over population of low-priced, aesthetically displeasing Christmas decorations, and the peddling of Western indulgences.

(Lifes Short, Party Hard!)

Looking to free ourselves from the shackles of an economically, technologically, and socially developed Vietnam, in our trip to Ba Ho we found refuge.

Made atop a rented cobalt blue Kawasaki motorbike with a broken fuel gage (a fact that I will dive into later), our excursion to Ba Ho, through intentions, was a loosely planned affair.

It was no wonder than that twelve minutes into our trip, before our capricious conquest of Ba Ho had even bode tam biet (goodbye) to the congested city limit’s of The Trang, the degree to which Jenny and I had become directionally discombobulated was obvious: a ten minute drive to the edge of urban life, a seven minute ride in the other direction, a five minute stop to ponder with guidebook map the location of Highway 1, and Jenny’s fruitless four minute pause at a Vietnamese only speaking restaurant to obtain directional clarity.

No worries.

After engaging Jenny in a short round of siblingesque vocal tug of war to cement whom bares responsibility for the situation (We both thought the other to be responsible), the sharing of a stomach flexing laugh or two, and my tea leaves defying proposal to “Go that way,” I aimed the motorbike in a northerly direction: towards a less traveled blacktop road that stretched up and into the bosom of mountain wilderness.

Off to suckle we went.

(To Be Continued)

Nha Trang Reflections: To Live, Work, and Play

Nha Trang Reflections: To Live, Work, and Play

I soared from Saigon’s Ta Son Nhat’s airport into the bustling but relaxed coastal community of Nha Trang by twin engine plane on the 28th. Since my arrival events have unfolded rather nicely. My familiarization with the city multiplies by the minute. So much so that people are beginning to recognize me around town. To illustrate to readers the conditions that I live, work and play, I start fist with a description of my hotelroom. The place that I’m housed, called Dong Phuong Hotel, provides me with everything I, a person spoiled by American luxuries, require: a toilet, shower (With hot water I might add), cable (Of the 30-some channels, a third are in English. Therefore my viewing pleasures are confined to C.N.N., Discovery Channel, edited versions of Asia H.B.O. and Star Movies, and Animal Planet), mini-fridge, and bed.

Another amenity provided by Dong Phuong hotel, besides the three to four small, light green lizards that live on my floor, is the ideal location; a leisurely stroll from both beach and work. The lone issue with room 303 is that the air conditioner is broken. However, to facilitate an environment of comfort, I need only to open one or two of the room’s eight elongated windows. Once freed from their tenured fasteners, the windows are quick to welcome in with open arms the gusty winds of the South China Sea; a refreshing feeling. Now that I have described my living quarters, onto where I volunteer, an establishment called Crazy Kim’s Bar & Restaurant.

It’s at Crazy Kim’s Bar that I labor, happily I might add, for three hours a day teaching English to underresourced children and adults (I use the word “underresourced” to describe my student’s economic situation because the remark “poor” often comes attached with stigmas). I direct with the assistance of an older Vietnamese gentleman whom I refer to consciously as “the disciplinarian,” three one hour long sessions (9:30-10:30, 10:30-11:30, & 2:30-3:30) six days (I get Sunday's off) a week out of an ill equipped (Again, I’ve been spoiled the luxuries of twentieth century technology) but functioning (chalkboard, chalk, and lesson book are all that’s necessary) second floor 25x15 ft classroom.

My first class is comprised of about twelve (some days students don’t show up) rambunctious (just the boys) less skilled students, ages 8-12, the second, about twelve well behaved students, fluent, ages 12-17, and the third, three advanced students who are workers at Crazy Kim’s Bar. Each day students are expected to bring to class pen and writing booklet to copy down daily lessons from the blackboard. The English lessons that I teach are, from the perspective of a native speaker, relatively basic and include pronunciation skills, spelling, writing, word identification, and grammar. I mark in each student’s writing booklets a score, usually out of ten, at the end of each class to document the degree to which the student put forth an effort to learn the lesson. I almost always give each student a ten out of ten. Once done with class my students either go home to do family chores, to work (younger students sell trinkets; older students tend bar), or to afternoon classes. What do I do after class? Well, on some days I tutor a couple of indivduals privately, on others, I do whatever I want. Which leads me to the next topic. Play.

Two blocks east of Crazy Kim’s rests the soft, caramel colored sands of sunny Nha Trang beach. Flanked in the distance by the mountain framed terrain from almost all angles, and accentuated by towering palm tress, bamboo bars, eroding footprints, and toned, bronzed bodies, Nha Trang beach is the crown jewel of coastal Vietnam. Bottle of water, beach towel, and suntan lotion in bag, I walk a five minute stroll to the beach to lie lazily in sun regularly. Once settled in the sand, impossible to miss are the towering, turquoise waves of the South China Sea. The liquid giants, which are an intimidating but captivating menace, relentlessly pound the shoreline as if intent to settle a score. The unusually strong beach break that pummels Nha Trang beach is due largely to one factor, Tropical Storm Cimaron, which rips its way towards Hong Kong as I write (My best wishes for the people of Hong Kong when it makes landfall). Thankfully, for me (that sounds selfish), the powerful waves will subside after Cimaron careens onto the southeastern coast of China. Only after the size of the waves reduce in size will I feel comfortable swimming in the South China Sea‘s vast waters. I look forward to the embrace. Until then, I am content to be a sunbathing spectator. Besides sunbathing, when at the beach I regularly enjoy half mile long strolls into the fetching distance. It's amazing how quicky an individual can walk a mile in the company of such beautiful scenery. Nha Trang beach truly is paradise found.