Asian Journal - Chapter 3 - This week I have been mostly eating...(March 2000)

FISH! And if I so much as see one more I'll scream!!! Never before would I have thought I'd get sick of eating fantastic seafood but sometimes a girl just has to have steak, chocolate, or Pringles and ice-cream. Unfortunately none of the above was available where I'd spent my last week in Vietnam. Roughly the same size as Singapore, Phu Quoc sits about 15km off the Cambodian coastline and has some of the most spectacular beaches and water I've ever seen. One of the things that makes this place special is that hardly any Westerners get there, simply because its so bloody difficult to get to. Having by now got used to being off the beaten track and away from the mini-bus tours of Saigon, the Danish couple and I left the air-conditioned comfort of the Saigon Tourist bus and boarded the jam-packed, sweaty local bus headed out to the coastal town of Rach Gia. 8 hours later we arrived. Dusty, somewhat bruised and nursing only minor cuts and grazes we discovered the next boat to the island did not leave until the following day so we settled into a grimey hotel to get as much rest as possible before the next leg of our journey. Up at 5am next morning, we made it to the port in an hour and boarded the old wooden boat that was already sitting low in the water. Within minutes we were on our way and quite pleased to see there were only about 50 people on a boat that was designed to happily carry 100. After about 30 minutes of steaming we slowed to a halt and sat looking puzzled as the anchor was thrown over board and the crew put on the kettle. At this point I ventured onto the roof of the cabin to see what was happening and why we’d stopped. Up there in the blazing sunshine I met Bao, an elderly man who explained in reasonable English that because of the low tide we'd left port early and would now ‘tread-water’ for 2 hours whilst smaller boats brought passengers and cargo out to us. As time passed the space we'd reserved for our bums and backpacks got smaller and smaller as more and more people, chickens, boxes and fruit were loaded onto the deck. It seems its compulsory for every piece of Vietnamese public transport to have on board at least 3 chickens and a goat before a journey can begin and only when there was not another spare inch of space onboard did the captain give the order to raise the anchor and start the belching engine once again. At this point I was able to sympathise with the thousands of Vietnamese boat people that fled the country! It took a further 11 hours of sailing across smooth seas before we reached Phu Quoc and in that time I learnt from Bao that he had taught himself English from a book and was now the English teacher at the airport on Phu Quoc. I was the first Emglish person he'd ever met.Because of its close proximity to Cambodia, the Northern half of the island is controlled totally by the Vietnamese Army and Boa now found himself teaching both the civilian and military staff the fundamentals of the English language. By the time we arrived at the port I'd agreed to meet with Bao the following evening so he could practice his English some more. The first morning I awoke and stepped out of my beach hut I couldn't believe the view in front of me, white sand beaches, crystal clear waters and not a sign of another human for miles. 3 minutes later I was in the water, shocked at how warm it was even in the early morning. After hours of lying in a hammock, reading in the shade, I walked the mile into town and met with Bao at the town’s airport. Here I was surprised to find the Director of the airport and also the islands military leader who also wanted to practice their English. Over tea and fresh fruit they explained that although they had good books and plenty of them it was difficult for them to pronounce many of the English words and asked if for a couple of days I could visit the classes and join in their conversations. Curious to see how the education system worked I agreed to join two of the classes the next day. So set the agenda for the rest of my time in Phu Quoc. The mornings I would have to myself on the beach, at 2pm I would take the first two hour class, spend a couple of hours in the town and then take the second class from 7.30 to 9.30pm. Each class consisted of 7 or 8 students, aged between 28 and 60 who did various civilian and military jobs around the airport. Shy at first the students soon got used to me, and me to them, as we read through their textbook conversations stumbling over words they found difficult, like mother, washing and strangely enough, airport. I never realised how different languages use such different sounds and noises. It was totally alien for them to make the SH sound of 'wish', or the strong P in 'airport' so most of the lesson was given over to practising noises to help them with their pronunciation! And to think I was constantly being picked up for dropping my T's and D's at the end of words at home! One of the great advantages about having lots of 'friends' in the military and at the airport is their able to bend a few rules and turn blind eyes to help make life a little easier, so on the 3rd day I hired a motorbike and explored a small section of the North of the island which is usually barred from tourists and residents alike. I then headed South to meet the Danish couple who had discovered a fantastic beach on the gulf of Vietnam where we rode our scooters up and down in the surf and sand. When I went to the lesson that evening I was told the Director had found a way of getting me on one of the ‘fully booked’ flights off the island, saving me the 11 hour boat journey and therefore a full day on my way back to the mainland. When it came to Sunday and my bag was packed I found a huge farewell committee waiting for me at check-in. Once assigned my seat I was taken for more tea and fruit and then up to the control tower. Just the evening before I had been racing the motorbike I hired up and down the dusty strip used as a runway, now I had on a pair of headphones and was listening to Duong (one of the older students) talk in the rickety plane that would take me back to Rach Gia. After more tea with the pilots and goodbyes to my new friends I took my seat and within 20 minutes was back on mainland Vietnam, in a local bus on my way to Saigon. Looking back I really cannot believe I was lucky enough to have had the chance to teach these people. I could easily have spent every day on the island sitting on the beach, swimming or swinging in my hammock but instead I met a great group of people, got closer to Vietnamese life than I have in my earlier 3 weeks and had a totally unique experience to-boot, one that I will not forget in a long time. Back in Ho Chi Minh City I ate my fill of ice-cream and Pringles and integrated back into fast pace of Vietnamese city life. All that was left to do now was move up a gear or two in preparation for tomorrow’s landing in Thailand then say "Tam Biet" to Uncle Ho and all his friendly comrades.