Once securing my stay in Đà Nẵng and leaving my belongings in more or less safe circumstances, I took a stroll around the coastal night market, which was quite nearby.
I reminded myself that my beloved country, Romania, was playing in the Euros that very night. It was the round of 16 in the Euro 2024 football championship and Romania had to face the mighty Netherlands. After 24 years of sucking at football we were once again past the group stage at one such competition. The whole country was excited. The chances of getting through were slim but hey, anything could happen.
I reached the market and looked around for a place with a big TV screen and a big lively atmosphere. And that was proven to be quite easy.
I took a seat and got a beer at this sports bar where I began to chat with a group of Dutch people.
“There’s no way Romania is going to win.” One of the Dutchies told me, making a little bit of fair banter.
“Well, the game has only just begun. Anything can happen!” I said to the guy.
“It’s gonna be 3-0, brother. That’s my prediction. Sorry, mate, but it’s just what it is.” He went on.
“We shall see, my friend.”
No more conversation. The game went on. Romania had a few chances in the first quarter but later on everything went downhill. It was 1-0 for the orange team at half time.
I left that sports bar and took a stroll around the market to grab some street food bites, while refusing several massage requests made by charming, smiling Viet ladies.
For the second half, I took a seat at this other joint where a bunch of locals were watching the game together. I joined them and became one of them. It didn’t take me long to integrate. We were cheering all the time and I convinced them to support the Romanian team. But all the support didn’t change the sad fate of the game. Netherlands scored 2 more goals. It all ended 3-0. Whom was I fooling? It was bound to happen. Romania was no match for that team.
Still, the Viet fellas were some of the nicest people ever. They comforted me every time there was another goal scored. They patted me on my shoulders and were something like: “Ey, forget about it! You’re in Đà Nẵng now. You’re with us!” Such a warm bunch they were. They insisted that I took a few bites from their meat plateau lying on the table. It turned out those people had been feasting on nothing else but a pig head. It looked gnarly but the taste was grand. A bit chewy, though.
We kept on drinking and after one or two more hours I left those lads. I obliged for their hospitality. No matter where I found myself in Vietnam, the local hospitality never failed to let me down. The spirit of those people was intact.
Still, I felt a bit bitter about that football game. Not because my team had just lost miserably. There was a fair chance of that happening. I was bitter because that Dutch fella predicted it would end 3-0. And that bloke was probably still sitting in that sports bar drunk and proud, celebrating with his fellow Dutchies while saying to himself: “Fuck yeah, lads! Those Romanians couldn’t stand a chance! I knew it was gonna be 3-0. I wonder what’s that Romanian doing?” and after that he would chug another cold one.
I went back to the hostel and slept sound, thinking about the next day and all the things to do in Đà Nẵng.
◆◆◆
Time in that city seemed to have frozen. The coast area looked like Miami but cleaner, cheaper and nicer.
I had initially booked 2 nights at that hostel. Then I booked 3 more. And then another 3. And after that some more. Must’ve been 10 days at least. I stopped counting at some point. Time as a concept wasn’t real anymore. It never had been anyway.
There comes a time when one feels like doing simply nothing and put on hold any endeavor, purpose, scope or errand indefinitely. One feels sometime the need to simply let everything slow down and take it easy. And Đà Nẵng was the perfect place to do exactly that, especially during summer. It was a premium spot for loafing. One of the coolest beaches was 5 minutes away and there was street food of all sorts all over the place. And for a city considered one of the rainiest in all the country, the sky in Đà Nẵng didn’t shed one tear when I was there. “Be careful in Đà Nẵng”, they said. “There’s a bunch of rain there”, they said. Rain my ass.
Since I spent so many days in that hostel, I befriended a bunch of the Russians there. We drank, smoked, got high and discussed philosophy together. Russian people were arguably my favorite nationality to get drunk with. Especially the travelling ones. We always dived into the realm of ideas or simply told each other life stories and different sorts of funny anecdotes. And these guys were mostly from Eastern Russia. One of them was from this really beautiful Siberian city known as Tomsk, which looked as if it was straight out of a Dostoevsky novel. I asked the guy how long he was planning to stay in Vietnam and where he’d go next. To that, he answered that he had no clue and concerning his new destination, to quote his words: “anywhere the wind blows”.
These fellow Russians had their own style and all of them were open about their ongoing dissidence. Some told me that they weren’t fond of coming back to Russia in the current political landscape. They went on mentioning that the best thing to do was to sit in Vietnam and simply wait until their president died. And throughout all these discussions we all agreed at some point that Vietnam was the best nation in the world to live as an expat.
Soon enough I realized that most of those people were not the average backpacker tourists that were always on a tight schedule. They were tourists without a purpose, loafing around, consuming endless quantities of beer and smoking countless cigarettes, while enjoying the beach life with the breeze shuffling through. Some of them had massive motorbikes that were doing the same thing as me, roaming through the country. And even those bikers, just like everyone else at the hostel, decided to postpone whatever plan and loaf around indefinitely in good old Đà Nẵng. Because who wouldn’t?
Every day at the hostel was different. There was always something going on. One time two of the Russian dudes took some LSD or mushrooms or MDMA (wasn’t really sure what it was but those guys were high as giraffe nuts) and started dancing frantically, making some really gnarly moves that couldn’t be put in any known dancing category. They were really in a different world that seemed to make a lot more sense than the world of the rest of us. Or maybe it was just a tantric call to invite Brahma, Vishnu or Shiva[1] to give their blessings. Everyone else watched those intricate moves and most people seemed to be completely oblivious to the live ritual of those 2 fellas. “Just one of the usual things here at the hostel”, one of the Russian girls, Natasha, told me. It was really eerie, but entertaining nonetheless.
Some other time 3 Russian drunks, Viktor, Maksim and Iliya, made a contest of who could drink faster a 1L plastic bottle of bia hơi Hà Nội[2]. I joined them as well, which made the 4 us. And I realized right away that I was no match to those 3 much more experienced lads in the art of chugging plastic bottled beer.
Another time everyone gathered around this guitar man and sang Russian tunes, including classics from the soviet band Kino[3], such as Pachka Sigaret, Kukushka and Gruppa Krovi. It was that time when I casually thanked my Ukrainian buddy from college for introducing me all those years ago to the amazing world of Soviet rock and synth pop during the times of Perestroika[4].
On a different occasion we played blues together and we took turns on guitars. We improvised the lyrics all the time and tackled the blues themes that would never go away until the end of time: trains, lost women, uncertainty and bad luck. “Gonna take that train to a new town! Oh boy, dern this life, I’m on a train again! Gotta take that train… take that train to unluck a new door… If the key don’t work Imma be a highway man again and sink down with the low… where I’m better known down with the low, baby!” Boy, we sure felt those words. We felt them so damn well that the owner lady living next door woke up and told us all to piss off and go to sleep. Well, it wasn’t our fault that it turned out it was past midnight when we got the blues going. The blues knows none about time. And as Albert King[5] put it himself: “The Blues Don’t Change”[6].
The atmosphere was overall pretty peaceful at the hostel. Except when it wasn’t. And one of those times coincided with a banter between a French guy and a Russian dude which didn’t end up well. I wasn’t sure who’d started it, since the guys were heating up when I came back from the beach. The Russian began cussing the French dude, to which the latter said: “shut up, nigger!” and then a few good seconds of silence followed. Nobody saw that word coming.
“Did you just call me a nigger?” The Russian fella asked in disbelief.
“Yes.” The French man said casually, while not even looking at the guy, checking his phone.
What followed was that the Russian guy slapped the French dude quite well and in return he got a hook punch straight into his jaw. Everything happened in slow motion. The French dude had perfect aim and precision. The other guy made a spin and fell down like a pancake hitting the frying pan. What followed was that everyone around got hysterical and the owner’s son called an ambulance and kicked out the French fella out of the hostel. I was in the background all silent, replaying the whole scene over and over again in my head, while staring at the bloodiest face I’d ever seen live. I have to admit, the punch was cinematic. Mike Tyson couldn’t have done it better himself. Still, I reckon the situation could’ve been handled a whole lot better on both sides. One of the fellas could’ve kept his jaw intact while the other could’ve still been among us at the hostel. But hey, at least I got some extra material to write about! I condemn any act of violence but if I’m going to witness such a scene, I might as well document it. Because that’s what writers do.
Switching to a less violent topic, I should mention that one of the girls from our little hostel collective was a really nice Bulgarian girl who called herself “Veselina”. And I sure loved that name since “vesel” in my mother tongue meant “happy” or “joyful”. She was travelling around with this Russian girl Alina whom she’d met in some other part of Vietnam. And they had been unseparated ever since. Veselina was the kind of girl that everyone liked, for both her attitude and her looks. And some of us were not too shy to express that in person.
“Your boobs are simply amazing!” Some chubby Russian lad, Boris, told Veselina one time after a few cold ones.
“Thank you! But I think yours are even more amazing.” She would respond winking. And we all liked her even more after we heard that. Even Boris, who cracked open another one.
◆◆◆
When I wasn’t at the hostel I either checked out the beach or the bar nearby where there was either a jam session, some guys breakdancing or simply a chillout atmosphere filled with hippies and ganja smoke. When I was in the explorer mood I would hop on the green engine and have a little ride to one of the plenty Đà Nẵng attractions.
One of the attractions was the Linh Ứng temple lying outside town on top of a little peninsula up North overlooking the whole city skyline. There were 2 main things that made the temple interesting. One of them was a huge marble Buddha statue with a green light on its forehead that looked both menacing and exciting. The other one was the presence of countless monkeys that were there simply to piss off tourists. And I had the pleasure to witness one such tourist, a protective mother who threw her slipper in the face of an obnoxious monkey who dared coming too close to her precious toddler and even touching him. One simply doesn’t mess with a Vietnamese mother that could turn anything into a weapon. Slippers were no exception and that monkey sure learned that the hard way.
On the Southern edge of the city were the Marble Mountains, another must see. When one drives there, the whole scenery is flat until BOOM, the wild Marble Mountains pop out of nowhere, greeting you with their presence, inviting you to turn right and go straight to the ticket booth and make another contribution to the Vietnamese economy. The scenery there at some point looks like something straight out of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Ancient gates served as entrances to narrow caves and narrow rocky passes which led to equally ancient shrines. Fortunately, no orcs[7] nor uruk-hai[8] had been spotted. Not even monkeys.
No matter where I’d go in that city, I’d always return to the beach. Every single day. The Đà Nẵng beach was simply ideal from a European point of view at least. The colors were tropical bright, the sands flat and soft and the water was shallow for the most part. One had to walk a while to reach some actual depths. As a kid who grew up with shitty Romanian beaches that were crowded with both people and their trash, Đà Nẵng beach was a dream. Palm trees and volleyball nets dominated the beach segment adjacent to my hostel. Sometimes, if I had enough booze while prompted by one of the palm trees, looking at the lads playing volleyball where 90s rap could be heard in the background, I’d sure swear I was in Southern California. Finding myself in that spot I reminded myself once more that moving to South East Asia, particularly in Vietnam, had been the most intelligent decision I had ever taken at the time.
Often times I would find fellas from the hostel at the beach and we would just relax there, go for a swim, join some guys in volleyball games or interact with random locals, while having at all times a fair supply of bia hơi Hà Nội. 2 of the locals happened to be 2 ladies sitting on a picnic blanket with a plate of fruits and a big bottle of liquor. I was with Viktor and Iliya from the hostel. Viktor began chatting with the 2 ladies and they were really friendly. They invited us to sit with them and they treated us with some dragon fruit. They had their fair share of their liquor and me and the boys had our fair share of bia hơi so we were all more or less on the same frequency. Iliya had a headache at some point and Viktor simply lost interest in any form of human interaction. So, I bid farewell to the Russian lads and I was left there with two nice Đà Nẵng girls.
It was sunset time. The ocean had waves. Their splash called my name to jump into the water. I answered the call and told the 2 ladies I’d go for a swim. One of them was keen to join me, so she grabbed my hand and then we both ran towards the waves. I pushed her into the water. She didn’t mind. Then things got interesting. A wave smashed us both and she literally jumped on me. She took my head into her hands and kissed me when another wave splashed us. She was laughing while staring at me with an expression of pure insanity.
This girl was holding me so tight as if her life depended on it. I couldn’t escape. And for a short while I wasn’t intending to. She was wild. The situation got more and more touchy with every wave coming. And the other lady was right behind taking pictures of us on the verge of having coitus in the sea. There were kids with their parents nearby in the water and our little lewd sea romance wasn’t that hard to spot. I was too drunk to care, though.
As far as I was concerned, summer was going just fine. I knew that all this holiday time was going to pass. I knew that once I’d get back to work in September, I’d curse my days while facing the marvelous Hanoi rush hour, especially in those rainy days when the circumstances looked as if the good Lord above was taking a massive crap on everyone’s existence. All things pass. Good times don’t last indefinitely. So, there I was, taking advantage the best way I could of the sweetness that Đà Nẵng city had to offer. I was still on the wave, but that wave would break inevitably as any other wave, echoing the moments of a trip well spent.
As darkness came, we went out of the water. I said goodbye to the two girls and went back to the hostel. Among others, Iliya was there, drinking and smoking as he’d usually do during that time of the day.
“Ey, Danny, what happened with those girls, man?” He enquired.
“Not much. We just talked for a bit.” I told him.
“That’s what they always do, right? Only talking. Nothing else. Always the same, man.” He went on.
“I guess so.” And then took a seat and cheered a bottle of Saigon Special with the lad.
Part V: https://andyvansen.com/2024/08/motorbike-notes-part-v-da-nang-hoi-an-quy-nhon/
[1] Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva: The three main Hindu gods that make up the Trimurti. Brahma is the god of creation, Vishnu the god of preservation, and Shiva the god of destruction.
[2] Bia hơi or Bia tươi: literally meaning “fresh beer”, is a type of draught beer popular in Vietnam.
[3] Kino(Кино): Russian rock band formed in Leningrad (now Saint Petersburg) in 1981. The band was co-founded and headed by Viktor Tsoi, who wrote the music and lyrics for almost all of the band’s songs, until his death in 1990. It was one of most popular artistic acts during the mid and late 80s in the Soviet Union.
[4] Perestroika: a political reform movement within the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) during the late 1980s, widely associated with the soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev and his glasnost (meaning “transparency”) policy reform. The literal meaning of perestroika is “restructuring”, referring to the restructuring of the political and economic systems of the Soviet Union, in an attempt to end the Era of Stagnation.
[5] Albert King(1923-1992): American guitarist and singer who is often regarded as one of the greatest and most influential blues guitarists of all time
[6] The Blues Don’t Change: 11th studio album by Albert King, recorded in 1977
[7] Orcs: In Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, orcs appear as a brutish, aggressive, ugly, and malevolent race of monsters, a corrupted version of the benevolent elves
[8] Uruk-hai: By the Third Age, in The Lord of the Rings timeline, a new breed of orc had emerged, the Uruk-hai, larger and more powerful