Sing Along in Nha Trang

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  Nha Trang, Vietnam
Sunday, September 21, 2008

The three of us survived a long, bumpy, overnight bus ride from Saigon to arrive at the beaches of Nha Trang by sunrise. A short nap and breakfast later, we made a beeline for the umbrella-shaded lounge chairs near the lapping waves. After several weeks of touring, we were in a rush to do absolutely nothing. And absolutely nothing we did, besides the occasional suntan lotion lathering or pina colada seek-and-drink mission.

We interrupted the wonderful monotony of beach life only twice. On our second day, we embarked on a boat tour of the surrounding islands. The brochure advertised world-class snorkeling, a seafood lunch, a secluded beach, a floating bar, and even local entertainment...all for 9 dollars! Well, we did get 9 dollars worth of murky, fishless waters, a passable but unsatisfying meal, an excursion to a crowded and polluted thirty feet of sand, and a water bottle filled with cherry-flavored rice wine on a barely-floating dinghy. At least we had the local entertainment: us.

Our tour guide, who comically wore sunglasses without a left lens, made it his mission to prove he could sing a song from any nation in the world. Thus began a world tour of off-key embarrassment as he invited (commanded) each nationality to sing their respective famous tunes. We Americans were coerced into singing "Yellow Submarine". Apparently the British and Americans are all the "same same" to Vietnamese ears. In any case, none of us knew the words. Even our boastful tour guide mumbled the lyrics in an odd mix of Vietnamese, English, and gibberish. Then began the individual torture. Lots were drawn from a hat to determine which unlucky tourists had to either sing, dance, or jump off the boat. I was unfortunately not chosen (I was ready to bring out the Britney Spears), but Adam rapped "Ridin' Dirty" to an underwhelmed crowd. Afterwards Rachael indulged us with a spirited dance to "La Bamba", performed with all the screeching Latin-flair our eccentric guide could muster. Just like any recent Samuel L. Jackson movie, we had a great time on our tour because it was so bad. We certainly got what we paid for.

We intended to leave Nha Trang the next night, but Rachael came down with a serious case of food poisoning (probably from the previous day's boat tour). After some deliberation, we took her to the local hospital. The differences between our medical systems became quickly apparent. The clean, white linens of the bed rows contrasted sharply with the dingy, yellowed walls and dusty floors. Rachael was too sick to notice the army of ants marching busily underneath her bed. The humming of fans failed to muffle the wailing of a crying baby nearby, let alone offer any respite from the omnipresent heat. The room filled quickly with other patients and their families (there was no waiting room). Our white skin afforded us a more private bed in the corner away from the other patients and a place to sit for both Adam and me. But the lack of dividing curtains made it hard for us to not stare at a crying teenage girl who broke her leg in a motorcycle crash. Later, another motorcycle patient arrived, half of his body torn away by unforgiving pavement.

Yet despite appearances, Rachael received professional healthcare from well-trained and English-speaking doctors. A whole retinue of doctors and nurses greeted us as we entered the E.R. They immediately asked us what was wrong and efficiently collected a medical history. Prescribing some anti-vomiting drugs and a saline drip, Rachael was on the road to recovery in no time. Unreasonably concerned, Adam and I watched carefully as the doctor retrieved a fresh needle, wary after seeing several HIV awareness posters throughout Vietnam. Best of all, the issue of payment was not even broached until Adam brought up the question.

Compare that to any hospital in the U.S. that won't even make eye contact until they have proof of insurance. I remember once bringing my alcohol-poisoned friend to a hospital. The receptionist ignored us as I struggled to both retrieve his insurance card from his wallet while balancing a trash can in range of his ghastly green face. Several hundred dollars, 5 minutes of doctor face time, and a sunrise later, we went home. But here in Vietnam, the incident set Rachael back a grand total of twenty dollars. Of course, I would not generalize our experience to the entire Vietnamese healthcare system. After all, we are white, wealthy, and have ready access to care. But nonetheless I came away impressed and relieved that, if necessary, I can receive quality care in Vietnam.

The hospital visit required us to stay an extra day and a half at the beach. Because we were operating on such a tight schedule, we no longer have time to visit the central cities of Hoi An and Hue. Both cities are tourist favorites with great food and a more relaxed environment to soak in the culture of Vietnam. I was especially eager to visit Hue due to its immense importance during the War and its proximity to the DMZ. We will now instead fly directly from Nha Trang to Hanoi. I guess I'll have to suffer sandy shorts and sunburned shoulders a little longer. It could be worse. I guess I could run out of pina coladas.

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PS For Travel Jody,

The food has been great wherever we've gone. I particularly like the spicy Sichuan and halal Uighur food in China and, surprisingly enough, Cambodian food. They have a dish called lok lak with beef, lime juice, and a bunch of spices. Since we left Hong Kong, American fast food has been unavailable. Though Vietnam seems to have their own hamburger chain that we didn't try. Also, all throughout Vietnam you can find Pho 24, a noodle fast food joint that is delicious and cheap.

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