Da Lat - Nha Trang

The Road to Nha Trang
Nha Trang is a large town on Vietnam's south-east coast and is marketed as a beach resort with diving opportunities. Upon arrival I let the first tout I came to ferry me to their hotel. I didn't like it. I didn't like the hotel, and I didn't like the room -- a kind of space between spaces in the middle of the building which had no natural light.

I put my foot down.

"No. I'm sorry, I want to look elsewhere. Thanks."

"Sorry nothing."

This is a stock reply to any question which you answer in the negative and then apologise (a peculiar British trait). They mean your saying sorry is worth nothing to them. Politeness doesn't help them feed their families, so it's understandable. I left, determined to find something better.

Eventually I did. It may have taken a thirty minute walk, sweating like a pig, fully laden with all my belongings, but I ended up with a large, clean room overlooking the sea for a good price. Next time I think I'll just wander around without taking a lift from a tout.

I remember standing in that big room with its three single beds and wondering what I should do with myself. I was feeling a little lonely, but didn't want to just talk to anybody. I was missing everyone from back home. I stepped out to the balcony and took in the view.

Nha Trang can't be said to be the most beautiful place in the world. The day was hazy and there was a brisk wind whipping the palm trees over the road. The beach stretches most the length of the town, but there is no clear boundary between the beach and the promenade and the dusty, gritty sand seems to spill everywhere. There was something very dilapidated about everything. Not just in an obvious physical way, but in the resigned atmosphere of the place. Not a laid-back vibe, but a defeated one.

To brush off my glum mood I headed out.

To a bar.

Alcohol's always a good stop-gap...in the very short-term. Now, obviously this varies by personal temperament and place, but for me to strike up a conversation with a stranger in a bar is difficult. In England, conversation in a pub between two strangers usually gets as far as at "After you," as you bustle your way about. If you try to push your way into a group you get treated as if you were a paedophile. And obviously there is no one on their own to talk to. And if there is you probably don't want to talk to them.

It's pathetic really. What is this hang-up about talking to people you don't know? Yeah, you might not be on the same wavelength, or have completely opposite opinions, but if you're in a situation where you want company and you're alone then what's wrong with just talking to somebody?

So, I made it into the bar. Then instead of engaging someone in conversation directly I looked for a sneaky route in. Nabbing a cigarette, or getting a light are possible entry points. I wasn't smoking, so I used...the pool table. Talk about a long-winded method. I put down my money on the side of the table and waited my turn. Then in painful dribs and drabs between strokes, I stoked the conversation with my opponent. We went from monosyllabic exchanges to meaningful dialogue over the course of three games. Why the pool table prop is needed I don't know.

Anyway, it ended up being a fun night with an American-Irish couple who probably needed some respite from one another. I think it was a turning point in the travelling because it wasn't purely coincidence that led me to the night's events, but an active choice...

...albeit only about deciding to play pool.

It was a start.

Paradise Lost?