Having come round from my accident-induced haze, I ventured out into Buon Ma Thuot, a town given at best lukewarm reviews by Lonely Planet. Perhaps they didn't stay there, for my experiences were anything but that.
Returning to my hotel from the Acoustic Café, I ran into a group of men of various ages drinking tea by the side of the road. One of them, who had been drinking something which wasn't tea, came to me, shaking my hand vigorously and talking at me in Vietnamese. His comrades laughed and waved me over and, not wishing to appear impolite, I sat down. One of the young men spoke good English and I established that three of the five worked at their family's restaurant over the road. I was, now unsurprisingly, invited to join them for dinner at their house, which was just what I needed after the day's events.
After a short motorbike ride, we reached Thuan's house, which was situated by a river. Although it was dark, we were clearly in a lovely spot; the river was still, the adjoining reeds whispering slightly in the wind and fish occasionally plopping on the surface. The house itself was very small, home to Thuan and his brother, while they shared it and the garden with a number of chickens and a raft of ducks, who reminded us of their presence with incessant quacking.
A hearty meal was prepared and washed down with a delicious liqueur, which Thuan told me was made from bananas. We chatted about football, my lack of a girlfriend, his intentions to marry his girlfriend and football, which led to me being dubbed "Rooney" for the umpteenth time this trip. Thuan was a genuine young man and he was clearly pleased to have met me. He was something of a rarity in that he had been abroad, working in South Korea for some time, and, proficient in English, Korean and his native tongue, I couldn't help feeling that this warm, affable young man has more to offer the world than working in a restaurant. By 01:00, I was sleepy and Thuan's friend took me home, while Thuan promised to take me to a doctor the following morning, for he was anxious that I might be more seriously injured than I appeared to be.
Thuan wasn't at the restaurant at the meeting time and I perplexed a younger relative by asking for him. Instead, I went to the doctor myself, where the experience was altogether positive. With Vietnam being a communist state for so long, I had anticipated crumbling, dirty facilities and inefficiency everywhere. Perhaps the colour of my skin helped, for I was seen quickly and efficiently. The doctor deemed my knee worth of an X-ray, which was carried out presently, and then ordered a nurse to clean and dress the grazes again, watching and criticising as she did so. A round of anti-inflammatories, anti-biotics and enzymes to aid healing were all prescribed and dispensed by giggling young girls who asked for my 'phone number (that's never happened in the pharmacy before). In and out in less than hour at a cost of $13, I was mightily impressed.
I was shouted at in the street as I walked towards the bank: it was Thuan. He'd not met me earlier due to a hangover, so he'd been watching out for me. I was beckoned over, sat down and smiled at by all of his customers, while he asked how the doctor had been and how long I would stay in Buon Ma Thuot. When I said that I would leave that afternoon, he understood and wished me well, before he ran off and returned a minute with a wooden bead bracelet, giving it to me as a memento of my time there and a reminder of his friendship. I was touched and promised to come back before I went away.
Time was flying and I had things to do. The next task was Von's flowers, which were actually plastic, a real florist being hard to find in BMT. I expressed my desire to thank someone for a good deed done, but the florists assumed I wanted a bouquet for a special lady, so a large one composed mainly of roses was put together. Walking away with it, women gasped, pointed and giggled as I proceeded along the street, wondering who the lucky recipient of the Westerner's flowers would be. Unfortunately there wouldn't be one, for Von was out when I reached her shop, and I, disappointed, had to leave them on the side with a note thanking her for her kindness. More kindness came from Thuan before my departure, piling my plate high with food at his restaurant and charging me less than the going rate for my lunch despite my protestations. I said goodbye to yet another extremely kind Vietnamese, humbled as I rode towards Dalat.
The road to Dalat is a scenic one, steadily climbing through the mountains to the resort town. The scenery is largely rice paddies, with long stretches of tree-lined road and the occasional lake (complete with the odd floating village) breaking up the journey. Beware, however, of the road approaching Dalat itself; it is littered with large, deep potholes, which was most unpleasant when riding in the dark, something necessitated by my late departure from BMT. I'd been strangely confident again and Kim Jong-Il was showing no ill-effects from his fall.
Returning to my hotel from the Acoustic Café, I ran into a group of men of various ages drinking tea by the side of the road. One of them, who had been drinking something which wasn't tea, came to me, shaking my hand vigorously and talking at me in Vietnamese. His comrades laughed and waved me over and, not wishing to appear impolite, I sat down. One of the young men spoke good English and I established that three of the five worked at their family's restaurant over the road. I was, now unsurprisingly, invited to join them for dinner at their house, which was just what I needed after the day's events.
After a short motorbike ride, we reached Thuan's house, which was situated by a river. Although it was dark, we were clearly in a lovely spot; the river was still, the adjoining reeds whispering slightly in the wind and fish occasionally plopping on the surface. The house itself was very small, home to Thuan and his brother, while they shared it and the garden with a number of chickens and a raft of ducks, who reminded us of their presence with incessant quacking.
A hearty meal was prepared and washed down with a delicious liqueur, which Thuan told me was made from bananas. We chatted about football, my lack of a girlfriend, his intentions to marry his girlfriend and football, which led to me being dubbed "Rooney" for the umpteenth time this trip. Thuan was a genuine young man and he was clearly pleased to have met me. He was something of a rarity in that he had been abroad, working in South Korea for some time, and, proficient in English, Korean and his native tongue, I couldn't help feeling that this warm, affable young man has more to offer the world than working in a restaurant. By 01:00, I was sleepy and Thuan's friend took me home, while Thuan promised to take me to a doctor the following morning, for he was anxious that I might be more seriously injured than I appeared to be.
Thuan wasn't at the restaurant at the meeting time and I perplexed a younger relative by asking for him. Instead, I went to the doctor myself, where the experience was altogether positive. With Vietnam being a communist state for so long, I had anticipated crumbling, dirty facilities and inefficiency everywhere. Perhaps the colour of my skin helped, for I was seen quickly and efficiently. The doctor deemed my knee worth of an X-ray, which was carried out presently, and then ordered a nurse to clean and dress the grazes again, watching and criticising as she did so. A round of anti-inflammatories, anti-biotics and enzymes to aid healing were all prescribed and dispensed by giggling young girls who asked for my 'phone number (that's never happened in the pharmacy before). In and out in less than hour at a cost of $13, I was mightily impressed.
I was shouted at in the street as I walked towards the bank: it was Thuan. He'd not met me earlier due to a hangover, so he'd been watching out for me. I was beckoned over, sat down and smiled at by all of his customers, while he asked how the doctor had been and how long I would stay in Buon Ma Thuot. When I said that I would leave that afternoon, he understood and wished me well, before he ran off and returned a minute with a wooden bead bracelet, giving it to me as a memento of my time there and a reminder of his friendship. I was touched and promised to come back before I went away.
Time was flying and I had things to do. The next task was Von's flowers, which were actually plastic, a real florist being hard to find in BMT. I expressed my desire to thank someone for a good deed done, but the florists assumed I wanted a bouquet for a special lady, so a large one composed mainly of roses was put together. Walking away with it, women gasped, pointed and giggled as I proceeded along the street, wondering who the lucky recipient of the Westerner's flowers would be. Unfortunately there wouldn't be one, for Von was out when I reached her shop, and I, disappointed, had to leave them on the side with a note thanking her for her kindness. More kindness came from Thuan before my departure, piling my plate high with food at his restaurant and charging me less than the going rate for my lunch despite my protestations. I said goodbye to yet another extremely kind Vietnamese, humbled as I rode towards Dalat.
 |
| Great guy. |
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