by Adam Bennett
“Dana, those dudes just got tickets to Hanoi for tomorrow.”
“Maybe it was just full for the time we wanted,” figured Dana. They shrugged it off. Booking time away already felt like a relief. The pair made sure to weave a twisted path back to their hotel room, before taking a much needed nap.
When they woke up, they smoked a bit of hash from a crushed coke can in an alley near their hotel before heading to find their spot in the park for the Tet celebration. The park had a huge stage set up, and soon people began filing in from every direction. It became so densely crowded that Lisa got paranoid about being trampled to death. People were shooting off fireworks everywhere. All the loud banging and popping put the girls on edge. Lisa hopped up onto a giant concrete slab to get a better view of the stage. Ten meters ahead in the crowd stood the dark figures the girls had run from earlier. They had spotted the white girl in the crowd. She leapt down and crouched on the ground.
“Dana, those men are here and I think they just saw me.”
“Fuck! Seriously?”
“Yeah. They aren’t very far from us.”
Both knelt among the swaths of people, trying to decide what they should do.
POW! WHEEEEE!! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
As the fireworks began, the crowd pushed forward attempting to get closer. The girls tried to back away, but the density allowed no escape. Dana knew the show would only last twenty minutes. If they couldn’t move, neither could those men. The beautiful light show was hard to enjoy.
“This is worse than getting a pap smear,” Lisa remarked. Every pop and crack were cause for them to wince in fear. It was the longest twenty minutes either of them had ever experienced.
As soon as the show ended, they bolted back to their hotel, hiding heads down amongst the crowd.
“Great, another awesome experience in Ho Chi Minh Sucky,” Dana quipped, double bolting the door behind them.
***
The next morning they waited for their bus, which was an hour late. Lisa was pissed.
“I could have slept in a whole ‘nother hour.” She blew her nose, which was full of brown dust.
“Great, I think I’m getting a sinus infection…”
“Yeah, well, here comes the bus now so quit your whining.” Dana was cranky from being up all night listening to the wheeze of a barely functional air con.
After a three hour ride to Cai Be, followed by another thirty minute wait for no given reason, twenty passengers boarded a tiny motored boat to see the floating markets of the Mekong Delta. Only ten minutes into their boat journey, they came to a stop. Everyone looked at their guide for answers.
“It’s ok everybody, we’re having engine trouble and will be moving shortly,” announced the tiny woman.
Lisa busted out laughing, continuing uncontrollably until her stomach ached. Dana pulled out her phone in order to capture this moment on video, prompting Lisa with questions.
“Hey Lisa, why are you laughing so hard?”
She squeaked out some words between cracking up.
“Because first we get chased by Nigerian traffickers, bwa ha ha ha! Now I have a sinus infection…” her laughter growing, along with the pitch of her voice.
“And what’s going on right now, Lisa?”
Tears now streaming down her face, “Our boat! Ha ha ha! Our boat is broken down and we’re stuck in the middle of the Mekong Delta!”
Everyone on the boat was staring at the obnoxious American girls laughing hysterically.
The next sound they heard was the engine starting up, followed by cheers and sighs of relief. It wasn’t long before they pulled up to their first ‘floating market,’ which was basically a dude in a tiny tugboat with his three year old son selling pineapple on its roof. Each of the passengers climbed up four at a time. Dana and Lisa climbed the silver ladder to the room and watched this poor skinny Vietnamese man use a machete to cut off the skin of the pineapple. His son stood on a mound of pineapple skins proudly drinking a can of 333 beer. Lisa looked at Dana and back at the kid.
“Is that good?” Lisa asked the child. He bounced up and down with joy, taking a huge swig of the beer. The girls cracked up laughing again. They gave the man extra đồng for some pineapple and stuffed it in their mouths. It was the best goddamn pineapple they’d ever had.
All the Vietnamese they encountered were kind-hearted, good-humoured, and hard-working. Tired and worn from the sun and harshness of life perhaps, but their smiles were there; they were genuine. Their spirit hadn't been broken. Witnessing this helped to tame Lisa’s unearned guilt over her shitty government’s actions during the war.
Part of the tour included a raft ride through the jungle near the entrances to several of the Viet Cong’s tunnels. The jungle conjured an eerie feeling in Lisa, as she pictured the troops on both sides hiding amidst the sea of green, waiting to murder each other as a duty to their country. She had an immediate understanding of how the war had led to so many soldiers coming home broken, or not returning at all.
She turned to Dana. “I can’t imagine the terror of being lost in this jungle, waiting for death disguised in camouflage.”
“Or waiting for napalm, agent orange, or whatever other ungodly thing the US military concocted to burn off my skin.”
Though the two kept careful watch of their surroundings all day for well-built, menacing traffickers, seeing the Viet Cong tunnels put being chased by Nigerians into some sort of quasi-perspective… their lives could definitely be worse. In a few days, they would be safe, back in Taiwan. The danger was real, but not in front of them. Not on that day, at least.
***
They had two more hours to kill back in Ho Chi Minh Sucky before boarding a twelve hour overnight bus ride to go island hopping in Nha Trang. While waiting, they had a few 333 beers and some novelty liquor, brewed with real scorpions they had jokingly purchased earlier that day on their tour after the guide told them it was ‘for virility.’ Lisa’s hoped it might cure her worsening sinus infection. At 10 pm they drunkenly boarded the bus.
Around 3:30 in the morning, Lisa woke up feeling nauseous. The entire bus full of tourists were asleep. Her mouth began to salivate as her stomach tried to dump its contents. She looked around for anything that could hold liquid. A plastic baggy, an empty chip package… nothing. Her stomach fought harder to rid itself of scorpion parts.
“Dana, psst,” she whispered, rocking her gently from her slumber. “Sorry. Do you have a plastic bag? I’m gonna puke.”
Dana, realising what was happening, frantically emptied a plastic bag of souvenirs into her purse and handed it to Lisa, who barfed immediately.
“Uh! That stinks!” The disgust was written all over Dana’s face.
“But at least we’re out of that city.” Lisa smiled, before dumping more into the bag.
KA-DOUCHE! BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP BUMP!
The broken bus pulled into the nearest gas station of nowheresville Vietnam. Every startled, groggy passenger was told to get off and take all their belongings. Lisa settled her stomach behind the building by smoking some hash. Two hours went by before a new bus pulled up. It was still dark, apart from the lights from the gas station. As they pulled away, Lisa’s eyes widened at two shadowy figures smoking on the side of the road. She swore it was the Nigerians, watching as their new coach pulled out. She turned to show Dana, but her mouth was gaped open, dripping with drool and emitting snores. No fucking way that was them, I’m just being paranoid, thought Lisa, who decided to keep herself awake, just in case.
They finally arrived in Nha Trang at noon, knackered and cranky. The island-hopping tour began in two hours. The girls scrambled to find the cheapest hotel they could, before changing into their swimsuits and lathering sunscreen on their pasty white skin.
“I don’t wanna leave the ball of hash in the room. What if a cleaning lady comes in and finds it?” Dana gaze was fixated on the yellowed, peeling wallpaper and cracked wooden door. “I don’t really trust leaving my cash here, either.
This place is sketchy.”
“I don’t know lady. Kinda seems like we’re chancin’ it either way.” Lisa stuffed half her cash into the pocket of some dirty pants, then stuffed the pants into a secret pocket of her bag.
They made it just in time to board their chariot for the day; an old, tall, faded blue boat with a red roof. At the entrance of the boat stood a handsome, muscular, giant of a man—over 1.8 meters tall, with black tribal tattoos that snaked up his neck, some of which covered his bulbous shaved head. Simply put, he looked like a shirtless, Vietnamese version of The Rock whom you wouldn’t want to fuck with. The man spoke in perfect English.
“What’s up everybody? My name is Chunky Munkey and I’ll be your tour guide for today!”
He bragged about speaking eight languages, which was quite impressive, and had a sense of humour that put everyone at ease. The day looked like it was shaping up to be fun.
The first deck of the boat was equipped with a makeshift drum kit made out of old pots and pans, a microphone, a karaoke machine, and lots of Saigon beer. (Each can costing only 20,000 Vietnamese đồng, or less than a dollar a can.) There were no bathrooms—everyone was meant to pee in the ocean. The tour cost a million đồng (a whopping 25 USD), and would travel to three different small islands in four hours. Passengers were allowed to jump off the top deck into the water, and use the snorkelling equipment provided. The drinking commenced immediately.
“Here, I’ve got the first round.” Lisa threw 80,000 đồng into the box and took four Saigon beers, passing two to Dana.
Everyone sat in the first deck of the boat. While it took off, Chunky Munkey had all thirty passengers introduce themselves and say where they were from. Lots of attractive Canadians, four svelte Russians, a few fair redheaded Irish, some blonde Swedes, and a handful of delicately featured Japanese girls. When it came to be Lisa and Dana’s turn, Lisa blurted out, “We’re Canadian,” still holding onto some guilt from a war she played no part in.
Dana poked Lisa in her side. “Where are all the dudes?”
Lisa looked around and noticed every passenger on the tour was a young, attractive woman in their twenties. The only males consisted of Chunky Munkey, and a crew of three skinny Vietnamese men, none of whom spoke any English.
Lisa looked quizzically at Dana. “Vietnam’s not a Christian country, right? Like, this isn’t some weird gender separation by religion thing, is it?”
Dana shook her head. “No, I’m pretty sure they’re like, Buddhist or Taoist or something.”
“Did we sign up for a ladies-only tour?” Lisa asked, trying to come up with a logical explanation. Before Dana could reply, Chunky Munkey announced they were pulling up to their first island stop. Thirty girls traipsed up the stairs, each grabbing a pool ring, before jumping into the crystal clear waters three meters below in a cacophony of shrieks and squeals.
The ‘islands’ were more like beautiful baby rock formations, some with vegetation, some bare. You couldn’t go exploring them; they were tiny, held nothing to see, and were too vertical for hiking. Everyone either snorkelled or lazed about in the water where they could pee freely.
By the third island, everyone was pretty buzzed on sun, swimming, and Saigon beer. Dana and Lisa were frying, and opted to swim back to the boat for beer number six, seven? They had lost count.
“It’s my turn to get this round.” Dana grabbed her crumpled shorts from the floor and began rummaging through her pockets. “Dude, where’s my đồng?”
Lisa snickered, “You don’t have one!” She cracked herself up laughing.
“Ha, ha. Very funny, Lisa. Seriously. My money’s gone.” She threw her shorts back on the ground and started picking up everyone else’s stuff to see if it had fallen on the floor or something. Lisa picked up Dana’s shorts, checking them again. No đồng.
“It’s time for Karaoke!” Chunky Munkey announced over the mic from below. “I need a brave volunteer to come up here with me and sing a romantic duet.” The response from the group was hushed whispers and giggles. “Oh, come on! One of you ladies must be brave enough to sing a song with me. Anyone know Eternal Flame, by The Bangles?”
Lisa’s eyes lit up.
“Lisa, go. I’ll keep looking for the money. Go, go have fun.”
Dana’s command sent Lisa’s shooting downstairs. “I know that song!”
“Great! Get on up here, pretty lady!”
Chunky Munkey handed Lisa a microphone as they got real cosy on the mini stage. One of the crew members took a seat behind the drum kit made out of pots and pans. An old projector propped the lyrics on the wall across from the stage.
The crowd roared with laughter at the sight and sound of a man like Chunky Munkey showing off his sensitive side. Every time the lyric, “Can you feel my heart beating…” came up, he pulled Lisa close and put her hand on his giant pecs. Lisa’s voice cracked like a prepubescent boy with embarrassment. She left the stage to laughter and cheers, running over to Dana.
“Did you find your money?”
“No, I was having too much fun watching you.”
“That was so much fun! Come on, let’s keep searching for your—oh man, is that—?”
Dana turned to see another boat, about the size of the one they were on, coming towards them. There were two dark men at the helm. Two men they immediately recognized.
“You’ve got to be fucking shitting me. Dana, get your stuff! I was afraid this would happen.” The girls darted upstairs to grab the rest of their stuff.
“What do you mean ‘you were afraid this was going to happen’?”
“I—I thought I saw them back where our bus broke down on the way up here. I didn’t want to freak you out!”
“You saw these fuckers and you neglected to mention it?”
They fetched their things and ran back to get as close to ‘The Vietnamese Rock’ as they could, figuring it was their best chance for survival, just as the second boat pulled up to theirs.
There was a glint of metal and the unmistakable ke-clack of an assault rifle slide being racked. A moment later, the karaoke stopped.
The gasps of surprise from the girls turned to shrieks as one of the men stepped heavily onto their boat and waved around a very serious looking rifle. There was pandemonium as the girls all screamed in fear, huddling together.
The armed man looked at Chunky Munkey and pointed to his boat. “You,” he said in a thick North African accent. “Move the ladies to our boat and you can go.”
Chunky Munkey stood there and slowly raised his hands with what Lisa suddenly realised was seething rage. While the rest of the crew cowered, the giant tattooed tour guide just stood there glowering.
One of the boat’s crew attempted to herd the girls on board the newcomers’ boat, but none of them understood Vietnamese. The realisation of what was actually going on suddenly dawned on Chunky Munkey, as his deeply tanned skin turned red with rage.
“You…” he spat in Vietnamese, “you sold out to them?” He nodded his huge bald head at one of his own crew members. The crewman herding the girls flinched from Munkey’s wrath. He blathered something in his defence but it was too late. He hung his head in shame.
The swarthy man pointing the rifle took a nervous half step back, as far as he could go without stepping off the boat.
The tour guide took three quick strides, his ham like arms wrapping around his crew member before he could say anything more, and flung his crewman toward the assault rifle wielding trafficker.
His hastily babbled verbal defence was the last thing he would ever say. The startled trafficker clamped his finger down on his weapon’s trigger and it spat ill aimed rounds, most of which caught the Vietnamese crewman in the chest. The crewman’s dead body slammed into the gunman a moment later and took him overboard.
“You come onto my boat!” bellowed the tour guide. “You try to take my clients! You fuck up my tour, you die,” he finished in a whisper, fists clenched by his side.
The other man who ha
d stayed on the second boat hastily reached down and picked up another assault rifle. He pulled the slide, brought it up to his shoulder and fired wildly at the boat where the tour guide had been standing.
Assault rifle rounds slammed into wood and pinged off the makeshift drum kit.
Lisa pulled Dana down behind a cooler of beer. The two girls huddled in terror, expecting to be hit at any moment, as the screams from the group heightened the chaos.
Munkey was not to be outdone. Reaching into a compartment next to the boat’s wheelhouse he pulled out a wicked looking submachine gun and returned fire. He kept up his tirade of threats and curses, even while firing, in what seemed like at least five different languages.
“Chinga tu madre! Ohu ezi! cào nǐ zǔzōng shíbā dài! May an long dai cham mui! Fuckers!”
Miraculously, for everyone concerned, the hastily aimed shots did more harm to the boat than its passengers.
After what felt like an age, the sound of the assault rifle from the neighbouring boat went silent and its owner desperately set about looking for another clip to feed into it.
Chunky Monkey took his chance. Leaping over the side of the boat, he was next to the frantically reloading gunman in seconds. His giant knee slammed into the man’s testicles a split second later.
He continued to hurl threats in several languages as he pummelled the trafficker well past unconsciousness. The beating was interrupted by the gunman who had been knocked into the water pulling himself over the side of the boat, minus his assault rifle.
Munkey grinned and reached for him.
Several minutes later the very silent and possibly lifeless body of the second man dropped to the deck as the tour guide turned around. Thirty girls and two crewman stared back at him with the utter silence of those who had witnessed something they would likely bring up in therapy for years to come.
“So,” said the huge man cheerfully, “anybody know the song Total Eclipse of the Heart?"
***