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The other main protaganist peeled and worked the bamboo where it could be woven to cover the frame, bending it with his feet. A finished product lay drying in the sun. I asked Dung how a woven boat could keep the water out the boat was kind of like a glorified basket. She mentioned that the weaving was very tight, and that the boat was caulked she didn't use that word with a mixture of soil and resin and oil, which dried Free sex chat room no signup required the sun, shrinking and sealing the holes. Which is why I believe this must be a close to the shore vessel.

After this Dung said she would takes us to the market, but first we would go to a park and a beach. Are we going to take a taxi? My brother and I will take Bbw party salt in phan thiet on our motorbikes. I looked at Christina and thought, Now this could be interesting. Sure enough he brother showed up with two helmets and another moto. Dung attached a little seat in front for her daughter, and off we went, me behind her brother, and Steens perched tentatitively behind Dung and her daughter. I pulled out my camera as we weaved in an out of traffic which was admittedly light. Steens did not look convinced. Basically the rule for riding behind is the same as Hanoi streets: We came to a park by the beach where we did for the first tme what is a very important cog in the system of a country with perhaps 40 million motorbikes: Helmets were doffed and attached to the bikes and a parking ticket was taken, akin to checking your coat at the theatre.

This routine proved important later, not at this park, but later at the market where the same system was employed. The beach was peopled with an after school throng of students. There were no swimsuits in sight. In fact, the students went into the water in their school uniforms. No bikinis, that is for sure. We sat on a wall and chatted. Dung filled us in more on her life. Occasionally there was a bit of miscommunication, but overall her English was more than comprehensible. She used the words "same same" as a conjunction or perhaps a pause. She spoke of the wealthy as being "rit". She talked of her brothers and her father, mostly of hardship.

I wondered what she must feel like, looking at a generation of young schoolkids doing what schoolkids do: She grew up way too early, and at 27 already had 20 years of hard graft under her belt. She had no real resentment but I thought of her as an outsider, pressing her face to the glass in life to peer at what others more fortunate than her had without trying. She told us how much money she made: And for this she had to ride the bus to work taking the moto is too expensive and live at home while her husband worked the fields never found out what crop he grew. Next to no possessions, but a fighting spirit and a ready smile of crooked teeth. And given the long haul which is life, a hell of an attitude.

While we sat on the wall, we were constantly approached by little urchins, no more than five, trying to sell peanuts or candy. Thus her situation was by no means unique, and from the wizened skin and general dirtiness of these kids, not bad off. At least Dung always had a house.

I asked here how she met her husband, and she said rather a strange thing. She told me she liked her husband because he didn't drink too much coffee and only smoked a little, and thus did not spend too much of the money she gave him. Her daughter didn't cling to her particularly, but to her brother, who proved to be a perfect uncle, patiently playing with her. The little girl was very well behaved, if very quiet, but who wouldn't be with a bunch of strange foreigners who suddenly turf up. After we left the beach, Dung said we would go to the market, which she said was brand Bbw party salt in phan thiet.

I had in mind a vibrant maze of stalls with fresh fish, vegetables stacked neatly, little noodle stands and people yelling as they haggled over price. You know, your basic tourist image of "how we shopped in Vietnam" and of how I managed to barter for some obscure fruit. Nothing of the kind. When she said brand new, she meant brand spanking new. The market turned out to be a four story department store with escalators, electronic goods, restaurants a cafeteria, a snack bar, and a bakery and a proper full-on supermarket. Of course, the ingredients were vastly different, a huge array of fruits, vegetables, meat, poultry, fish, and insects yes insects!

I immediately saw why Dung had suggested it in the first place. The whole idea came about when I had asked her in the restaurant how to say mango and papaya and she wrote down the words on a piece Bbw party salt in phan thiet paper: She then showed me how to cut and carve a mango so that it popped out in a checkboard pattern, turning the skin inside out to leave neat little squares. She had brought several from her garden. This supermarket was like a huge study card exhibit for learning Vietnamese, with every item marked with a card and a magic marker. I took lots of pictures. There were some splendid and unique foods, such as silkworms and fish stomachs.

We didn't buy anything, but instead went up to the kiosks on another floor, where we bought Dung's daughter a custard tart which she devoured. I was still having trouble discerning anything wrong with her at all. Certainly not her appetite. We ordered mango shakes. Dung's brother sat quietly, unable to join in the conversation and reduced to playing with his niece which he didn't seem to mind. All the time I was trying to reconcile Dung's salary with the price of everything I had seen, and how this cornucopia of goods gibed with the fact that this was supposedly a communist country, and a poor one at that. Something just didn't add up, and I felt very uneasy.

Not because of Dung, but really because of myself and the obvious iniquity of life on the planet. We all have to make do with what hand we are dealt, but in this day and age we are at once liberated by travel, mobility, opportunity, and technology while at the same time being trapped in a web not of our own creation. My entirely wrong image of the Vietnamese market we were going to see, the third world showplace of daily life, was supplanted by a carbon copy of the West, large scale capitalism waving buy me! At the end of the day, you can knock a few zeros off a banknote, but it all boils down to money, money, no matter where you are.

Of course I didn't say any of this to Dung, but calculated that each mango shake was a not inconsiderable portion of her monthly wage. She also had a mobile phone which she used to call her husband, who arranged to meet us at a restaurant by the river. This too must chew up the Dong. We then decamped to the parking garage at the bottom of the building, where Dung found to her horror that she had mislaid her parking ticket. No big deal, I thought, we can just pay the full penalty. No, she said, it's not the money, and entered into a rapid discussion with her brother, whom she dispatched up to where we had been to see if he could find it.

She then said to me, you go with my brother to meet my husband, and I will catch you up with Christina. On went the helmet, and off we went into the dark, a night had fallen at this latitude, it is as though you turn off a light switch. There was quite a bit more traffic as we darted in and out. Turning across oncoming lanes was like crossing a street in Hanoi. There is never a good moment to do it, so you just go and hope for the best. It is a wonder that the streets are not littered with bodies or broken motos.

We eventually arrived at the river, where Dung's husband stood waiting. His last name is Nguyen the Vietnamese equivalent of Smith but I never got his first name. Neither he nor Dung's brother spoke a word of English, or at least they were willing to admit or use. My nascent Vietnamese was worse than useless. Dung's husband looked like a miniature Asian version of Brad Pitt, a resemblance both Christina and I remarked on later. He followed us past a whole line of restaurants along the river, all constructed in the same manner with tables spilling onto the pavement, a ground floor completely open to the elements, and a stairway upstairs with more tables both indoors and on a balcony above.

It is a design for the tropics, unthinkable in northern Europe. The tables were all low slung with tiny blue plastic chairs, ill-suited for anyone 6 feet or above ie. We were directed to a table inside, where Nguyen and I sat down while Dung's brother said something and then dashed off. There ensued a half-hour interlude of hand gestures, three bottles of beer each, and I am afraid to say little else. I managed to extract the fact that Nguyen liked Arsenal and beer and that despite what Dung said, he smoked like a chimney. Most of my attempts at small talk without the talk failed miserably.

The table next to us had four men downing beers along with some kind of liquor in a clear bottle with a long thin neck. Thinking this might be a way of breaking the communication logjam, I signalled to the liquor and asked by shrugging shoulders what it might be called. Nguyen immediately thought I wanted a bottle No, no with a tippling motion and crossed arms, I clarified that that was NOT my intention. It became clear that matters were not going to progress, so we lapsed into an amiable silence, sipping our beers.

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The waitress, a relatively tall girl in a Tiger Beer blue outfit, could speak English but I didn't have it in me to ask her to be a go-between After the second beer, I began to get a little worried. Where the hell were Steens, Dung, daughter and brother? The market had not been that far away. I had visions of an accident, a night in a hospital making useless hand gestures. I pointed to Nguyen's phone and said Dung's name, turning my palms up in the classic what? He dialled Bbw party salt in phan thiet wife. The conversation was very short. I then pointed to my watch. He then pointed to his watch and held up 10 fingers. A third of the way to go and 10 minutes. Still, what speed have they been going?

I tried to indicate slowness by walking my fingers across the table at a snail's pace and pointing to my watch. He didn't need to say it. Eventually, the whole entourage arrive on masse What had happened was that since Dung couldn't find her ticket, they wouldn't give her back her moto. She had to wait for her brother to return, send him back to her parents to get her registration proving ownership, and then and only then would release the bike. In a country with Sluts in port gaverne motos they just don't take your word for it that the white one is mine.

We then got menus, more beer, and let Dung do the ordering. I had to ask her how much it would all cost, seeing as how I had to trawl through my ocean of Dong. She said no prob, she could lend me the money. As it happened, I had more than enough, but it was pretty poor form really, and I felt a schmuck. She didn't seem to be bothered. We had an extraordinary dish: The classic fried noodles with seafood were also delicious, so much better than the hotel. Dung asked me if I would eat anything. Bring on the sea snails then. I had three, but quit when her husband started giving me his.

Probably the most modern high-tech club is Paris Night Club Bar at k. The lighting and physical facilities in the club are very high end and for those who like high energy dance clubs with very loud music, this place will fulfill their craving. The DJs vary from night to night and sometimes they have famous Vietnamese DJs doing stints at the club. Guests are expected to stand at high bar tables and dance around the tables, rather than on a dance floor. There are lots of young waiters and waitresses in white shirts and bow ties pushing drinks.

Although not as popular as the Paris Night Club Bar, this is a good place for male patrons looking for a little female company. Like the other clubs, this has a lot to do with the type of license they have, which in this case, is as an adjunct to Vien Dong Restaurant. Sometimes the club has live singers on stage. The rest of the clubs are located in Ham Tien wardwhich is where most of the resorts and hotels are located. Whereas the city centre clubs cater mostly to locals, the Ham Tien clubs cater more to the foreign tourists. The early evening clubs are located west of the Bo Ke area in Ham Tien, whereas the later clubs and those that stay open until the early morning hours are all located east of the Bo Ke area.

Although not as loud as at the disco clubs, they have good music and are nice places to enjoy a drink and watch the waves along the beach. Sankara78 Nguyen Dinh Chieu, which opened in as a high end restaurant and club, has seen better days. However, it is still a nice place to chill for an hour or two with a drink. The club closed and afterwards reopened only as a restaurant and beach bar. The American-owned club is popular with young tourists and it has hardly any Vietnamese patrons.


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