Recently, researchers from RIMF were visiting Phu Quoc for a crab survey. After two days on the main island, they were planning to head south to one of the smaller islands, and asked if An and I wanted to join. We jumped at the opportunity, and got up at 5am on Wednesday to motorbike to An Thoi (which takes about an hour), then catch a boat to Hon Thom. Hon Thom is the largest of the 13-island archipelago to the south of Phu Quoc.
We took a speedboat (they call it a “canot”, with a French accent) from the An Thoi port to Hon Thom – my first time travelling on anything other than a small, slow wooden fishing boat! We arrived in a large bay filled with fishing boats of all kinds – crab fishing boats, trawl boats, smaller compressor diver boats. We were dropped off on the beach, and walked through the market towards the centre of the island. I could tell immediately that foreigners rarely come to Hon Thom; people stared at me like I was an alien. Children chased after me, yelling “Hell-O!” – I smiled and waved back at them, feeling like a minor celebrity.
 |
| The main drag on Hon Thom |
I was immediately enchanted by the island. It is everything Phu Quoc is not – quiet, no cars, no hustle and bustle. Mangos, durian and coconuts dot the ground; the fruit is so bountiful on the island that people can’t keep up with it. After about a ten-minute walk, we arrived at the house where we’d be staying. Mr Cuong, the researcher from RIMF, stays here with his “brother,” Hai, whenever he does crab surveys on Hon Thom. Hai lives with his wife and his mother; next door, his sister and her husband have a similar house. They are large concrete buildings with open front rooms, and a couple smaller rooms in the back. The backyard houses chickens, roosters, ducks, and about four dogs milling around; a mottled black and brown one was my favourite.
When we walked up to the house, Hai’s mother gave me a big hug. I realized this was the first proper hug I’d had since I arrived in Vietnam, and it felt amazing!
This is a good time to explain that Vietnamese people refer to each other based on their relative ages. I am usually called Em because I am younger than most people (most people in Vietnam guess my age at somewhere between 15-19, and I also generally underestimate their ages). I refer males who are slightly older than me as Anh, and females Chi. For males my father’s age, I call them Chu; for females, Co. A grandfather I’d call Ong, and a grandmother, Ba.
So, my newly adopted grandmother will hereto forth be reffered to as “Ba.” Hai’s wife, I will call Chi.
After dropping off our stuff in the house, An and I went to check out the nearby beaches. I am constantly horrified by the garbage on the beaches here. I poke around the shoes, hats, plastic bags, and other detritus wearily, knowing that even if I pick it up and put it in a garbage can it will likely end up back in the ocean.
We kept walking and found an abandoned fish sauce factory – the result of investments gone awry. Then we spent an hour talking with crab fishers about the seahorses they catch, which involved a few shots of rice wine (imagine it like the concept of three cups of tea – getting to know someone – except it’s three shots of homemade spirits). I usually leave interviews in a good mood, despite usually hearing about declines in seahorse populations. The rice wine eases the pain.
 |
| Abandoned fish sauce factory |
We eventually made it back to the house for lunch, which was served on the tile floor of the living room. Everyone sits cross legged, which I haven't been able to do since I injured my ankle in February, so instead I kind of half squat - half kneel. I sat next to Ba and was fed constantly – she plucked snails out of their shells, dipping them in sweet sauce and dropping them into my bowl. I must have eaten thirty or forty of them. I was also fed fish and chicken and heaps of rice. Stuffed from lunch, we all fell asleep in various hammocks surrounding the house. Sweat was dripping down my face, roosters were crowing constantly, dogs were barking, but I was too tired to notice – I slept deeply for an hour.
In the afternoon, An and I took a small boat from Hon Thom Island to an even smaller island, Hon Roi, to check out the seahorse fishery there. We returned to Hon Thom just as the sun was setting over the ocean, and it was gorgeous.
When we got back to the house, Ba gestured that it was time for me to take a shower and change out of my sweaty, stinky clothes. I’d only brought one extra shirt, originally not knowing if we were even staying overnight. I was a bit hesitant to take a shower, figuring I’d be fine until I got back to Phu Quoc the next day. But I was ushered into the small bathroom and Chi kindly gave me some loose pants to change into. I was shown which bottle was shampoo, and which was body wash. Now, I was faced with the simple matter of figuring out the shower… There was a large bucket on the ground, and a handheld shower head. Was I supposed to stand in the bucket? The entire floor would be covered in water if I didn’t but I thought it was a bit questionable to get into the bucket so I stayed on the tile. I turned on the showerhead and lukewarm water came out (how I wished it was ice cold!!). I rinsed myself, trying to get most of the water into the bucket (figuring at this point that it was just for reusing). Eventually, I realized the bucket of water was for hand washing or toilet flushing. It is added manually, using a smaller bucket, to the toilet bowl. HOORAY FOR REUSING!
Back to shower time – I grabbed the body wash. The only English word on the bottle was “Charming”. I sniffed it apprehensively before thinking to myself, “Who cares! Anything is better than sweaty researcher at this point!” I emerged from my shower refreshed and smelling sort of musky (but ever so charming).
 |
| Dinner on the patio |
We ate a huge dinner that night, along with many shots of cloudy rice wine. Around 11pm, people started making their way to bed. I was sleeping in the front room, and felt like an absolute princess with a mosquito net set up around me and a fan pointing directly at me (with its own little generator for whenever the power went out). I was able to ignore the squawking roosters and barking dogs with the help of earplugs, but my royal slumber was interrupted at around 3am by the most horrifying sounds. There was a constant, piercing wail of agony, terrifying screaming that didn’t seem to end. Was something giving birth? I had dreams about a dying werewolf. As I was pulled out of the haze of sleep, I thought maybe it was a dinosaur. What would I do if there was a dinosaur?! I got up and stumbled to the bathroom, just as Hai was getting up and heading outside. Good, I thought to myself. He’ll protect me from the dinosaur. When the screaming ended I fell back asleep.
In the morning, An asked how I slept. “OK,” I said. “Except for all of the noises – what the heck was that awful sound?”
“Oh, you mean the pigs singing?” An said, deadpan.
“Umm … An were they killing pigs?”
“Yes, for the market, I think.” He said. “Did you also hear the dogs speaking?”
...
......
...
We ate a quick breakfast then took a small boat around the Hon Thom port, talking to fishers about whether they catch seahorses. As usual, it was sunny and hot, and by the end of the morning I felt completely brain dead. Luckily Ba came to my rescue when we returned to the house – she fed me mangoes on mangoes until my teeth felt fuzzy. After a three-fish variety lunch (plus some very delicious recently deceased pork), we went back to Hon Roi for the afternoon to get more information from the fishers there.
 |
| Shoreline & village of Hon Roi |
As I mentioned before, I’d brought one extra shirt for this whole trip and had not expected to be so extremely sweaty. When we returned from Hon Roi, my caring Ba stared at my pink sweaty face and said “tam!” tapping her chest. An translated – “You want to shower?” This time I didn’t hesitate. YES! To replace my sweaty clothes, I was given matching red tights and a top – Vietnamese women always seem to be wearing matching tops and bottoms. I hurried off to the shower, then there was a knock on the door. “Em, oi!” Suddenly I was given new undergarments, too. What the heck, I thought, might as well be Vietnamese through and through! Besides, my lululemon sports bra was pretty much 100% sweat at this point.
After my shower, I grabbed my new clothes. The top was kind of a one-shoulder number, and I kept flipping it back and forth, not knowing which way to put it on. Of course I got it wrong, and Chi, amused by yet another one of my inabilities, made me switch it around as soon as she saw me. When I walked outside, the men smiled and laughed at my transformation. I was no longer wearing my usual shorts and t-shirt, and they were probably surprised that I can actually look like a girl.
Chi was preparing dinner and I asked if I could help with anything, but she responded “Khong.” No. Ba was sweeping up the yard, so I followed her around, picking up stray mangoes that had fallen during the day. For dinner, we ate delicious rice and pea soup along with squid and fried fish. Ba lovingly removed the squid heads and rolled them up with fish and cucumbers in pieces of lettuce for me to eat, as though I was a little child. They were delicious and I ate about eight.
 |
| Beers with Ba! She could chug way faster than I could, and made fun of me for it ;) |
After one more night (with no dinosaurs), I woke up feeling like I never wanted to leave that remote paradise. I was relieved that my phone was dead – there is 3G almost everywhere in Viet Nam so it’s tempting to forget where I am and stare at my phone. I watched a pack of six dogs run by, alerting the four that hang out at Hai’s house to begin barking. I could hear a lizard calling (which sounds kind of like a squeaky toy), and watched a chicken lead her chicks across the yard.
Reluctantly, I packed up my things and said goodbye to Ba, who gave me another big hug and kiss on the neck (which is kind of more akin to her snorting my neck… I looked it up and it’s called a sniff kiss, smelling the skin of the beloved). We hopped on Hai’s motorbike and drove down to the beach. Kids shouted and ran after the motorbike, waving at me. I made a mental note to make every effort to come back here at least once a month.
Things turned around after about two months of living on Phu Quoc, when I knew I was on the downhill, and also when I took a weeklong vacation to Cambodia. I forced myself to appreciate all of the unique experiences I was having, and I got used to being alone with my thoughts (and dead seahorses). I had valuable time for contemplation, meditation, and mental re-organizing. Something I haven't ever taken the time to do. I surrounded myself with Vietnamese families so I could feel like I was part of a home, despite understanding none of their conversations.
