I realized today one of the many reasons why I am fortunate in this life.  In the last month, I have been sad to leave somewhere or something or someone more than once.  Leaving San Diego and my parents, and then leaving Spain, both clawed at my heart a little bit; today, my spirit is heavy leaving the place in Vietnam I could have stayed forever: Phong-Nha Farm Stay.

When I last wrote, we were on our way to Jungle Beach, a tiny beach resort thirty minutes north of Nha Trang.  After the most harrowing taxi ride of our lives – Sara and I clutched each other in the backseat and told each other it had been a good life – we arrived.  Jungle Beach is positively beautiful; tiny huts on the beach and a serene, backpacker environment greeted us.  Unfortunately, so did the fleas in our beds.  After a night getting bit by fleas and mosquitos, we decided that after jumping in the ocean, we would head to less … itchy quarters.  It was one of the best decisions we’ve made on the trip.  On the way from Jungle Beach to Nha Trang, we drove through a rural village to get to Buho Falls, a relatively undiscovered waterfall, where we made friends with some local boys drinking rice wine.  We passed on the rice wine; we hear that most of it is made in bathtubs.  After a rocky hike in the rain, we arrived at the waterfall, the sun came out, and (craving some adrenaline) I jumped from the top into the crystal green water below.

 

Nha Trang is a bustling beach city, filled with tourists looking to acquire a sunburn, and locals looking to sell them hats and aloe vera.  I hopped on a dive boat our first full day in the city and experienced the most vibrant underwater environment I have seen as a diver.  Thui, my dive buddy, was a local who smiles as much as I like to.  I’m sure we looked a little odd, grinning at each other underwater, regulators in our mouths, every time we saw a trigger fish, or an eel, or a massive starfish.  I felt like I could be working for National Geographic on the boat ride to the dive spot.  We passed jungle islands dotted with fishing villages, and tiny blue crab-catcher boats with toothless, grinning men aboard.

Our first night in the city, as per Sara’s amazing suggestion, we went out to dinner at a restaurant named Lanterns.  It was, as you might have guessed, filled with beautiful red lanterns that lit yellow table cloths and images of the Buddha on the walls.  Quickly enough, we realized that Lanterns is more than meets the eye.  On the table, passing for what could have been a cocktail list, was information about how tourists can get involved in the local community in a way undiscoverable at the local tour and adventure centers.  Lanterns gives all of its profits to local orphanages, all of which can be visited by volunteers who demonstrate interest.  I was interested.

Our waitress, Hien, seemed overjoyed at the idea of taking someone with her to the orphanage she visits everyday.  Sara had already booked an island tour all-day trip for the next day, so – like diving – this would be a solo adventure.  Hien and I agreed to meet at the restaurant in the afternoon, go to the store to buy milk, and then spend some time with the kids, whose ages range from one to five.  I was nervous headed to the orphanage, nervous of the state of the place, nervous about the children and their reaction to me, nervous about how “real” the experience might get.  Nervous, yes, but elated for the opportunity.

It was clear, immediately when we arrived, that the children were clean and well-fed (no Oliver Twist visions); however, they obviously lacked what so many people lack in their lives: love and validation.  They clung to me from the moment I entered until the moment I left.  There was no pretense in their affection.  They were not looking for payment, toys, or even a conversation with someone who speaks their language.  They needed hugs.  When I asked Hien if the children were likely to be adopted, she looked down and shook her head.  “Too dangerous.  Might get adopted by Chinese person who sell them.”  Although I know that the Vietnamese and the Chinese have a contentious history, I expect that human trafficking must be one of the primary concerns of any adoption center or orphanage.  It was terribly sad, because the children were kind, curious, and unabashedly cheerful.  They could make so many people happy.  They could be so happy.

A Catholic Vietnamese man runs the orphanage, which is filled with images of Jesus.  He goes to a local hospital every day to pick up the fetuses that have been aborted, and then he goes home to light incense and dig graves for them.  He has dug over 10,000 graves for the fetuses that he has taken from the hospital.  I wonder what happened in his past for him to develop such an unwavering dedication to what he believes is life.

We knew we wanted to get to a farm stay outside of Phong Nha (Dragon’s Mouth) National Park in Central Vietnam, so we booked a flight to the nearest airport that could fly from Nha Trang.  The city in which we arrived, Danang, was still six hours south of where we wanted to be.  Completely ready for the adventure, we took a taxi from the airport to the Danang bus station.  Somehow, we ended up on a “local bus,” or a van meant for fourteen people that somehow fit twenty people, heaps of luggage, and a tree.  That’s right, a tree.  Because of Tet (the Lunar New Year), people are heading home to their families with gifts; kumquat trees are a popular choice.  Thankfully, after telling the Vietnamese people on the van that I love them and handing out my peanut M&Ms (one man was elated to inform me, “I Tom, you Jerry,”), they realized that my Westerner legs simply did not fit where I was initially crammed, crouching in the backseat between two women wearing cloth surgical masks.  I was switched with two small Vietnamese women in the front seat.  I am Amazon woman, hear me roar. Sara and I spent the ride looking out the front window at the scores of people on the road, smoke from burning trash wafting into our van.

I knew immediately when I arrived at Phong Nha Farm Stay that I loved it.  Surrounded by rice paddies and local people walking with water buffalo, the farm stay is in the middle of a rural paradise.  We were greeted by the sounds of The Rolling Stones, Manu Chao, and a jovial, drunk Australian man who got us beers and made us feel right at home.  Ben, the red-faced Aussie, started the farm stay with his Vietnamese wife; his two year old child runs around the giant bar/common area, spoiled with the attention of the travelers who pass through.  The farm stay had a pool table, a beautiful little pool, and a family of people who work there with whom I became completely enamored.

We planned a tour of the national park for our one full day at the farm stay.  After waking up to a misty view of the rice fields, we hopped on a van with our guide and drove to the park along narrow, dusty roads that slowly ascended into a lush, green jungle.  The natural serenity of the area belies a very real danger: unexploded bombs that are still scattered in the area.  After visiting the Eight Ladies Cave and lighting incense for the people who were trapped inside after an American bomb covered the escape during the war, we visited Paradise Cave, one of the largest in the world.  If a traveller wants, he or she can hike for at least ten kilometers into the cave, which is lit for the plethora of tourists who visit every year.

As Sara and I walked through the cave, marveling at the scope and grandeur of our natural environment, I think we were both surreptitiously looking out for the giant stone ball from the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland.  Amazing, the far-reaching arm of capitalism!  After leaving the cave, we hiked through the jungle, dodging tree roots and hanging vines and branches, to a tranquil green river nestled between limestone rock faces and forests hiding monkeys, snakes, and tigers.  Oh my.

Thinking that our lives could get no better, we kayaked to another cave that was only discovered last month.  Unprepared for what we would experience inside, we donned headlamps and left our belongings in our kayaks.  Soon enough, we were swimming through lakes within a massive, pitch-black cave, a row of ten headlamps darting between the wet, cave walls.  Bats swooped from the stalactites above to graze the water we traversed.  Arriving on a pebbly beach within the cave, we hiked through a narrow passage way, up to our knees in mud, laughing in disbelief at the radical nature of the experience.  Leaving the cave, Sara and I looked at each other and assuredly commented, “That was one of the coolest experiences of our lives.”

We took shots of Vietnamese rum before hopping back in the van, chanting “Mo hai bai yo” (the Vietnamese version of “cheers”) before grimacing and watching the monkeys in the trees above the road.  An idyllic drive through the countryside, staring out the back window of our van as the sun set, followed.

We played some pool and broke out Monopoly Deal back home, drunkenly teaching a few people the tricks of the game as the lights sporadically flickered on and off.  I stayed awake with Mike, Denise, and Kevin, all of who are part of the farm stay family, listening to classic rock and talking about the rapidly changing nature of the area.  Tourism is dramatically changing the cities and the rural communities alike in Vietnam; there is an uneasy feeling that each moment is precious because in five years, the same place will not exist.  I felt so at home at the farm stay, so energetically connected to the people, so in tune with nature and at peace with the environment, that I wrote the people who work there a letter before leaving.  The end of my letter said, “Rock on, I will try to come back as soon as possible.”  And I will.

Sara and I were talking yesterday about the likelihood that during our trip, we will come across many more places in which I feel as self-aware and energized as I did at Phong Nha.  I am sure that this is true, and my current focus is to be as present-minded and grateful of my immediate surroundings as possible.  If I am still dreaming of Phong Nha in a month, then I will figure out a way to head back to Vietnam after Australia, before returning to California.  If not, I wonder what place, or person, will steal my heart next?