14.12.2010 - 05.01.2011 12 °C
I left the café after a man with brown teeth started talking to me 20cm from my face. He kept on saying the word, “Samsoong,” which I realized was a reference to this netbook. I took that as a cue to leave and head back to the “travel agent” that sits opposite an industrial scrap yard of sorts. A few panicked moments were beautifully dissolved into celebration when a group of similar travellers were deposited at the same spot.
Reassurance is the most underestimated feeling ever.
I was finally told to buy my ticket and we were all bussed off to somewhere on the other side of the shipping version of Mordor.
Our bus stopped next to a rusting pier and a few ancient, inadequate and largely suspicious-looking boats somehow moored to a lop-sided, rusted-through, self-conscious pier. Well, what were boats and what was a pier. My heart sank.
My fear of being sold into slavery subsided into vivid visions of a headline on page 6 of an inconspicuous local publication in Hai Phong: 17 Tourists Die in Ferry Accident. Sea Angry.
A slightly better looking Ferry arrived shortly after I contemplated what to say to God.
This is no engineering feat or likely anything legally seaworthy. I’m just more comfortable with the idea of the sea than I am with slavery. Regardless, I have subsequently taken a seat right at the back closest to the exit above board.
With any luck, there will be Phase 3 to this day. Dear God, that would be kind.