Near-Death Experience

I taught English in Vietnam for 18 months three years ago. On balance it was a brutal experience that I wasn’t equipped to handle, but that’s a separate story. It’s day two of my write something every day resolution and I’ve had to turn to prompts. ‘My scariest experience’ jumped out at me. It was thus-

I went with my girlfriend to a seaside town called Vung Tau two hours (by hovercraft, no less) from Ho Chi Minh City. We surfed and swam and played pool and ate out then caught the hovercraft back the next day. When I got home I realised I had forgotten to get my passport back from the guesthouse people. I would have to make the trip again to retrieve it, which I did, alone, the next week.

The heat was terrible on the day I went, as it was every day in Vietnam. I got the passport, then crossed the empty sand and weed-strewn coastal highway to the beach, to have a lonesome swim in the sea. Nobody on earth knew where I was. I wanted to add to that effect by swimming out beyond the waves.

[This is starting to look very stupid of me actually, but there you go]

There were smatterings of Vietnamese folk chilling on the beach all up and down the long stretch of coastline. I stowed my t-shirt and shoes under a plastic deck chair and swam out. I was surprised at the size of the waves up close, as you tend to be. They were forming in scary swells a distance from the beach and crashing down from a neck-craning height above me. But I pushed on and swam underwater and got past the area where they were breaking until I turned round and it was quiet and the people on the beach were very tiny. I drank that feeling in for a minute or two treading water then started to head back in, aware that I’d have trouble on the return leg where the waves were breaking but not worrying myself about it.

When I got to that area however shit got real without warning. A huge wave broke right on to me, leaving me gasping in the wash, then exerted powerful dragging forces while the next one loomed up behind. People on the beach remained tiny and after fighting to escape two or three big waves and their aftermath I quite suddenly reached failure and could no longer bring any force to my stroke and started to flail. I was being overcome, and I thought ‘fuck, I’m going to die’. It was a really lonely moment and scary but I also felt incredulous- can’t fucking believe this.

A last ditch attempt to save myself was to see whether my feet were anywhere near the bottom despite being so far from the beach, it might have been one of those weird beaches. I pointed my feet down expecting fathoms below me and it turns out I was standing at neck-height amid the crashing waves. So that was that. But still, scary stuff for a minute.


Airports are great

I like airports very much. They’re generally quite polished and clean looking. The best ones are dazzling. ┬áIt’s a yuppie’s paradise- a little world minus poor people. Even the worst airports are maybe a bit drab but never full on crummy. The fittings are always in good nic, there’s a lot of room and the ceilings are high.

I find it a nice head-space to be in. I’m anonymous, everyone around me definitely does have something better to be thinking about. I’m heading somewhere, more often than not somewhere exciting. I’m more prepared than usual for what’s coming in the next few days. I’m comfortable and secure. If there’s a problem I just ask. And there’s nothing better I should be doing. Who wouldn’t love that?

Going through security is a little buzz. It’s a deadly serious business with tension in the air. I sometimes hope people are wondering about me, what depths there might be beneath my neutral expression. I don’t recall ever wondering about anyone else though.