Let us preface this blog entry with the following disclaimer: We have many, many pleasant experiences with local people during our travels. Every day, we see smiles, have lively conversations, and are offered transport at extremely low prices. On one memorable occassion, a Malaysian couple pulled over to offer us (clearly confused Americans) directions, and pressed four tangerines into our hands. We are enjoying ourselves and the people we meet - its just that these experiences are not as interesting to write about for our large and varied readership as the less diserable ones. Such as the following:
To get from Hanoi to Sapa, one takes the overnight train, departing around 9pm. Approaching our designated train car, which contained our designated sleeping berths, we noticed a rather stumbley Vietnamese man in a dishelved business suit. A passing glance from a Jehova's Witness would have registered the gentleman's intoxication. Each of us sent up our silent wishes that this man was bound for any other bunk than the additional two in our cabin. Alas, our prayers went unanswered, or possibly deliberately defied, as we found our drunken bunkmate sprawled out on one of our bunks, chatting with two of the train employees. He appeared to be talking on one of their cell phones while his charged beside him.
Lazlo von Bellyslop, as we came to refer to him, was not quick to respond to the presence of two tired but well-meaning strangers in his cabin. It took much motioning to move him from our bunk to the adjacent berth to which he was assigned (regardless of the presence of the railway personnel). He then removed his shoes and dress socks and placed them in the middle of the floor. These cabins, by the way, are roughly half the size of a college single and sleep four, including luggage. We set ourselves up on the right half of the room as Lazlo yammered loudly on his (now apparently recharged) cell phone, dress shirt untucked. It was shocking that despite his total innebriation, he was exhibiting none of the charm, wit, and intoxicating attractiveness that we always exude when in a similar state.
We decided to make the most of our situation and play a quiet game of cards on the lower bed of our bunkbed. Moments into our game, L.V. Bellyslop teetered forward on his bed to poke Kate in the leg, pointing at our tevas stowed neatly below the bunk. He then stuck his index finger into his open mouth, as if to convey a message. "What? I can't understand you," said Kate in a restrained but icy tone. He continued to point at the shoes, huffed, and finally donned his own dress shoes (sans socks), presumably to stumble to the bathroom. Kate was convinced he was requesting a bite of her decade old tevas, while Kyle thought he was indicating that he had previously vomited where their shoes and luggage now resided. Some mysteries remain unsolved.
Returning from the bathroom, Mr. Von Bellyslop (now clad in unbottoned button down, revealing his namesake) smacked our slumbering fourth cabinmate, growled unintelligably, and turned out the lights, plunging the cabin into darkness. Kyle involuntarily blurted, "Umm, no!", because we were in the middle of a rather intense game of Spit and it was 9:15 pm. We turned on our bedside reading light and finished the game, smoldering in our mix of hatred and second-childish disdain for confrontation.
We thought perhaps the "lights out" incident meant quite sleeping time, but L.V.B. returned to his cell phone, interimittently chatting loudly, dropping it, and letting it ring to hear its pop-song ring tone. We employed ear plugs but they could not block out Lazzy V's nocturnal escapades, most specifically his continued retching into the cabin's wicker trashcan.
Kyle, in a display of misguided chivalry that will never be forgotten (but was appropriate given the challenges of Kate's day), had taken the bottom bunk, not three feet from the face and trashcan of L. V. Beezy. All night, despite our best intentions, sleep was kept at bay by the periodic puking, door slamming, throat clearing, and heavy breathing of what we now think of as The Most Revolting Man in Vietnam (And Possibly the Planet). Sometime in the middle of the night, Kyle became convinced that Laz was about to grab her nalgene, which was not only our sole source of water but also provided a necessary visual screen to the sweaty face of the M.R.M.I.V. Dispite the earplugs, she had a sixth sense about these things, and so was not surprised to sit up and see his grubby hand clutching her water bottle. "Stop! No! Mine! No Yours!" or some such words of pigeon english were spoken and she snatched the bottle back, secretely cursing everyone in the cabin including Kate on the top bunk, whole yards away from this evil, evil man.
Mercifully, the conductor rapped on our door to indicate we were at the Lao Cai station, where you depart for the minibus to Sapa. Lazlo V. Bellyslop stood up, belly gleaming in the flourescent hallway light, ricocheted off the upper bunks, flung his meager possessions around, failed to locate his discarded socks, and stalked off the train, hopefully never to be seen from again. Kyle laughed. Kate groaned. Our fourth bunkmate continued to pretend to be deaf, dumb, and without a sense of smell. Perhaps the best tactic in such a situation.
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