My Seoul Man

Chapter 59

It was a kind of hot that I wasn't ready for. And I grew up in a desert, so you know it was serious.

Sweat lodge hot. Like, the kind of hot it gets by the final round after they've poured a lot of water on those hot rocks.

My corkscrew curls were at maximum coil by the time I got off the little "ferry" boat I'd boarded. After the jet and then the little prop plane and then a ride in a weird little "bus" that looked like it had been made out of an old VW bus from the 60s or something.

I was catatonic by the time the ferry dropped me at a splintery plank pier on a boardwalk that led past all the little shacky looking houses on stilts. Fishing village, it was. With a name I can't pronounce or spell, so don't ask.

Viet Nam, is all I can tell you. Mekong Delta. South China Sea side.

Picturesque, but... well, I'd been warned it was going to be kinda rough, but it was damned near prehistoric looking at first glance.

I stood on that board walk feeling all clammy and confused for a good 20 minutes before this, chubby cherry cheeked English woman sort of waddled up and stuck out a hand.

She was Sarah Simmons. And she owned the only fairly modern "motor car" available around those parts.

It cracked me up that it was a Mercedes just like the one waiting for me back in The Quarters. Didn't crack me up that the AC had konked out ages ago.

"There's just no place to have that sort of thing done easily here," she told me as we drove along the little asphalt "road" a little ways up from the beach. "There's always someone who can do the basics, mind, but beyond that...it's a long trip that'll cost you a fortune in ferries and the like even before the fixes. And even then, there's a chance'll have to send away for the parts you'll need, which could take weeks to arrive."

I fanned away the swarm of whatever was buzzing around me but the more I perspired the more they loved me, all the hungry little suckers feasting on my type O.

When I slapped one, Sarah glanced over and said, "Never ending battle, that. Twenty-five years I've been here and never found anything that actually worked."

"Twenty-five?" I said, squashing another something or other with a sharp slap.

"Family's been here for ages. First was a bunch of bleedin' holy rollers. Survived that godawful war somehow, settin' up a little clinic and takin' in orphans. Harrowing story. My own parents took off for England but turned 'round and came back--gluttons for punishment. But then I must be, too, 'cause I came back, as well. Course it's different now. There's most o' the amenities and we got the eco-tourists and all. So, I'm here 'cause I love it and can make a livin'. Not to be muckin' about in people's religions and such."

I didn't see a lot to love at that particular moment. The sea was impressive. But there was nothing else to gaze upon except those little shacks on stilts. And creaky looking boats on the water and shore. Some sort of little outdoor markets, we'd passed, but I hadn't taken much of a look at them.

"Where is this place?" I asked. Not even expecting an answer, just airing my thoughts.

And I just laughed when she said the actual name--I've told you, I couldn't say it to save my life.

She chuckled and said, "Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. But it's Paradise to me. Shall I rustle up someone to haul your bag? There's kids at that little store there who'll hire out to do little jobs like that.."

"Store?"

"That little shacky looking thing by the board walk there down to the beach. I'm afraid from here you have to hoof it. Or hire a boat to take you down that way you want to go. Stayin' at the little inn there, are you? It's right on the water. Sweet sunsets. A step up from mine, but then they were expat Yanks, the lot that built that one a little while after the war. Wanted all the amenities."