Well, not really--not unless you count going up a cement staircase "mountain climbing." I have previously mentioned the Marble Mountains in prior posts--they are a group of five or so Karst outcroppings that used to be islands back when the sea level was higher--nowadays, they mark the entrance to China Beach.
On the largest outcropping, there are a whole bunch of temples and lookout points to see, so, with a spare day in hand, I figured, why the hell not?
Hopped on a motorbike, and he took me directly to the place, first stopping to top off the tank with some gas--I was always suspicious when my hired ride would stop off for gas, ready to hop off if they asked for money, since me paying for gas wasn't implied or agreed upon, but this only happened to me once, in Surabaya--and then wisely parked in the covered garage of one of the various handicraft places that cluster the base of the main marble mountain.
If it wasn't for the heat and the humidity, the staircase climb wouldn't have been any big deal--but, as always, H&H makes everything a little more difficult than it should be.
Walk around some of the pagodas, and admire them, but don't really go in--I'm really there for the views of the surrounding countryside.
I walk up to one viewpoint of the beach, and pass a bench...sponsored by Coca Cola. I walk back down, and then walk slightly uphill to a natural open-air cavern that is exposed to the sun, but whose high walls effectively shade the entire area, and provide a welcome respite from the heat.
Seeking a higher vantage point, I climb up a staircase shielded from the heat by various trees and vegetation, and leads up to one of the summits of the marble mountains. After you reach the top of the staircase, you get a better view of the beach, but not so much a 360 panorama. There is another trail leading slightly off of the panoramic viewpoint, but is much more rocky--and is also exposed to the heat. Boulders are clustered in the middle of this narrow path, and the only way to get past them is to climb over them. The boulders are hot to the touch, having been warmed by the heat, and I finally reach a point that I can't go any further, or at least think I can't go any further. I head back down, and see that a vietnamese girl has managed to climb up that same path, which gives me the motivation I need to will myself over a particularly difficult step.
Of course, the path proves to be a path to nowhere--and I have two choices to get down--one, by going down through a narrow passage into a dark cave that some people have climbed out of, or retrace my steps. I decide to retrace my steps back down.
After getting back down, I need to cool off--I'm hot, feel a little bit dehydrated, and my head is starting to hurt a bit. I've also sweated through my white tshirt, and it appears as if I've entered myself in a wet tshirt contest. It was easily the hottest that I've been since the first time I strapped on a football helmet in seventh grade, during my short-lived, ill-advised attempt at being a football player (It was the first day of practice in the late August early afternoon heat, and we weren't in full pads, but we had assumed that the school would be providing water--an assumption that proved disastrous when it was proved wrong, and about 30-35 seventh graders suffered borderline heat exhaustion--I still vividly remember the sweat dripping down from my helmet, stinging my eyes, and making me miserable. I should have quit right then and there).
Shelter and relief comes in the form of a marked up bottle of water and a limestone cave whose moist and cool air is a godsend. My presence in the cave attracts the attention of a group of vietnamese high school students, all of whom are eager to talk to me. I have to admit, as occasionally annoying as the school groups could be in Indonesia, I never actually minded them--it was innocent curiosity, and an eagerness to learn and talk to a foreigner--and I actually came to miss the attention/feeling like a celebrity when I was in Laos and in Vietnam--where that sort of tradition isn't as common. I oblige (again, I wasn't really doing anything other than trying to cool off, and as long as I was able to sit down, I was fine with it), and try to break through the cultural/linguistic barrier to the best of my abilities. When I told them I was from America, not a single one of them batted an eye--they, like myself, were born after the war, and have no memories of it (although, to be fair, I never got a dirty look when I told people I was an American, even from people old enough to have grown up during the war--it seemed that everybody had a relative who lived in the U.S., and were eager to visit the U.S. themselves).
Again, it was a nice and enjoyable moment, one that I probably would not have experienced if I was traveling with somebody else.
After cooling off, I walk to another lookout point, one that faces inland, and I got a great view of the valley/coastal plain that Danang and Hoi An sit on, surrounded by the Annamite mountains on all sides.
I find my motorbike driver back in the shop, and, just for grins decide to walk around and look at all the marble statues and figurines, which the owner swears are handmade. I find that hard to believe, considering how identical all of them are to another. The claim that all are made out of marble is also quite dubious, as the clear plastic shell slightly visible on some figurines demonstrates that at least some of them are made out of hardened plastic. Of course, these hardened plastic ones are the ones that are being pushed by the most by the vendor.
I walk out and have the motorbike driver drop me off by the Hoi An river, and I hire a boat to take me on an hour tour upriver towards a bird sanctuary.
Just like Hue, Hoi An goes from urban to rural in about five minutes, and past the main bridge, the river banks are either lined with the houses and boats of fishermen, or of trees and various other scrubland vegetation. Orange/yellowish fisherman's nets are spread out and mounted on poles, forming a netted canopy over parts of the river for whatever reason. White storks/egrets are also numerous, and their graceful form is spectacular to watch as they glide and skim right over the water, looking for their next meal.
After retreating back to my room to take my version of a siesta, witching hour neared once more--and on my last afternoon/night in Hoi An, this meant one thing: going back to China Beach.
Because of a taller than usual storm front over the mountains, the scene wasn't as spectacular as it was the first time around, and the beach was slightly more crowded. I dipped my toes in the warm South China Sea, and wandered around for one last time, at peace with my surroundings. It was a great setting, but not as spectacular as my first time there.
I headed back to Hoi An, and wandered around the riverfront, hoping to catch the sunset, which due to the aforementioned storm front, wasn't going to happen. That doesn't mean I didn't see something cool, though. As the sun hid behind a tall thunderhead, thanks to some atmospheric phenomenon regarding light refraction, a part of the cloud managed to turn green. At first I didn't believe my eyes, and rubbed them just to make sure I was seeing straight. On second glance, yes the cloud was actually green, and then changed to pink as well. I tried to take a picture, but the color didn't come out as well as I would have liked it.
This wasn't the legendary green flash that sailors often talk about as the sun disappears below the horizon, simply because the sun wasn't below the horizon, but it can probably be explained by someone with a much better scientific background than myself.
Its always a bit of a relief to see examples of foreign kids acting similarly to American kids (or maybe slightly disturbing if we've managed to export the behavior in question, like playing video games all day), but I guess certain traits are global. One global trait is that elementary school aged boys all have a bit of a sadistic streak in them. American kids get that out of their system through the use of magnifying glasses on ants, and easily obtained fire crackers. Vietnamese kids get their kicks by playing with matches--and torturing crabs. I see two Vietnamese boys, none older than 10, sitting on the ground, striking some matches and directing the flame on some small scurrying object, which I discover is a small, penny-sized crab desperately trying to flee.
My last night in Hoi An is spent as expected--at the bar, watching soccer, and talking to people--though I am forced to decline an invitation to stay out later, since my body was physically exhausted, and I had to catch a flight the next day.
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