After reading ‘The Clan of the Cave Bear, The Valley of Horses,’ my coworker, Mandy, expressed her desire to find a caveman of her very own. She wanted someone to skip through the rice paddies of Vietnam with, holding hands, hunting water buffalo and wearing matching J. Crew couples pelts.
Mandy had not had the best luck with men lately and I have a slight suspicion that her Neanderthal fantasies had something to do with that.
As every girl in America who is NOT of questionable Italian descent knows, you do not go looking for cavemen; they find you in the free weight room at a 24-Hour Fitness or while spearing a tub of protein powder at your local grocery store.
Modern day cavemen do not carry clubs; they work the door at them. They are masters of multitasking. They can honk your boob, ask you what country Norway is in and make a homophobic slur at any guy they think may have committed the egregious offense of “looking at them,” all in one breath.
Despite those admirable qualities, you do not pick out Vietnamese Lar Gibbon bone china with them. When you come-to after a passionate night of bludgeoning, you quietly slip out of their bachelor cave, dragging a dead animal carcass behind you to cover your scent.
Mandy insisted on ignoring my sound advice to find a nice Vietnamese boy to settle down and raise a village with. She was determined to capture a Brendan Fraser-esque Encino man, so, by golly, I was going to help her do just that.
We agreed that the best way to accomplish this was to head to the caveman’s natural habitat. Lucky for us, Vietnam has some of the largest karst regions in the world. On a Sunday afternoon, we departed for a two-day trip to the Phong Nha Caves in Central Vietnam.
The UNESCO World Heritage Site was truly magnificent. After being chauffeured in an old US Army jeep past what our guide referred to as “American fishing ponds,” (AKA bomb craters), we began our tour at Tam Co Cave. It is a tragic and historically significant site where a group of young volunteers were killed by American bombs in 1972 after a collapsed entrance left them trapped inside.
There is now a small shrine inside the cave, commemorating the spot where the eight victims perished. Apples, chicken, rice, something that resembled rice porridge, orange juice, vodka and whiskey were laid out as offerings for the departed. I felt an instant kinship knowing that they appreciate a good Screwdriver as much as I do.
Outside the cave, Vietnamese military officers kindly offered to let us eat some of the food. We politely declined. Something just didn’t feel right to us foreigners about eating gifts that were meant for the dead (although if the alcohol were on offer…). As an American, for me the feeling was even stronger, considering it was my country’s Air Force who had caused the need for the shrine in the first place. Still, we did our best to convey that the gesture was much appreciated.
Next we traveled to Thien Duong (Paradise) Cave, which was discovered in 2005 and has only been open to the public since September, 2010. At that time, it was believed to be the largest and longest cave in Vietnam, at 31 Kilometers in length. Then its neighbor, Hang Son Doong (Mountain River Cave) had to go and show it up by boasting that it could fit a 40-story building within its substantial belly.
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2011/01/largest-cave/jenkins-text/1
After acquiring our entry tickets to Thien Duong, we took a golf cart-like vehicle to the base of the mountain that it resides inside of. Then we began the steep, 519-step climb to the entrance.
The air was heavy with heat and impending rain, making the assent somewhat tough. But it was still wonderful to be away from the honking and constant buzz of motorbikes in Danang. That is, until the music began. Vietnamese songs of love and longing started leaching out of hidden speakers located amongst the rocks and foliage. Not even in the middle of a national park can you get away from the unnecessary noise pollution of Vietnam. A woman with the voice of an angel, (if that angel were being waterboarded), was trying her best to outdo the chorus of unseen insects, birds and primates.
“Man, I hate it when Mother Nature tries to drown out good ambiance music,” I sarcastically huffed as we laboriously rounded another bend. “Give up Nature. You can’t compete!” It was as if a teenage Janis Joplin were attempting to go up against Rachel Barry from Glee for the lead in the school musical.
When we made it to the top of our climb, we were greeted by a cool blast of air pouring out of the cave’s Steven Tyler size mouth. “A/C. Wonderful, beautiful, natural, A/C,” we exclaimed.
Once inside the cave, we were also happily met with silence. That, and a much-appreciated absence of the flashing, colored lights you find in every other dim corner of Vietnam. I’d been told that nearby Phong Nha Cave looked like an Asian discothèque on the inside after some local “improvements” to its natural beauty. I haven’t seen it with my own eyes, but I’d put that needless redecorating concept on par with a plastic surgeon telling Angelina Jolie she needed a new face.
Paradise Cave’s name was truly deserved. The calcium carbonate-containing stalagmites rose from the cave floor and gracefully trickled back into it like giant drip candles. The massive formations put the calcium-rich kidney stones my own body had produced back in college to shame.
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| Stalagmites, smug in their magnificence. |
We were allowed to enter the first 1.1 km of the grotto. Then the wooden path abruptly came to an end, requiring us to return the same way we had entered. In that short, well-lit distance, we did not manage to find Mandy a caveman amongst the bat poo, mammoth mineral-sicles and helpful signs that read ”Do not walk in the cave floor,” and “Please put garbages in the bin!”
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| But what if it’s consensual…? |
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| “OMG, after I Photoshop out those stalactite drips that look like cellulite, this is totally going to be my next Facebook profile picture! I can’t wait until my ex-boyfriend sees how hot I look.” - Overheard from a teenage Stalagmite |
We did, however, find some very phallic looking stalagmites, which only further frustrated my dear friend and reminded her of what she was currently missing out on.
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| Real classy, Mother Nature, real classy… At least she appears to be promoting safe sex. |
Next on our tour was a petite-in-comparison cave I forget the name of. It was located near a small, isolated village that I never learned the name of. The villagers came out of their houses and gathered around the jeep. They seemed curious as to why a bunch of Westerns would voluntarily pull themselves up a mud slick on a rainy day, in order to view a dark, damp cavern. A few of the local children cheerfully accompanied us on our mini-adventure, skipping from stone to stone and scrambling up rocks with ease, despite their lack of shoes.
The inside of the cave wasn’t 1/10 as impressive as Thien Duong but it was exciting to know we were in a space that few had ever entered. It was much like what I imagined Paris Hilton’s sexual partners felt the first time they had sex with someone who wasn’t her.
With the lights strapped to our heads illuminating all possible paths, we explored until we hit a rocky wall and could go no further.
Then, trailing behind the bouncing lights that our headlamp’s third eye provided, we headed back to the cave mouth. As we prepared to exit, our group had the realization that, when teamed up, mud and gravity make a formidable adversary. We all did our best to keep our footing before admitting defeat and sliding down the mountain on our backsides.
Our guide had stayed back in the jeep to watch over our bags. As we approached our point of departure, he exclaimed, “It was like ‘Lord of The Flies’ out here!” Apparently, the children who had opted not to join us on our hike had surrounded him, inquisitively touching anything and everything within reach.
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| Welcome back... idiots. |
One of the local families was kind enough to welcome us to their well so that we could rinse off the mud that was trying to hitch a ride back to the farmstay. They shook their heads and laughed at the mess we had made of ourselves.
Thus, Mandy and I began the journey back to our accommodation, wet and cavemanless. She was disheartened but I reminded her that the caves in Vietnam are amongst the largest and most spacious in the world. Her cavern was probably not vast enough to make a caveman, native to these parts, feel anything but claustrophobic.
After a shower and swim in the pool, we sat down to a dinner of Chicken Kiev and chatted with some of the other guests and employees.
The conversation eventually came around to a song our guide had played in the jeep while we toured around that day; Blue Oyster Cult’s classic, '(Don’t Fear) The Reaper.' Only 3 of the 7 multinational passengers in our group had understood what the American catchphrase, “More cowbell!” meant. It was requested that I get out my MacBook and enlighten those who had yet to see the Saturday Night Live mockumentary of a rockumentary.
http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/719364/
And so began an evening spent engaged in my favorite communal pastime after public hangings, orgies and mob violence…group YouTube-ing.
Everyone got a good laugh out of the video staring Will Ferrell. After that came the usual search requests for personal Youtube favorites.
“Try and enter ‘Arab BMX spinout.’ Wait, no, try ‘burnout.’”
I’ve never been a huge SNL fan but I can definitely appreciate their better work. Since we had begun our viewing party with one of their classic clips, I thought it was appropriate to follow that up with another; the rap Natalie Portman recorded back in 2006, simply entitled, 'Natalie’s Rap.'
As the video buffered I felt like Ralphie on 'A Christmas Story,' waiting for his teacher to praise him for a job well done on his Red Ryder BB gun write-up. Instead I got the equivalent of the Mrs. Shields writing, “You’ll shoot your eye out,” across the bottom of his essay. Nobody but me thought the video was funny. Instead, rare and exotic species of crickets showed their disgust by heckling me loudly in the background.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8e6-IeQ0aw
“No, it doesn’t work, it just doesn’t work,” one of the farmstay employees exclaimed as Natalie’s normally poised lips shouted, “All the kids lookin’ up to me can suck ma d*ck!” I think he was under the impression that we were watching Natalie Portman’s genuine attempt at making a Brian Austen Green-like foray into the world of gangsta rap.
“That’s what makes it funny. She’s a classy, Harvard educated Jewess, doing an expletive filled, hard-core rap,” I futily tried to explain as my video pick was collectively vetoed.
If you have to try and explicate why something is funny, you might as well fall on your own sword because the battle is over and done with. I picked up my feet as war buffs with metal detectors began scavenging the area surrounding my laptop, in search of bullet shells and other battlefield souvenirs.
I was instructed to go back to a video of a fat Indian kid shaking what his mama’s overfeeding gave him. I resisted the urge to shout, “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, 'Sleepwalking dog runs into wall' is a work of comic genius but 'Natalie’s Rap' is the Gallagher of the YouTube video world.”
I made a point of not laughing at my most outspoken naysayer’s choice of 'How to dance at an outdoor drum and bass rave.' I simultaneously made a mental note to forward the link to all of my friends back in the US; it was pretty funny.
I don’t know why but there is something so extremely ego bruising about having your YouTube video pick put down. I took their spurn as a personal rejection. It was if each and every one of the men huddling around my computer had just turned down my request to accompany me to the Sadie Hawkins dance…and secretly recorded it…and then uploaded it to YouTube…where it caught the eyes of the Tosh.0 staff…and then became a national sensation that friends gathered around computers actually laughed at.
In the meantime, Mandy had wandered off to pay for our two nights at the farmstay. She was also going to ask about a bus we had been told could get us back to Danang at a cheaper rate than the train. She returned with the news that, while it was still an excellent alternative, our future chariot was not so much a “bus” as a “van.” She was also told that it would be virtually empty when we boarded it at 5:30 AM, as our stop was towards the beginning of the journey. This meant that we should have our pick of window seats to sleep against.
What we learned the following morning was that this last bit of information should have been followed by one, teensy, tiny, yet critical, word; that word was, “Psyche!”
To be continued...
*** As an aside, I would highly recommend the Phong Nha Farmstay to anyone wanting to view the national park and caves. It’s one of the only places of lodging in the area that offers tours and isn’t located an hour’s drive from the amazing natural sites. The excursions are pricey by Vietnam standards, ($55.00 for a full day, including entrance fees and lunch), but well worth the money. The backpacker’s haven is run by an Australian, his Vietnamese wife and their young son. The youngster adorably spends his days napping in hammocks, being coddled by relatives and high-fiving anyone he deems cool enough to receive his attention. (He stopped high-fiving me after the ‘Natalie’s Rap’ incident.) You can opt to stay in a clean dorm or private room. There is a spacious communal space overlooking the surrounding rice paddies which includes a bar and TV lounge area. An outdoor swimming pool to the rear of the farmstay completes the package.
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