Please refresh the page and retry. Our Kon Tum to Da Nang bus made its first unexplained stop at the station where, after a sweaty 20 minutes on a stone bench and still the only passengers, we were waved back on board by a lanky Vietnamese teenager.
Crossing intersections, we made a sharp U-turn, scattering motorbikes, and squawking, balding chickens while a water buffalo grazing on the verge raised a disinterested head. The youth leapt out of the moving bus and caught up again, passing a pack of White Horse cigarettes to the driver, along with a murky drink in a plastic bag with straw. Horn blaring we continued, the youth yelling and gesticulating through the open window at anybody standing at the roadside. Spotting a target, he jumped out of the door and, after a brief exchange, pulled a resisting girl towards the bus, slinging her rucksack behind us.
At the city limits the driver killed the engine. We alighted and the men offered each other cigarettes. We unearthed Point It and flicked through the photos of everything you could need when abroad. I showed them a picture of a lavatory. Amid gales of laughter, they indicated a nearby cassava field offering little cover. Behind me was the gate of a courtyard with lots of doors, possibly alms houses.
A chipped bas-relief mural featured a flowering tree, a stream, a pink dragon. I entered. She turned away. Rounding a corner I met a large man who barked aggressively at me. Timidly, I showed him the Point It picture. He gestured towards a small building where I availed myself of the spotless non-Western facilities, washing my hands in the sink outside. Email your entry, in words with the text in the body of the email , to justback telegraph.
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