Are you for scuba?

Some of you may remember this event in my life with fondness:

If not, please do catch up with every intimate detail of my biography here: http://emmadoessouthamerica.blogspot.com/2009/10/puerto-madryn-mark-ii.html

I am very pleased to inform you that, whilst in Hoi An this weekend, such an event was recreated thanks to the lovely people at Blue Coral Diving, and a little encouragement from Primary A who is a diving enthusiast/nazi who travels around with little cards with fish on them and won't let you dive less than 24 hours before a flight because it's a rule or something.  Matt and Pete, if you ever read this: I think you would all get along and be fish friends together.

As a small preface, this Sunday was Freedom Day in Vietnam.  Now as the Vietnamese have been screwed over by some heavyweight superpowers through the years, I'm not entirely sure who they are celebrating freedom from, but it's probably safe to say they are celebrating their liberty from all of them.  They do this with loud, public karaoke outside your hotel window, school parades with dancing and a three day weekend.  Holidays don't happen often in Vietnam, but they do happen quite often in the school calendar.  Sadly for us, it means that having just returned to work and gotten used to wearing restrictive school shoes instead of carefree, wild flip flops, we have now been duped into thinking we are on holiday again.  Pretty much every person in our party reverted to Gap Yah mind frame and dug out their bracelets, anklets, wacky baggy pants, got sunburned and enjoyed the feel of saltwater in their hair for longer than was necessary.

I celebrated my long lost traveler by booking myself onto a day's worth of diving and going out to the exotic Cham Islands in the middle of the South China Sea (some of the cooler people among you may have enjoyed Extreme Rubber Ringing in the exact same sea) with the intention of snorkeling (it was cheaper).  When I got onto the boat though, a mixture of sea sickness and desire to be as Li Hi as all the other casual Canadian/Malaysian/Vietnamese people around me forced me to sidle up to the dive master and ask for an upgrade to a Discovery Dive.  We all agree that this sounds a bit like a nursery school swim lesson, but trust me, it is heap way cooler than that, even if the dive master does essentially keep you on the underwater equivalent of baby reins for the whole time.

After puking over the side of the boat (yum!) I met my lovely dive master, Jess, whose first question was 'Anglais or Francais?'  Being a complete show off, I smirked smugly, looked around me to check everyone was watching and said 'Les deux, comme tu veux' chuffed with myself for having persevered with French grammar for the last fourteen years in order to achieve this very moment, whereupon Jess breathed a sigh of relief and, in French, said, 'Thank God, my English is awful.'  What I did not consider was the fact that once again, every life saving instruction about jumping into the open sea weighted down by oxygen tanks and metal belts and being only able to manoeuvre myself like a pregnant whale in flippers was going to be delivered to me in a foreign language.  Luckily, my French is a heck of a lot better than my Spanish was when Mathias threw me into the freezing ocean.

Once in the water, Jess and I fulfilled the intentions of the Discovery Dive by Discovering!  (We made finger paint art about it later after nap and toilet time).  With outstretched, searching four-year-old sticky fingers, I swam after lion fish for which there is a special hand sign, and orange banded coral fish for which there is not, and pennant coral fish and flute fish and blue starfish and tiny bright blue ones and black and white stripey ones that I can't find on Google to name properly.  The coral fingers did the swoopy wavy thing that was so hypnotic that I found myself trying to mimic it with my hands as I flippered towards it before remembering that another human being could see me and I was releasing the strange thoughts from inside my mind through the medium of body language.  I also got stung about a gazillion times by tiny jellyfish.  Pesky jellyfish.

The rest of the weekend was spent getting shoes made, learning to cook Vietnamese food, eating Vietnamese food, taking riverboat trips, smashing ceramic pots with blindfolds on, taking photos of lanterns, taking photos of other people whilst they were sleeping and laughing at PETA who had a little accident that she can't remember and ended up in hospital with a dislocated clavicle.  Obviously this isn't funny.  Except that it is a little bit funny.  I will let her tell you the story once her insurance is cleared.

Hoi An, by the way, is famous for tailors and cobblers.  Vietnam is famous for having women with tiny feet, and therefore shops with very small shoes in them.  Every shop assistant/market yeller I have asked to find me an appropriately sized pair of shoes has laughed at me and told me I am a 'vey big laydee!' before saying something to their friend and laughing some more.  I resent this.  I am not a vey big laydee.  I am actually quite petite.  And it is rude to talk about people in a completely incomprehensible language when they're standing right in front of you staring sadly at their kangaroo feet.  Thankfully, the laydees in Hoi An draw around your enormous boat feet on a piece of paper in order to make sure the shoes they knock up for you in 36 hours fit perfectly and stink of leather and glue.  I am quite pleased with my purchases (I picked the colours and the materials myself and everything) and will be returning just before Christmas with a list of presents for anyone who wants to take the time to give me the measurements of their entire bodies.  They don't just make shoes there.  They make everything.  Family: you are obliged to give me your measurements, otherwise you will not be getting noodles and fish sauce for Christmas.

Training for the Angkor Wat half marathon of death will continue this week with School Night Gym Nights, Wednesday Pilates of Pain, Weekend Swimming, and Lunch Time Sports Psychology Pep Talks.  I shall keep you updated.

A gem for any of you who have ever seen 'Along Came Polly':

If you are for scuba, then I am a pea!