Fili’s world

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First blow targets the testicles. Right leg karate twist with a bit of a power push from behind, knocking off his male abilities for good. Then, two big punches to the head, first from the left, then one from the right. Blood coming out from every possible organ a big Mortal Combat cry of “finish him!” echoes in the background and it is time for the grand finale. Out comes the big shot gun, two huge caliber barrels with extra firepower powder, pointing directly at his stomach. He looks down at the two big holes in his body, and gives a final sad farewell look as if saying “God, I should have known not to mess with you”.

I’m usually a calm guy. It takes some really special circumstances to make me loss it, and it seems like today’s events did exactly that. I decided to drive up to Danang, not being in the best of moods, and looking for some sort of break-the-routine adventure. I’ve been wanting to drive over there for a some time now, to see the big Vietnam’s 4th biggest city, and I even had some chores I was planning on completing. I didn’t even bother looking at the Lonely Planet, since I vaguely remembered something about reading it’s not worth the visit.

I walked over to the motorbike girl, which I don’t really like, remembering the new bike I got the last time I went to Marble Mountain. But, this time, I got a different bike, somewhat old looking with a saying “it’s same same”. I looked at her suspiciously, and muttered “Khong! Not same!” but thought “the hell with that, I’m in no mood to start looking for something else”. Everything seemed to be okay on the one hour drive to Danang. I avoided the hassler girls on motorbikes pointing to their shop next to Marble Mountain and went straight towards Danang. Entering the big city, I was hungry and wanted something to eat. Following the sign “Bien” I figured that eating at the beach could be a good start for the day.

I felt something was wrong right after the big turn towards the beach. The motorbike was not reacting to my gas pulls. I could swear that it felt like the gas was running out, but the gas meter pointed to half, so I had no idea what was happening. One kilometer and the bike choked its final cough and died, giving the near ca-fe place a good laugh at me. Now, the way things work in Vietnam is that you have a “Honda - SonSau” Mo-To O-To places every 100 meters, to handle all the breaking motors bikes. So I dragged my bike to the nearest guy, shrugging my shoulders with a sad look.

This guy’s nasty smile smelled like trouble, but I didn’t have enough time to think as he jumped on my bike with his tools without hesitation and started tearing it to small pieces. After replacing way too many parts with other parts that looked WAY older and WAY over-used, he finally attempted to start off the bike without any success. Then, he thought for a moment and opened the seating bar to take a look at the gas tank, which turned out to be surprisingly empty. Filling the tank up a bit, he asked for 20000 dong, and sent me on the way. Needless to say, that after the next turn the bike died again, so I did the mistake of taking the bike back to him - thinking that he should do the work I paid for. So, off with the hood again, he was making changes that made me feel he was replacing the 110cm engine with a 50cm one. Not being able to talk a single work in English, and refusing to comprehend any of my horrible accent Vietnamese, he left me staring helplessly at his doing. After he finished re doing exactly what he did before and trying to convince me it was working this time he asked for an additional 30000 dong. I usually don’t give a rat’s ass about money, especially for people who look like they need it, but the whole way the day started has driven me over some imaginary patience border. I tried, calmly, to explain to him that there is no way I am going to pay him again for the same job that should have worked the first time, and when his hostility emerged, so did mine. Soon, he was shouting in Vietnamese, I was cursing him and his family in Hebrew and English and a small crowd of his friends gathered. Been very mad, I imagined the possibility of doing the whole Mortal Combat scenario, making this guy bleed to death begging for mercy. As his midget - yet intimidating - friends made sure I stay put, I was left to look at him tear my bike apart and extract all the fuel he previously put in, with no sign of getting my money back. Giving them the finger, I dragged my bike to the next “Honda - SonSau” guy to repair all the damage the first moron did. Finally, thanks to a smiley friendly cheap bunch - the bike was working, god knows for how long, but I’ve had just enough of the whole experience. Trying to calm myself down I visited the only crap museum in Danang (about the Cham culture), but I knew that I need to head back. Some things are just not meant to be. I hope, for her sake (:P), that I can keep calm when I hand the bike back to that !$#$^& girl.

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