Swimming Peacefully with the Fishes

DAY 24
LOCATION: Phu Quoc

If the evenings are quiet on Phu Quoc, the early mornings are silent. I arrived at the beach for a sunrise run as the first rays of light kissed the palm trees behind me. No people, no rumbling junk motors, just the sand, the ocean, and my breath. What a feeling!

I headed south again, out to the place I had the massage. The evolving pastels caused me to stop more than once, a favorite Dar Williams’ lyric repeating in my head: “Well the sun rose, with so many colors it nearly broke my heart, it worked me over like a work of art, and I was a part of all that.”

As I got closer to the fisherman’s village, signs of life emerged amongst the locals. Boys prepping their boats, women observing the planet’s morning ritual, a couple of men swimming in the gentle waters. While I had no knowledge of their state of mind or the hardships they might be facing, I couldn’t help thinking these islanders had it all figured out. This unbelievable beauty and peace awaited them every single morning. That was more than I could say about the honking of horns and whirring machines that started my day in Los Angeles, the troubling cacophony of expensive city life.

Back at the hotel, I had just enough time for a shower and breakfast before my snorkeling pickup. A large passenger van took us to the port, picking up fellow tourists on the way. No one spoke any English, but for once I really didn’t feel like talking.

The boat was a far cry from the sleek number that had taken us to the Great Barrier Reef. I liked the mismatching deck chairs though, the stripped wood railings and rusted anchor. It added character, an air of authenticity and a relaxed nature to the excursion.

We cruised through the jade water languidly, picking up passengers along the way. An older man in the hammocked chair next to me struck up a conversation. His name was Guido, an Italian from Sicily adventuring through SE Asia solo. His broken English was endearing, his enthusiasm infectious. We snapped a selfie together before our first dive.

The shallow reef encircled a tiny island. It was barely deep enough to float in some areas, a few meters at its max depth. What it lacked in diversity and vastness compared to the Great Barrier Reef, it made up for in color and intimacy. The healthy corals shimmered in jeweled tones of purple, blue, and pink. Schools of fish made me one of their pack, darting this way then that, hundreds of them in sync. With no threat of jellyfish, wearing only my swimsuit, I felt freer than I had in Australia, more of a participant and less of an observer. A would-be mermaid.

We broke for lunch after an hour and a half. Everyone enjoyed the dive, but we all had the same complaint—the snorkeling gear needed updating. The well-worn masks constantly fogged and filled with water, which meant a lot of trips to the surface and gulps of salt water. The rustic-ness of the boat might have been charming, but the equipment not so much.

I wanted to eat with my new buddy Guido, but the staff had different plans for me. A deckhand ushered me upstairs and directed me to a table of Germans. “Vegetarian,” he said, pointing to my seat. Alrighty then.

“You guys are vegetarian too?” I inquired.

“Only me,” a pretty woman in her 30s responded.

“I know I should be, but I’m not,” her partner chimed in across the table. The group laughed knowingly, and we quickly got into a conversation about the merits of abstaining from animal products. They were from Berlin, a city with an exploding vegan movement, and they knew all of the pros of switching to a plant-based diet.

“I mostly do it for health, but I also care a lot about the environment,” the vegetarian admitted.

“I’m sure we’re all heading that way at some point,” her friend added. “I just don’t feel quite ready yet.” This was a response I heard from a lot of people. I understood – it had taken me two separate attempts, and many months of cheganism before fully committing.

“Everyone has their own path,” I smiled, biting into some delicious morning glory.

Back in the water at our next location - another itty-bitty island with shallow reef - I thought of Kafka as I swam alongside a spectacular group of barracuda. “Now I can look at you in peace; I don’t eat you anymore,” the novelist had once said while at an aquarium. Undoubtedly my connection to the animal kingdom had grown stronger and stronger over the past year, for exactly this reason. I floated along in awe at the beauty of the underwater world.

Time evaporated among the corals, as if I’d gotten lost in a meditation. I was the last to return to the boat, not ready for dry land. I didn’t seem to be the only one - Guido looked unhappy as I ascended onto the deck.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He looked up at me sadly. “My phone is pfft.” He made an accompanying gesture to indicate its death status, then held up the plastic casing he’d had it in. “Stupid thing, said it was water proof, but no. All my photos from my trip, gone.”

Empathy coursed through me. Aside from physical harm, my phone dying was pretty much the worst thing I could imagine. It literally served as my life line. Not that I couldn’t get on without it, but… actually I probably couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry! That’s so awful. Do you want to use my phone for anything?”

“No no, it’s okay. It’s just a phone, I find a new one. I can email family from hotel so they know I’m okay until I get to city. Anyway, you see the barracuda?” His expression morphed, and just like that he’d moved on from his little tragedy.

We got back to the port around 5, but it took another 20 minutes or so to dock. There wasn’t enough space for our boat, which meant multiple men maneuvering the neighboring boats as ours squeezed in, scraping against the sides. Imagine a game of bumper boats. Guido and I couldn’t stop laughing – only in Vietnam.

“Wait, Amy, look!!” he pointed to a floating object in the water.

“Is that a—“ my voice trailed off. Yup. It was a dead pig. Bloated, bluish, upside down and feet bobbing up and down. I spotted the Germans nearby. “Hey you guys! Now has never been a better time to consider going vegetarian.” We laughed at the horror, then I said a silent prayer for the deceased swine.

I spent my final evening on Phu Quoc the same way I’d spent the other two – watching the sunset and dining alone. Would it have been nice to have someone to share the magnificent sky and vegan pho with? Of course. But then I wouldn’t have been quite as present to the nuances, as centered in the experience. I was beginning to really cherish my solitude.