Thuy and I have just spent four days on Phu Quoc Island. I knew it would be wet; I knew the sea would be unswimmable; I knew there would be little to do with the rain falling; but I needed a break from the monotony of city life. Phu Quoc would have fresh sea air, trees and flowers, no Russian or Chinese tourists (thanks to Covid); it would be a relaxing and therapeutic break after my labours of the previous two months – working every day at the European International School and, to boot, teaching 13 hours of English per week in the evenings and at weekends. I was knackered and in need of a mindless rest.
I was looking forward to peace and quiet at our carefully chosen hotel, the Phu Quoc Eco Beach Resort, but I had not bargained for total solitude. The place was deserted. It seemed we were the only ones mad enough to visit Phu Quoc in the middle of a tropical depression. The other thing I had not bargained for was our hotels remoteness and isolation. I had expected it to be on a stretch of beach adjacent to other hotels, with shops and
restaurants nearby, but this was not the case. My plan to go for long walks on the sand was scotched because the hotels small private beach was flanked by woodland and rocks. And Thuy was unhappy we were so cut off, surrounded by nature and so far away from ‘civilization – a taxi ride from shops and restaurants.
Our days followed the same pattern. After waking up, I would go for a swim in the ‘infinity swimming pool. Id across this term before booking the hotel and had to look it up. Google tells me that: ‘an infinity pool or infinity edge pool is a swimming pool where the water flows over one or more edges, producing a visual effect of water with no boundary. Such pools are often designed so that the edge appears to merge with a larger body of water such as the ocean, or with the sky. The edge of this pool merged with the sea and the leaden sky. Of course I had the pool all to myself. Although the weather was wild, the air temperature was warm. I found swimming in the rain, with not a living soul for
company, most therapeutic. I recited Thomas Hardy poems in my head (‘The Darkling Thrush and ‘A January Night – both highly appropriate to the Phu Quoc weather) and as I gazed seawards into the Gulf of Thailand, James Joyces memorable phrase came to mind: ‘the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.
After my swim we breakfasted. The advertised buffet breakfast had been cancelled owing to the dearth of guests; instead we ticked off items from a printed list. My daily crispy bacon, omelette, fried rice, passion and watermelon juice and Vietnamese green tea. Thuy had her traditional bowl of noodles. That was enough to keep us going until the evening, when we ate from the hotel menu or, on one occasion, took a taxi to the Night Market to eat crab and barbequed fish. For lunch we nibbled at bananas and nuts and rambutan in the privacy of our room.
The hours between breakfast and dinner were, to say the least, monotonous. The stormy weather precluded normal beach activities, and our hotels isolation meant we had to stay put. So we spent the day inside our bungalow. Thuy whiled away her time through a combination
of surfing the internet, phoning relatives and watching TV. I had deliberately left at home, thinking that break from the internet (going cold turkey) would do me good. Instead Id planned to read my books, go for long walks and swim. Only the last of these ambitions materialized because, during the four days, I read not a single word and did no walking. I passed the time by sleeping and mindlessly surfing the TV channels, watching such entertaining rubbish as Underworld: Blood Wars and the ridiculous History channel (a misnomer if ever there was one), which specializes in theories about ancient aliens visiting our planet. There was no BBC or CNN, thus starving me of world news (cold turkey for a news fiend like myself).
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