I Survived 24 Hours with The Man Who Never Sleeps

This is Ong Ngoc. He's kind of famous around these parts. His condition and case have been covered extensively here in Vietnam and even internationally thanks to the likes of Drukinski. What caused you to stop being able to sleep? But given that Mr Ngoc lives just down the road from me, I needed to see this for myself to get to know him a little bit and get to understand. And I can understand why he enjoys spending all his time here. It is effing beautiful. You see, something's been bugging me. While everybody seems obsessed with the why, why can't he sleep, what caused this condition? What's far more interesting to me is the how. How the hell is this man still standing? How's he functioning, living a seemingly normal life given his age and extreme condition? Unraveling that, it seems to me, might just give us some insight into how he got his superhuman powers and it might just help some others. Mr Ngoc is lumbering, like he said. He's finding something to do. I mean, I think one of the big problems with his condition is just the boredom. And the solution to that is productivity, which is awesome. He's just always finding something else that he could be doing. And so it's 11 o'clock at night. He turns on the patio lights and he gets to gardening. He's not sleeping. I'm not sleeping. What do you remember about when you first started not being able to sleep? He was really tired. So we're going to unravel the mysteries of Mr Ngoc today. Hopefully we can find out a little bit about what it's like to live without sleep for 60 plus years to see how he's been able to pull it off. And in order to do that, we're going to do exactly as he does. We're staying up all night cooking rice wine. We're going to tend to these rice fields and we're going to smoke around 40 cigarettes in one day. All right, maybe not that bad. I don't want to die. But everything else we're going to do. Let's roll. Our morning begins surrounded by the lush greenery of his rice fields. It's here in this tranquil setting that he immerses himself in the ritual of the day. Nurturing his garden, caring for his chickens and sharing the remnants of last night's meal with his watchdog. All right, so basically, we're just trying to clear a bit of space out here around the chicken barn. And I'm trying to help out a little bit. I mean, this isn't exactly my forte. I'm not too good with a pick, but it seems relatively basic. We're just kind of like digging up some of the grass and, you know, turning it back into stone. At least that's what I believe. And after tending to the chores around this small farm, he's eager to show me over the lands from a nearby rocky outcrop. And it's notable to me right away just how nimble this guy is for 82 years of age. And while some health issues are pretty obvious, it's the clarity of his thoughts and the mental state that really stand out to me. We sit down, enjoy the view and he explains a little bit about his life. And while being closer to the village has its benefits, I get the distinct feeling that this is where he feels most at home. He grows rice, pepper, tea and bananas here. And there's a sense of harmony. It's a life marked by simplicity and a deep bond with the land. Due to his condition, he has to go for health checkups at least every quarter. Here's a tough time hearing from one side, but the most notable disability has nothing to do with his lack of sleep at all. During the Vietnam War, he lost most of the function in his right hand. Om Ngoc lives inland from my adopted hometown and tourist destination of Hoi An. This place is close to the Ho Chi Minh Trail. And so, despite being south of the DMZ, his hometown was right in the thick of it during the Vietnam War, with intense fighting and bombing along this crucial supply route. During these turbulent times, Ngoc suffered a grave injury. His hand was shot and severely mutilated by an American soldier. And despite this life-altering incident, he never left the area, sticking close to the place that he has always called home. Nowadays, I have seen it theorised that his inability to sleep might be tied to PTSD from these years at war. When you stopped being able to sleep, was it during the war or after the war? And during the war, were you in the army? Really? You fought in the American war? Wow. My personal hunch is that it is related to the war, but perhaps not specifically to PTSD. This area was subject to heavy dosing of Agent Orange, a powerful herbicide and defoliant used during the Vietnam War. It's infamous for containing dioxin, a highly toxic chemical compound known to cause severe health issues, including cancer, birth defects and debilitating diseases. I'm obviously no expert here at all, but the broad nature, severity and delayed onset of the side effects of Agent Orange make me think that it is at least a plausible cause of Ngoc's chronic insomnia. After talking for a bit, we head back to the main home, where Ngoc's wife, Ba Bay, has begun preparing dinner. Stir-fried chicken and sour soup. Everything comes from their farm. How old were you guys when you met? 27. Wow. When you first met, was he sleeping or not sleeping already? Did the doctors ever give you any reason? But luckily, he seems in pretty good health right now. How much do you smoke every day? One packet. Around a packet a day. I mean, I think you've smoked a packet since I've been here. How long have you lived in this house for? And where did you live before this house? Do you like it here or do you like it there? I like it here, but there it seems so peaceful. What do you guys hope for the future? Well, I hope that for you too. I hope that you have, I think, what I've seen already, you have a lovely life here, a beautiful garden, a beautiful family all around you. I think you live an almost perfect life. Alright, thank you. Alright, look, I was trying to prepare to stay up all night, so I've been turning down the rice wine the whole time, but dinner has come about and he's offering me some more, so I think it's about time. Oh, so maybe, I don't think he understood my reasoning, but actually, now that I drink it, I can kind of taste it. This is actually some kind of banana rice wine. I can tell it's rice wine. It's not just, he says like rung chui, like this is like banana wine or something like that, banana whiskey, banana vodka. Who knows what the right term is, but one thing's for sure, it's got that real banana-y flavour to it. It's really good, way better than normal rice wine. I can drink more of this stuff. Okay, no, no, no. After dinner, I begin to realise that one of the big issues with having so many hours available in the day is just simply boredom. To combat this, Om Ngoc is a huge sports fan, following just about anything that involves Vietnam's national teams. It's about 6.30, 7. We're getting ready for the night. I imagine you've got to find some stuff to do. Luckily, there is a Vietnamese national soccer match on tonight, so that's how we're kicking things off. I learn, mainly from my camera guy, Tien, that this is do or die for Vietnam, that I should care. So I settle in, I commit to the process and try to don some semblance of nationalism for my adopted homeland in a sport that, I mean, it's just not really my thing. The stakes are that if Vietnam loses, they are completely out of the World Cup qualifiers. I mean, it's a big deal here, all right? I'll keep you guys updated. Okay, I'm not the biggest soccer guy, but we're nine minutes in, we're down one goal. That cannot be a great start. Unfortunately, things don't go so well. All right, it's over, a merciful ending. Well, it's not that merciful, 3-0. But still, this is now around about the time I'd start thinking about bed, 9 p.m. And I just wonder what goes on. Finally, Ong Ngoc wishes his wife a good night and it's on to a seemingly endless stream of 80s and 90s Vietnamese dramas. Okay, 10 p.m. check-in. And you see, Trung Ngoc, his hearing is not too great on the left-hand side. Maybe it's not that great overall. So, we are currently blasting Vietnamese musicals. And I mean blasting. I don't know how anyone in this neighborhood sleeps, let alone him. Meanwhile, I begin what will be one of many losing chess games that night. And once everyone else is asleep, Ong Ngoc starts his nightly routine, which consists of bursts of work, alternated with periods of watching these Vietnamese dramas. His first tasks involve tending to a small herb garden and brewing some tea. And although he doesn't sleep, at least not in any traditional sense, he does have an extendable lounge chair, which he occasionally seems to just zone out. His eyes are open, but he sort of stares into the distance, zoning out to the noise of the TV crackling in the background. Trung Ngoc is over there. I am over here. Now, I've heard, essentially, he doesn't really sleep-sleep. He goes into micro-sleeps, maybe eyes flutter around. I'm not really sure. We'll try capture something on camera without it being too invasive. And we'll find out a little bit more of a lowdown as to what exactly happens later. This rarely lasts very long, no more than five minutes. And then he's up, moving again onto the next task. And I'm no neuroscientist, but that hasn't stopped me from dabbling in wholly unscientific theories before. My guess here is that Ong Ngoc must be going through some kind of reparative function during these times. Let's call them micro-sleeps, if you will. I never actually saw him close his eyes for any extended period of time. But he does seem to drift off, to zone out. And my thought is that this must be his version of sleep. But after every short period of rest, he's up again, moving onto the next task. And that next task is rice wine. As the clock nudges past midnight, we head over the road to his son's house to start the night's batch of rice wine. Having already picked out the mash, Ong Ngoc fires up a fierce flame under a large pan. The walls are lined with large buckets of fermented rice. Oh, that's strong already, or it smells it. Has that sort of really pungent fermented smell. Crazy. In the corner, there's a large steel, wood-fired stilt, blazing away. And this is where the magic happens. The process begins with the fermented rice wine mash, which contains both alcohol, water, mashed up rice, and as I just experienced, sometimes even bananas. This mash is placed in a pot or stilt, which is then heated up. The heat in this case is done by using wood fire. The goal is to raise the temperature above the boiling point of alcohol, but below the boiling point of water, causing the alcohol to evaporate. Although here, I really don't see any way in which Ngoc is measuring the temperature precisely. I think it just comes down to his experience and skill. So we've been cooking away for a good, I don't know, seems like 30 odd minutes, something like that. And we started to try and now cool down the pipe that is connected to the top of this stilt. And I think that's just going to try and speed up the process of condensation so we can collect that nice juicy rice wine at the end. Juicy? Something like that. As the mash heats up, the alcohol vaporizes. These vapors also carry along with them flavors from the fermented rice, which is crucial for the characteristic taste found in rice wine. The alcohol vapors are directed up and funneled into a condenser, a separate part of the stilt that cools the vapor back into liquid form. In this instance, the condenser runs through a container filled with cool water. And as the hot vapors pass through the cooling tube, they lose heat, surrounded by cool water, and condense back into liquid form. This liquid is the distilled rice wine. This might be the earliest shot I've ever done. We're about 4.30 right now. We're going to suck out some of this rice wine, as they call it here. Really, again, just feel it. It's more like a whiskey. Oh man, and the flavor, the scent of this is intense. I'm just taking a sip. Oh yeah, that's got fire. That's really strong. It's like ethanol. Wow. And after setting this entire motion in process, we have a long wait ahead of us. Fortunately, or unfortunately, we have all night, and there's little else to do. And so the rest of the night is essentially spent this way, with Om Ngoc watching endless episodes of Vietnamese drama, myself continually losing at chess games, and Ngoc periodically heading over next door to his son's house to check on the rice wine and add more fuel to the fire. Sometimes I join him, sometimes I continue losing at chess. Anyway, there you have it guys. That might be some of the strongest rice wine, whiskey, why do I keep saying them both, that I have ever had, period, in 10 years in Vietnam. That stuff was intense. Maybe that is what keeps Om Ngoc going, because he sucks that stuff down all day, trust me. And soon enough, the dawn is creeping over us, light filtering through the mists of the central highlands, signalling the start of a new day. All right, guys, we're off to get some breakfast, pho, just around the corner here, breakfast of champions. If you want to know how you can survive without ever even sleeping, the answer is pho. I mean, there's probably a few other things as well. And after grabbing some pho for breakfast, it's time to return to the rice fields, where our journey began. So this morning, the granddaughter's gone to school already. So Om Ngoc is riding his bike all the way into the rice fields. It's not that far, but you know what I mean, 85-year-old guy gets a decent amount of exercise every day. Once again, I think this is kind of one of the reasons that he's in pretty good health. Healthy diet, lots of working out, ton of cigarettes and alcohol. Recipe for success. You know, it was really interesting living your life last night. Do you ever get bored? I feel like he's always got something to do. He says he's never bored, which is kind of interesting. Are you happy with your life now? I'm really glad you have a good life, that you're enjoying it and that you're making it work, even with your inability to sleep. But at least physically, you look pretty strong. Okay, thank you. I start to formulate a little bit of a bro science theory on how. How he's been holding up so well after all these years. First, he exercises. He cycles to work. He gardens. He stays active day and night. He finds meaning in his work. Ngop doesn't just make rice wine for money. He does it because he loves it. It's a craft. He surrounds himself with family and loved ones. Most of Ngop's family live in the same village. He eats organic, homegrown vegetables and meats that come from his own farm. And he smokes close to 40 cigarettes a day. And while that bit can't be great for his lungs, I do think that the nicotine may in some way be helping his mental state. I think in many respects, Om Ngop is an example of how you win at life. Despite incredible challenges in his life, he lives now what is to me an almost ideal retirement. Just think about it. He lost the use of his right hand fighting for the freedom of his country and now battles a condition that would completely debilitate most. Yet he perseveres, finding meaning in his gardening, the animals he tends to, in his passion for crafting rice wines that he shares with his sons. He's carved out a routine that he finds deeply satisfying and meaningful. And all of this he does surrounded by six children and eight grandchildren set against the stunning serene countryside of central Vietnam. Leaving, it hit me. If my last act is that good, I'd be entirely at peace with it. Well, that is it for this one, guys. Thank you very much for watching. It has not quite been 24 hours, but trust me, we are finishing up right about where we started yesterday. Anyway, hopefully you enjoyed this story on one of the craziest lifestyles that I have ever come across. I'm really happy for this guy that he still seems to be going relatively strong and that his whole family and his lifestyle is in this place. When I'm old, I would kind of like to go out in this way. You know what I mean? Anyway, thanks for watching. I will see you in the next video. All right, eh? All right. God, yeah.