THINGS WE TAKE FOR GRANTED IN VIETNAM
1. Not tipping at restaurants.
2. Low cost of living.
3. Cheap beer.
4. Beautiful, skinny women.
5. Guaranteed employment.
6. Sleeping in.
7. Freedom to break traffic rules.
8. No Internet copy restrictions.
THINGS WE TAKE FOR GRANTED IN AMERICA
1. Good restaurant service.
2. High quality living.
3. Variety of beer choices.
4. Independent, free-thinking women.
5. Possibility of "rising to the top" of the career ladder.
6. Set work schedule.
7. Everyone follows traffic rules.
8. Fast Internet.
Many times, our happiness in life, is just a matter of perspective.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Thou Shall....
Had a coworker of mine put this together for my students.
Big shout out to Mr. Cuong for working his magic.
Big shout out to Mr. Cuong for working his magic.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Open Letter to Mr. Bus
My Dearest Bus:
How are you fine sir? Work keeping you busy? Indeed, the grind of the bus schedule is a bit much at times. However, I trust all is well.
Excuse my brashness, but I am afraid the time for civility and gentlemanly manners has passed. I would not normally dare be so rude, but you, my friend, have not been upholding your end of the bargain regarding traffic flow.
I often note your presence in the motorbike lane. While a stray venture here or there could easily be excused, your preference to be among the motorbikes has become quite bothersome. As you know, it is classified as the motorbike lane for a very specific reason. I would never go so far as to question your reading comprehension, but please permit me to remind you that it is a lane specified for those vehicles only on two wheels -- not ten. Indeed, one could make the very astute observation that I am myself often in the car/bus lane. However, I need not remind you that I am an agile snake, capable of weaving in and out of traffic like a magician. You, on the contrary, are a lumbering loaf of metal that finds basic traffic maneuvers such as right turns quite the battle. Give me a hole -- even a small one -- and I will slither and punch my way through it before you can say "Ho Chi Minh City." All things, of course, are not equal, and my occasional dip into the car lane cannot be compared to your egregious abuse of the rules.
For fear of writing another letter, please allow me to lodge another complaint. While driving behind you, I am often bathed in your emissions. My dear friend, this is a personal health issue. We both know that my owner's habit of putting his hand over his mouth is futile in keeping out your byproducts, but please take it as a visual cue that your body odor is quite offensive. I certainly would not instruct the fat man next to me at the buffet to eat less -- as that only affects a single individual -- but if he were to, hypothetically speaking, light up a cigarette, you can bet I would confront the situation, manners be damned. As a motorbike that prides itself on the utmost personal maintenance, I ask you to do the same, so that the streets become a bit more cordial.
I apologize for broaching the subject via letter, but I fear that a personal meeting could quickly escalate and end badly for me -- given our disproportionate sizes. If, however, I fail to see any meaningful change, there will be no choice but to settle the dispute over blows. My honor can only be abridged so many times, Mr. Bus. Please do not underestimate me sir given my small stature, for I am akin to a fly. Have you ever attempted to swat a fly off of your exterior? You have, have you? Were you successful in killing it? Of course you weren't. Understand that my speed and maneuverability puts you at a distinct disadvantage if our unfortunate disagreement were to evolve into a physical altercation. I must warn you that, located under my seat, is a six-pack of eggs. If, by chance, one of said eggs were to end up splattered on your windshield, would you be able to catch me? I will let you contemplate the consequences.
Please do me the honor of saying hello to your lovely wife, Mrs. Semi-Truck, and your two adorable children, Taxi Van and Ambulance.
Respectfully,
Motorbike
How are you fine sir? Work keeping you busy? Indeed, the grind of the bus schedule is a bit much at times. However, I trust all is well.
Excuse my brashness, but I am afraid the time for civility and gentlemanly manners has passed. I would not normally dare be so rude, but you, my friend, have not been upholding your end of the bargain regarding traffic flow.
I often note your presence in the motorbike lane. While a stray venture here or there could easily be excused, your preference to be among the motorbikes has become quite bothersome. As you know, it is classified as the motorbike lane for a very specific reason. I would never go so far as to question your reading comprehension, but please permit me to remind you that it is a lane specified for those vehicles only on two wheels -- not ten. Indeed, one could make the very astute observation that I am myself often in the car/bus lane. However, I need not remind you that I am an agile snake, capable of weaving in and out of traffic like a magician. You, on the contrary, are a lumbering loaf of metal that finds basic traffic maneuvers such as right turns quite the battle. Give me a hole -- even a small one -- and I will slither and punch my way through it before you can say "Ho Chi Minh City." All things, of course, are not equal, and my occasional dip into the car lane cannot be compared to your egregious abuse of the rules.
For fear of writing another letter, please allow me to lodge another complaint. While driving behind you, I am often bathed in your emissions. My dear friend, this is a personal health issue. We both know that my owner's habit of putting his hand over his mouth is futile in keeping out your byproducts, but please take it as a visual cue that your body odor is quite offensive. I certainly would not instruct the fat man next to me at the buffet to eat less -- as that only affects a single individual -- but if he were to, hypothetically speaking, light up a cigarette, you can bet I would confront the situation, manners be damned. As a motorbike that prides itself on the utmost personal maintenance, I ask you to do the same, so that the streets become a bit more cordial.
I apologize for broaching the subject via letter, but I fear that a personal meeting could quickly escalate and end badly for me -- given our disproportionate sizes. If, however, I fail to see any meaningful change, there will be no choice but to settle the dispute over blows. My honor can only be abridged so many times, Mr. Bus. Please do not underestimate me sir given my small stature, for I am akin to a fly. Have you ever attempted to swat a fly off of your exterior? You have, have you? Were you successful in killing it? Of course you weren't. Understand that my speed and maneuverability puts you at a distinct disadvantage if our unfortunate disagreement were to evolve into a physical altercation. I must warn you that, located under my seat, is a six-pack of eggs. If, by chance, one of said eggs were to end up splattered on your windshield, would you be able to catch me? I will let you contemplate the consequences.
Please do me the honor of saying hello to your lovely wife, Mrs. Semi-Truck, and your two adorable children, Taxi Van and Ambulance.
Respectfully,
Motorbike
Monday, November 9, 2009
A Very Ericesque Morning
It's been a while since I've written anything in the blog, which can be attributed to only one of two possible reasons:
1. I'm lazy.
2. Vietnam ceased to have interesting stories to tell.
Since it's definitely not the latter, I am obviously just lazy.
I have a good friend, Eric, who is now making his way up the Vietnamese coast in an ultimate bid for China. He's doing so on an older-style motorbike with our other friend Will. After he completes his mission and waves to some Chinese at the border, or whatever he's going to do once he actually reaches China, Eric will return home to America after about a year of living in Vietnam.
Right up until the trip, every little thing the Vietnamese did bothered Eric: the way they drove, the way they ate, the way the interacted with one another, they way they interacted with him, the way they do business, and the way they thought. So, understandably, he finally had his fill and will be returning soon.
Now, I don't quite hold the same vitriol for the Vietnamese that Eric does. In fact, I generally love their quirkiness and unique personality. However, some of Eric's complaints hold water -- a lot of water. Let me describe a very Ericesque morning I had the other day while out and about.
The day started with an innocent enough trip to the supermarket to buy sunscreen. I was playing softball later in the day and didn't want to make the same mistake of having my legs and neck turn redder than the Vietnamese flag. The parking lot of the supermarket, which is nothing more than a long corridor flooded with motorbikes, was nearly full, so I slowly made my way down the aisle until I saw a lady and her daughter preparing to leave. Understanding that the parking spot was of some value not only to me, I made it VERY clear that my intention was to move into the spot. I turned on my blinker, angled my front tire toward the space, and put myself in position to park immediately once she backed out. Despite my conspicuous actions, an old man barreled through and sneaked ever so quickly into the spot just when I was making my move. Six months ago, I probably would have said, "Screw it," moved on, and found another spot. But now, I am a seasoned Vietnam veteran and I wasn't standing for that crap. I jumped off my bike, repeatedly said, "No, no, no, no, no," and physically backed the man out of the spot -- the old man. Manners be damned.
Once in the supermarket, things didn't improve. I found the sunscreen easily and proceeded to stand in what I determined to be the shortest line. A woman had a full cart of groceries in front of me, so I waited patiently behind her, sunscreen in hand. Meanwhile, another lady with a full grocery cart pulled up behind me and stood in line. Once the lady in front of me had finished paying, the lady behind came to the laughable conclusion that this lady and me were somehow together (an old Vietnamese lady and a young, white foreigner) and started to nudge me forward with her cart. No "excuse me," no attempt at communication whatsoever. I then clearly showed her the sunscreen that I was intending to buy, and she once again nudged me forward with her cart so that she could be checked out. Again, being the seasoned Vietnam vet that I am, I pushed her cart backwards and told her, "No." I tried to give my best "civilized people don't behave like that" face to really convey the message.
And finally, my morning capped itself with a visit to the local sporting good shop looking for a hat. Avoiding sunburn was the common theme of the morning. Inside the shop, I found an old box of slightly worn, dirty hats in the corner. One Nike hat sparked my fancy, an obvious Chinese copy, and I asked in Vietnamese to the lady, "How much?"
"250 000 VND." ($15)
Anyone who has spent a significant amount of time in Asia knows that this price is ludicrous. Despite her efforts to convince me otherwise, the hat was a Chinese copy, and a not very good one. No sporting shop would put real Nike hats in an old box and then treat those them like crap. And second of all, no local sporting goods shop in Vietnam would even carry real merchandise. It's just not profitable.
I did my best to argue with her, in Vietnamese no less, but the woman would not budge from her initial (wrong) assessment that I was a stupid foreigner willing to shell out exorbitant prices for cheap knockoffs. Of course, at this point, she was too invested and her pride got in the way of a sale.
I buggered off and found a hat elsewhere, for much cheaper.
So, Eric, don't die on your trip north and know that while we don't share exact sentiments toward the Vietnamese, I empathize.
1. I'm lazy.
2. Vietnam ceased to have interesting stories to tell.
Since it's definitely not the latter, I am obviously just lazy.
I have a good friend, Eric, who is now making his way up the Vietnamese coast in an ultimate bid for China. He's doing so on an older-style motorbike with our other friend Will. After he completes his mission and waves to some Chinese at the border, or whatever he's going to do once he actually reaches China, Eric will return home to America after about a year of living in Vietnam.
Right up until the trip, every little thing the Vietnamese did bothered Eric: the way they drove, the way they ate, the way the interacted with one another, they way they interacted with him, the way they do business, and the way they thought. So, understandably, he finally had his fill and will be returning soon.
Now, I don't quite hold the same vitriol for the Vietnamese that Eric does. In fact, I generally love their quirkiness and unique personality. However, some of Eric's complaints hold water -- a lot of water. Let me describe a very Ericesque morning I had the other day while out and about.
The day started with an innocent enough trip to the supermarket to buy sunscreen. I was playing softball later in the day and didn't want to make the same mistake of having my legs and neck turn redder than the Vietnamese flag. The parking lot of the supermarket, which is nothing more than a long corridor flooded with motorbikes, was nearly full, so I slowly made my way down the aisle until I saw a lady and her daughter preparing to leave. Understanding that the parking spot was of some value not only to me, I made it VERY clear that my intention was to move into the spot. I turned on my blinker, angled my front tire toward the space, and put myself in position to park immediately once she backed out. Despite my conspicuous actions, an old man barreled through and sneaked ever so quickly into the spot just when I was making my move. Six months ago, I probably would have said, "Screw it," moved on, and found another spot. But now, I am a seasoned Vietnam veteran and I wasn't standing for that crap. I jumped off my bike, repeatedly said, "No, no, no, no, no," and physically backed the man out of the spot -- the old man. Manners be damned.
Once in the supermarket, things didn't improve. I found the sunscreen easily and proceeded to stand in what I determined to be the shortest line. A woman had a full cart of groceries in front of me, so I waited patiently behind her, sunscreen in hand. Meanwhile, another lady with a full grocery cart pulled up behind me and stood in line. Once the lady in front of me had finished paying, the lady behind came to the laughable conclusion that this lady and me were somehow together (an old Vietnamese lady and a young, white foreigner) and started to nudge me forward with her cart. No "excuse me," no attempt at communication whatsoever. I then clearly showed her the sunscreen that I was intending to buy, and she once again nudged me forward with her cart so that she could be checked out. Again, being the seasoned Vietnam vet that I am, I pushed her cart backwards and told her, "No." I tried to give my best "civilized people don't behave like that" face to really convey the message.
And finally, my morning capped itself with a visit to the local sporting good shop looking for a hat. Avoiding sunburn was the common theme of the morning. Inside the shop, I found an old box of slightly worn, dirty hats in the corner. One Nike hat sparked my fancy, an obvious Chinese copy, and I asked in Vietnamese to the lady, "How much?"
"250 000 VND." ($15)
Anyone who has spent a significant amount of time in Asia knows that this price is ludicrous. Despite her efforts to convince me otherwise, the hat was a Chinese copy, and a not very good one. No sporting shop would put real Nike hats in an old box and then treat those them like crap. And second of all, no local sporting goods shop in Vietnam would even carry real merchandise. It's just not profitable.
I did my best to argue with her, in Vietnamese no less, but the woman would not budge from her initial (wrong) assessment that I was a stupid foreigner willing to shell out exorbitant prices for cheap knockoffs. Of course, at this point, she was too invested and her pride got in the way of a sale.
I buggered off and found a hat elsewhere, for much cheaper.
So, Eric, don't die on your trip north and know that while we don't share exact sentiments toward the Vietnamese, I empathize.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
What are you doing over there in the corner?
I think every teacher reaches a pivotal point in his or her "career," if that's what you call what I'm doing here, when he or she stops trying to change the assholes and instead merely copes with them. As any unhappy wife or husband can tell you, it's damn near impossible to change your significant other in any significant way unless he or she decides to do so himself or herself. Sure, when you teach you can make some sort of impact on a stupid student who is interested in learning, ready to pay attention, and responsive to guidance and criticism, but good luck trying to change that stupid kid who thinks he's (almost always boys) smarter than you and gains nothing substantive from school whatsoever except a few Zzzzs.
So, as a teacher, you learn to pick your battles. Let that girl or boy sleep. They're always talking to their friends when they're not. Let that girl hit the boy on his back as hard as she can. The boy probably deserved it. Let the two boys in the corner make some inane joke about the teacher, because frankly if you care what any 16 year old has to say about you, you have no business in the teaching profession.
I have a girl in my class at the local high school, who is quite bright, but insists on drawing Japanese anime with every free second she has. She's quite good, but I'm concerned that her social skills might be suffering as a result of her hobby. We can't all be butterflies though, so I usually let her be. She's quiet enough and doesn't talk to her peers too much and when I ask her to participate, she does so willingly and usually provides the right answer.
The other day she was hunched over in the corner, working diligently on her new comic masterpiece, as I was trying to rein in the herd known as my class. Teaching a class like this is more cattle driving than lecturing. You organize them all into the center and establish some semblance of order, but inevitably a stray cattle wanders off into the distance and the process repeats itself.
At the end of class, all of the students filed out of the room until it remained only me and anime girl. She shyly walked up to my desk, and said quite meekly, "Here, teacher. This is for you."
I open it up, and lo and behold, her anime masterpiece was actually a very familiar sight:
So, as a teacher, you learn to pick your battles. Let that girl or boy sleep. They're always talking to their friends when they're not. Let that girl hit the boy on his back as hard as she can. The boy probably deserved it. Let the two boys in the corner make some inane joke about the teacher, because frankly if you care what any 16 year old has to say about you, you have no business in the teaching profession.
I have a girl in my class at the local high school, who is quite bright, but insists on drawing Japanese anime with every free second she has. She's quite good, but I'm concerned that her social skills might be suffering as a result of her hobby. We can't all be butterflies though, so I usually let her be. She's quiet enough and doesn't talk to her peers too much and when I ask her to participate, she does so willingly and usually provides the right answer.
The other day she was hunched over in the corner, working diligently on her new comic masterpiece, as I was trying to rein in the herd known as my class. Teaching a class like this is more cattle driving than lecturing. You organize them all into the center and establish some semblance of order, but inevitably a stray cattle wanders off into the distance and the process repeats itself.
At the end of class, all of the students filed out of the room until it remained only me and anime girl. She shyly walked up to my desk, and said quite meekly, "Here, teacher. This is for you."
I open it up, and lo and behold, her anime masterpiece was actually a very familiar sight:
Teacher or promising new anime character?Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Vietnamese Happenings
*Apparently my clothes reek of exhaust fumes by the time I make it into work everyday. Bathing in the noxious byproducts of combustion for hours each day makes this not too surprising. Now, I put my clothes into a plastic bag, knot it tightly shut, and head to work in the official uniform of the white-trash -- jeans and a thin, white t-shirt.
*Speaking of sitting in traffic, today, an old man on a motobike leaned to his side and hocked the biggest loogie the world has ever seen. The thing looked like an exploding water balloon when it hit the street. People in China got hit.
*While we're on the subject of spitting, a funny anecdote. I was driving to work the other day in heavy rain, and a taxi -- or more specifically, what I like to call a "needless honker," -- began honking his horn loudly behind me despite the dense traffic, as if this obnoxious sound was going to part the "red sea" of motobikes and grant him easy traveling. Naturally, I threw up the Vietnamese equivalent of the middle finger -- the index and middle fingers crossed so that it vaguely resembles a vagina. The taxi began honking more loudly. I responded by making vagina fingers again. The two men in the car, now noticeably angered, pulled up along side and brandished the middle finger. So, here we had an American man gesturing the Vietnamese "fuck you" and a Vietnamese man gesturing the American "fuck you." If that's not cultural respect, I don't know what is.
The man proceeded to roll down his window and attempted to spit on me, accompanied of course by the obligatory "fuck you" (in a laughably bad accent). However, joke was on him.
I had my rain coat on.
*The randomness of Dragon continues. The students have a speaking test soon which requires them to debate a topic. The students were given about 15 minutes to come up with said topic, conditional on my approval. The first three proposals by Dragon were all rejected.
1. Should students go to school?
2. Should we have no parents?
3. Should we start WWIII?
Yeah...That's Dragon.
*One of my students, Tommy, a quiet bloke with a soft demeanor, wore an absolutely killer shirt today. It's mostly white with some generic design on the front. The centerpiece, however, and what makes this shirt awesome, is the huge purple collar that stretches the length of his shoulders. He looks like a cross between a 70s porno star and Cuban drug dealer.
*Imagine you're the teacher of an American 11th grade class. You walk into the classroom and tell the students that they will be singing a song in front of the whole school in roughly three days. How badly would that go down? The students' faces would be a combination of "you can't be serious" and "I'm going to kill you." Not at a Vietnamese high school. The 11th graders went ape-shit when I told them they'd be singing, even the boys. The song they chose?
Westlife's Nothing is Going to Change my Love For You.
Check it out here: http://mp3.zing.vn/mp3/nghe-bai-hat/Nothing-Gonna-Change-My-Love-For-You-Westlife.IW6IC0DF.html
*Nearly every day, I eat com chien bo (beef fried rice) because it's cheap (about $1) and near the school where I work. The manager who runs the place, aptly named pe de (gay) man, has a fondness for tall foreigners I suppose. He likes to jump on the back of my motobike while I'm waiting for food and hug me tightly. When I'm sitting down and eating at the restaurant, he can't help but give me a shoulder massage or two. The other day, while walking past pe de man, he ever so subtly caressed my crotch. Rather uncomfortable.
I now have my food delivered every day and the place is right next door. The look on the delivery girl's face every time she comes to the school is like, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
If only you knew the truth friend.
*Speaking of sitting in traffic, today, an old man on a motobike leaned to his side and hocked the biggest loogie the world has ever seen. The thing looked like an exploding water balloon when it hit the street. People in China got hit.
*While we're on the subject of spitting, a funny anecdote. I was driving to work the other day in heavy rain, and a taxi -- or more specifically, what I like to call a "needless honker," -- began honking his horn loudly behind me despite the dense traffic, as if this obnoxious sound was going to part the "red sea" of motobikes and grant him easy traveling. Naturally, I threw up the Vietnamese equivalent of the middle finger -- the index and middle fingers crossed so that it vaguely resembles a vagina. The taxi began honking more loudly. I responded by making vagina fingers again. The two men in the car, now noticeably angered, pulled up along side and brandished the middle finger. So, here we had an American man gesturing the Vietnamese "fuck you" and a Vietnamese man gesturing the American "fuck you." If that's not cultural respect, I don't know what is.
The man proceeded to roll down his window and attempted to spit on me, accompanied of course by the obligatory "fuck you" (in a laughably bad accent). However, joke was on him.
I had my rain coat on.
*The randomness of Dragon continues. The students have a speaking test soon which requires them to debate a topic. The students were given about 15 minutes to come up with said topic, conditional on my approval. The first three proposals by Dragon were all rejected.
1. Should students go to school?
2. Should we have no parents?
3. Should we start WWIII?
Yeah...That's Dragon.
*One of my students, Tommy, a quiet bloke with a soft demeanor, wore an absolutely killer shirt today. It's mostly white with some generic design on the front. The centerpiece, however, and what makes this shirt awesome, is the huge purple collar that stretches the length of his shoulders. He looks like a cross between a 70s porno star and Cuban drug dealer.
*Imagine you're the teacher of an American 11th grade class. You walk into the classroom and tell the students that they will be singing a song in front of the whole school in roughly three days. How badly would that go down? The students' faces would be a combination of "you can't be serious" and "I'm going to kill you." Not at a Vietnamese high school. The 11th graders went ape-shit when I told them they'd be singing, even the boys. The song they chose?
Westlife's Nothing is Going to Change my Love For You.
Check it out here: http://mp3.zing.vn/mp3/nghe-bai-hat/Nothing-Gonna-Change-My-Love-For-You-Westlife.IW6IC0DF.html
*Nearly every day, I eat com chien bo (beef fried rice) because it's cheap (about $1) and near the school where I work. The manager who runs the place, aptly named pe de (gay) man, has a fondness for tall foreigners I suppose. He likes to jump on the back of my motobike while I'm waiting for food and hug me tightly. When I'm sitting down and eating at the restaurant, he can't help but give me a shoulder massage or two. The other day, while walking past pe de man, he ever so subtly caressed my crotch. Rather uncomfortable.
I now have my food delivered every day and the place is right next door. The look on the delivery girl's face every time she comes to the school is like, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
If only you knew the truth friend.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Bloody Vietnam
A pretty bizarre thing happened tonight. Wait you say! You're in Vietnam! Something bizarre happens every day!
To which I reply...
...
Touche.
But tonight something even more bizarre happened. I was eating dinner at a large outdoor seafood restaurant. We were having a couple of beers, laughing, and enjoying the atypically cool weather. Often, at these large outdoor restaurants where one sits on a cheap little plastic chair (remember this...it plays a crucial later role in the story), a group of boys on a bicycle swing by to "entertain" the patrons. On the back of the bicycle is a giant boombox system, something one might've seen on a basketball court in a rough neighborhood in the early 90s. This thing is absurdly large and has a karaoke system to boot. I guess we could stop the story right there and that'd be bizarre enough, but with this being Vietnam, there's always more to the tale.
The trio of boys operate their business like this:
Boy A grabs the microphone and starts singly (badly) some Vietnamese song to music blaring out of the boombox.
Boy B walks around the restaurant floor, making sure to stop at each and every table, and sells some nasty candy. Boy B often lingers around a table in an attempt to get what I call "Get the hell away from me" money. As the name suggests, this is money you give a beggar/seller to get the hell away from you. (Remember this too).
Boy C stands guard by the bicycle and controls the volume, putting it just loud enough so that no one can hear their friends speak.
So the entire 10 or so minutes this occurs is pure agony, for all involved. It's mostly a civil affair, however, with the restaurant guests biding their time until the bicycle boys move on to the next poor suckers down the road.
Not tonight.
One man -- an obviously inebriated man...the more I think about it, the more I remember just how intoxicated this guy was...he was just hammered -- took exception to the lingering of Boy B and proceeded to grab the nearest weapon at his disposal...
A small, plastic chair.
How Vietnam won the war
Mustering all of the force a drunk man can possibly muster, he swung the plastic chair as hard as he could at Boy B's back and sliced the damn thing open. I say again. He sliced the man's back open. Boy B's white shirt quickly turned a bright crimson red. The thing was absorbing blood like nobody's business.
The fight quickly escalated into an all-out brawl between the bicycle trio and drunk man. After a couple of knock-down, drag-out blows, drunk man began bleeding. Drunk man was so gone that I'm convinced he felt no pain. Hell, we probably could've drank his spilt blood and gotten a buzz off of that. So with drunk man doing his best imitation of the Hulk and bicycle trio teaming up to inflict all kinds of hurt, it turned into quite the sight. Many men tried to break the fight up, but emotions were running high, and it proved quite difficult. Finally, the thing quieted down a bit. Drunk (and now bloody) man went to the back of the restaurant and disappeared from sight. Bicycle trio went on their merry away to the next restaurant.
Except they didn't.
Five minutes later, bicycle trio comes back with what looked like three broom handles.
My friend and I looked at each other and had the exact same thought.
Check please!
Okay, we're taking bets! We've got plastic chair man vs broom handle trio! Broom handle trio has 2-1 odds, but remember gamblers, plastic chair man is absolutely trashed. Never underestimate the pull and power of alcohol in a fight.
Remarkably, amazingly, and thankfully, the crowd was able to discourage bicycle trio from continuing the fight. So, alas, round II with weapons never came to fruition -- at least I didn't see it. Who knows if they scheduled an after-school playground affair for the morrow.
This was even out of the ordinary when compared to regular Vietnamese fighting. Vietnamese fighting usually involves no violence (that is, of course, unless they're at war, in which case, they'll kick your ass). Let me give you the rundown of a typical Vietnamese "fight." Two Vietnamese people, often adjacent shop-owners, get angry at each other for unknown reasons. They then proceed to scream at each other at the top of their lungs on the sidewalk, for all to see and hear. As the fight becomes serious, both hold their hand high in the air with their index finger pointed straight to the heavens. This means business. When they get really mad, they point directly at each other and shout some nonsense. And the final act in this verbal barrage of violence is, well...I'm not even sure if I want to tell you. It's scary stuff.
The two participants grab their motobike helmets and flail them wildly through the air, purposely avoiding contact with the other by a healthy 10 feet. Then they get tired and go home.
There Will be Blood
In America, rats are disgusting, vile creatures. The mere sight of one will leave even the manliest of men running for the hills. However, in Vietnam, rats are part of the collective population, quietly going about their business through the night and not really bothering anyone. That's how another country will change you, will change your psyche. I sometimes have rats crawling about my feet while eating and it's no bother. I bet my mom is reading that part and freaking out.
The same thing occurs with blood and gore.
In America, one sees blood or gore and swears it's the most disgusting and out-of-place thing he or she has ever seen. In Vietnam, it's commonplace. After only a month in Ho Chi Minh City, I drove past the scene of an obviously horrific accident. One of the motobikes was in two pieces and both men were lying on the street in pools of blood. One man was moving and responding to the crowd, but the other was just a lifeless shell of a man. Had to be dead. My friend Eric helped an unconscious, bloody man involved in a motobike accident who was just lying in the middle of the street get out of the way of oncoming traffic. I remember going to a friend's house one time and having to drive through a thick pool of blood - the aftermath of yet another accident. When I was involved in my most serious motobike accident, the lady I ran into had blood dripping down her leg and onto the street.
Anyway, that's enough about blood.
Onto random thoughts. If they put drunk, plastic-chair-wielding man in a cage match with bicycle, broom-handle trio, and then put it on Pay-Per-View, you know you'd pay money to see that.
To which I reply...
...
Touche.
But tonight something even more bizarre happened. I was eating dinner at a large outdoor seafood restaurant. We were having a couple of beers, laughing, and enjoying the atypically cool weather. Often, at these large outdoor restaurants where one sits on a cheap little plastic chair (remember this...it plays a crucial later role in the story), a group of boys on a bicycle swing by to "entertain" the patrons. On the back of the bicycle is a giant boombox system, something one might've seen on a basketball court in a rough neighborhood in the early 90s. This thing is absurdly large and has a karaoke system to boot. I guess we could stop the story right there and that'd be bizarre enough, but with this being Vietnam, there's always more to the tale.
The trio of boys operate their business like this:
Boy A grabs the microphone and starts singly (badly) some Vietnamese song to music blaring out of the boombox.
Boy B walks around the restaurant floor, making sure to stop at each and every table, and sells some nasty candy. Boy B often lingers around a table in an attempt to get what I call "Get the hell away from me" money. As the name suggests, this is money you give a beggar/seller to get the hell away from you. (Remember this too).
Boy C stands guard by the bicycle and controls the volume, putting it just loud enough so that no one can hear their friends speak.
So the entire 10 or so minutes this occurs is pure agony, for all involved. It's mostly a civil affair, however, with the restaurant guests biding their time until the bicycle boys move on to the next poor suckers down the road.
Not tonight.
One man -- an obviously inebriated man...the more I think about it, the more I remember just how intoxicated this guy was...he was just hammered -- took exception to the lingering of Boy B and proceeded to grab the nearest weapon at his disposal...
A small, plastic chair.
How Vietnam won the warMustering all of the force a drunk man can possibly muster, he swung the plastic chair as hard as he could at Boy B's back and sliced the damn thing open. I say again. He sliced the man's back open. Boy B's white shirt quickly turned a bright crimson red. The thing was absorbing blood like nobody's business.
The fight quickly escalated into an all-out brawl between the bicycle trio and drunk man. After a couple of knock-down, drag-out blows, drunk man began bleeding. Drunk man was so gone that I'm convinced he felt no pain. Hell, we probably could've drank his spilt blood and gotten a buzz off of that. So with drunk man doing his best imitation of the Hulk and bicycle trio teaming up to inflict all kinds of hurt, it turned into quite the sight. Many men tried to break the fight up, but emotions were running high, and it proved quite difficult. Finally, the thing quieted down a bit. Drunk (and now bloody) man went to the back of the restaurant and disappeared from sight. Bicycle trio went on their merry away to the next restaurant.
Except they didn't.
Five minutes later, bicycle trio comes back with what looked like three broom handles.
My friend and I looked at each other and had the exact same thought.
Check please!
Okay, we're taking bets! We've got plastic chair man vs broom handle trio! Broom handle trio has 2-1 odds, but remember gamblers, plastic chair man is absolutely trashed. Never underestimate the pull and power of alcohol in a fight.
Remarkably, amazingly, and thankfully, the crowd was able to discourage bicycle trio from continuing the fight. So, alas, round II with weapons never came to fruition -- at least I didn't see it. Who knows if they scheduled an after-school playground affair for the morrow.
This was even out of the ordinary when compared to regular Vietnamese fighting. Vietnamese fighting usually involves no violence (that is, of course, unless they're at war, in which case, they'll kick your ass). Let me give you the rundown of a typical Vietnamese "fight." Two Vietnamese people, often adjacent shop-owners, get angry at each other for unknown reasons. They then proceed to scream at each other at the top of their lungs on the sidewalk, for all to see and hear. As the fight becomes serious, both hold their hand high in the air with their index finger pointed straight to the heavens. This means business. When they get really mad, they point directly at each other and shout some nonsense. And the final act in this verbal barrage of violence is, well...I'm not even sure if I want to tell you. It's scary stuff.
The two participants grab their motobike helmets and flail them wildly through the air, purposely avoiding contact with the other by a healthy 10 feet. Then they get tired and go home.
There Will be Blood
In America, rats are disgusting, vile creatures. The mere sight of one will leave even the manliest of men running for the hills. However, in Vietnam, rats are part of the collective population, quietly going about their business through the night and not really bothering anyone. That's how another country will change you, will change your psyche. I sometimes have rats crawling about my feet while eating and it's no bother. I bet my mom is reading that part and freaking out.
The same thing occurs with blood and gore.
In America, one sees blood or gore and swears it's the most disgusting and out-of-place thing he or she has ever seen. In Vietnam, it's commonplace. After only a month in Ho Chi Minh City, I drove past the scene of an obviously horrific accident. One of the motobikes was in two pieces and both men were lying on the street in pools of blood. One man was moving and responding to the crowd, but the other was just a lifeless shell of a man. Had to be dead. My friend Eric helped an unconscious, bloody man involved in a motobike accident who was just lying in the middle of the street get out of the way of oncoming traffic. I remember going to a friend's house one time and having to drive through a thick pool of blood - the aftermath of yet another accident. When I was involved in my most serious motobike accident, the lady I ran into had blood dripping down her leg and onto the street.
Anyway, that's enough about blood.
Onto random thoughts. If they put drunk, plastic-chair-wielding man in a cage match with bicycle, broom-handle trio, and then put it on Pay-Per-View, you know you'd pay money to see that.
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