The Curve Ball Luncheon
I bought my new best friend for 8 million đồng. It wasn’t an instant connection. Rather, it took about 80 kilometers of patience before I felt comfortable with her. Atty, short for Attila, is a strong reliable scooter bike, with a middle-of-the-pack 125 cc engine. Khoa sped her off towards Vị Thanh with me straddling the back in pursuit of clean laundry. I was extending my stay in Cần Thơ, but everybody insisted I pick up fresh clothes. Vietnam is a sweaty place.
Vietnam is also a testing environment. She gave Atty not even ten minutes into the ride before sending in a rainstorm. Khoa slapped down his visor, crouched forward, and cooed Atty to a safe pace. I sat tall, cupping my hands above my eyes blindly scanning the road. Khoa motioned me to stoop forward, leaning me away from the discomfort of direct fire. The droplets pelted us as we drove on in a haze. I thought back to a once rider near Cần Thơ University, who left behind scraps of a mangled bike and blood. I closed my eyes and leaned forward only to find myself in a unexpected moment of peace. Here I was, trusting a man I had only met that week to drive a used motorbike I had only bought that morning, through a blinding rainstorm. 15 minutes later, we were on the sunny side. Khoa pointed to the vendors selling plastic ponchos asking me if I wanted one. I laughed and retorted, what’s the point. We were already soaked and the worst was over. It wasn’t long before I found myself back in my room, rinsing off, grabbing fresh clothes, and racing back to Cần Thơ in the driver seat.
After the motorbike ride, I had believed that Vietnam was a game of trust. A game to be conquered through experience and wit. When the potholes throw me a few inches off the motorbike, I trust that I will land right back where I started. When I eat some chum chum, I can trust that I will be hitting up the bathroom fairly soon. When I explore the countryside on a squeaky old bike, I trust my butt will be sore the next day. When I bicycle head on into traffic, I trust that the other motorbikes will notice me. I trust that rice wine will always provide that well-deserved hangover. I trust that the mosquitoes will always find a way.
It seemed like I had figured out much of this game within a week but beware of curve-balls. For instance, a particular curve-ball might land you at a luncheon with a bunch of serious ex-mafia men. Hopefully it won’t. But if it does, I suggest you swing as hard as you can so that the ball doesn’t hit you in the face and force you to slowly limp to first base. By the time you get there you feel like a pickled object, watched and teased, almost baited into stealing for second base. Don’t steal. Just trust that your Princeton in Asia fellow can hit the grand slam to get you safely home. If this doesn’t make any sense (it shouldn’t), feel free to shoot me a message or e-mail for the complete and riveting tale. Afterwards, I can tell you where to find the best green tea smoothie and hammock to “unpickle” yourself back into an non-objectified woman.
In a quick two weeks, I’ve learned that Vietnam is nothing sort of a game, let alone a game of trust. It is reality. It is home. A lovely one of course, but it still throws its punches. And while I’ve been raised to take the punches, it can be a good thing to duck. I haven’t settled into a routine, but I don’t plan to. Everyday is an adventure and everyday is an experience. All I can say for certain is that after two weeks of living here, I trust that I’m having the time of my life.
Appendix: Orienting A Small Part of the Mekong Delta
I live in Vị Thanh, the provincial capital of Hậu Giang (pronounced How Yen). It’s not much of a city but more so a town with 42,000 people. During the American war, soldiers were located north near Cần Thơ (Cun Tuh). Soldiers marched towards Vị Thanh in an effort to fight the Viet Cong. Vị Thanh’s gem lies in the outskirts of town. A ten-minute bike ride will find you lost in the jungles of the delta, waving at banana boats, aweing a blazing magenta sunset, and possibly singing Disney songs to yourself. Entertainment revolves around coffee and dinner. Lights tend to go out around 10 PM.
Cần Thơ, approximately 45 Km northwest of Vị Thanh, is the largest city south of Ho Chi Minh (HCM). It’s home to 1.2 million Vietnamese and maybe a couple dozen foreigners. Two PiA fellows, Fred and Joe, work at Cần Thơ University and live on Campus 1, which I frequent on most free days. I have so many, in fact, that I’ve turned the guest room into my own room. Thanks guys! Cần Thơ is a must visit for those in southern Vietnam. And if I’m still here, don’t forget to stop by Vị Thanh to say hi.
PLUG:
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