my first leap

I’m at a desk tapping at one of 2 computers available – free internet access – on the first floor of Yellow House Hotel. Seb has gone to join in with a party of French people we met earlier.

The flight from Singapore to Ho Chi Minh City was the worse flight I ever had, not because of the service or Singapore Airlines, but because my stomach and butt were both playing up. Have you ever had the feeling where whatever food, gases etc inside you were pushing both ways but in the most incredibly uncomfortable way. The last 10 minutes as we were preparing to touchdown, I was holding onto the paper puke bag. Then as we queued, I desperately needed to go to the toilet but I was so close to the front of the queue, it just didn’t make sense. I had to ask Seb if I could go first and tell him I was about to disappear for how many days and don’t send a search party; I might just kill them all off by mistake. There were 3 toilets, one was covered in excrement all over the seat and the renching came back up into my throat and I thought I was going to vomit right there. But I wasn’t that lucky. The other 2 toilets had no tissue. I had to hover closer to the smeared orange poo stink with a grimace and the clean puke bag over my mouth to check if there was tissue in there. No such luck. I went back outside. Seb thought I had done the business but I said I couldn’t without tissue. Luckily my backpack came through on the moving belt as I stood there explaining and luckily in the side pocket, I had a packet of 6 small packets of tissue. I grabbed and ran leaving Seb none the wiser. As I unloaded, I can hear the cleaner next door muttering quiet obscenities I’m sure in Vietnamese, about the animal that made the mess that she had to now clean up. When she threw the bucket of water across the mess, luckily I hiked up my trousers and my feet shot off the floor as the water cleaned my bit of toilet floor as well. I saw the mess on the seat, and I quite agree and felt sorry for the cleaning lady; it was non-human the thing that did that. Non-human.

We grabbed the first convenient taxi, ignoring anyone who approached us talking some fast jibberish. The taxi guy quoted in US dollars; we point to a sign that quoted in dong for every 0.01km; he waves us off with two words ‘same, same’ and I thought yeah, I bet; and for the whole journey I was trying to figure out what 7 dollars was compared to the pound compared to the dong (1 pound = 29,719.18 dong) with Singaporean dollars and Malaysian ringgits still swimming innocently confusing things in my small head. I had bought a calculater just for Vietnam and at that very moment it was sleeping deep, lost in my backpack somewhere dark and useless. I rounded it up; a pound = 30,000 dong which is easy enough until you’re talking about millions! It’s as though the brain cannot compute; too giddy with the illusion that you’re suddenly rich beyond belief.

The taxi pulls up at a busy street but there is no sign that yells ‘Yellow House Hotel’. He points down an alley, helps us unload and leaves us with the blind faith that it was in the alley somewhere. And it is. We are on the 4th floor of a building with no lift. I try to avoid hiking there whenever possible. Only the promise of shower and bed would get me up there tonight otherwise I’m pretty happy on this computer all night. Two guys look after the place. Now they’re in the room on my right with family or friends. They’re friendly and helpful. After checking out our room, Seb and I go down to the reception. I had to call my cousins. I ask reception where I can find a phone; and before the reception guy could answer this European guy who I find out later is French and called Clemence offers me his mobile to use. He forgets he hasn’t got and runs upstairs for it. I thank him and use it. I try brother Sang. He tells me 3rd sister will come over and visit but is vague on the time of this visit. I tell him we’ll wander about for an hour and will be back to call him again. By the time I got off the phone Seb has already sprinkled his charm and got invited to Clemence’s house warming party tonight.

We cross the road and we find a concrete area where people in groups (mostly guys) were kicking a shuttle cock up in the air and keeping it off the ground as a group. Seb walks with me and then suggests a market, Clemence mentioned I’m sure, to check out. I wanted to stay so I suggested we meet again an hour later at the hotel. I sat and watched how effortlessly these groups kept their shuttlecocks in the air with just their feet. A boy sat eating grapes nearby. While Seb spoke to Clemence I asked the guy at reception what hello was in Vietnamese. So I say hello to this young boy in Vietnamese. He says it back. I say it again correcting my bad accent, and again and again. And he smiles and says it again and again. I ask him what the game was called; and it sounds like the Chinese words ‘playing football’, sounds a little like I said. He offers me a small bunch of his purple grapes and after awhile I’m bothering him and learning more Vietnamese. His English is non-existent, not even ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and I don’t think he knew where UK is. Watching people playing this game, I wanted to see if it was as effortless as they make out and after seeing 3 European guys give it a go and doing really well, I was itching to try. So I ask the young boy – he looked 13 – how much the shuttlecocks were. He tells me. I take out some money. I ask him in my best crap Vietnamese if he wanted to play and would he buy it for me. He’s reluctant. I am a stranger. Then in jibberish, I manage to convey that I would like him to teach me and does he want to play with me. He takes me to the guy selling these elongated shuttlecocks and we play. We are both totally crap at it. It is not as easy as it looks. In the end, we whack the shuttlecock with our palms instead of our feet, easier option but I was sure, we were the only ones doing it with our hands. I got hot and bothered but it was great fun. I needed a drink. I ask him if he wants a drink; he shakes his head; I tell him I want a drink; he shows me a vending machine for coins. I tell him I have no coins. I show him my smallest note. He looks at it as though I was holding a gun and shook his head. I point to shops nearby and I make the drink gesture. He takes me to a stall; I choose from an assortment of bottled drinks and I ask him if he wants a drink; he shakes his head; I insist, the stall woman insists; he chooses. We sit and attract attention from a 42 year old guy who works in the fast food store we sat outside. I try to communicate; they try to understand and I learn more Vietnamese words. The older guy tells me I learn fast. I tell the boy I’d like him to meet Seb. And sure enough, Seb was walking our way on his way back to the hotel. I introduce. I persuade Seb to play shuttlecock kicking with us. We clown about and then we leave the boy. I promised I’d come back and have dinner with him in half an hour. His sister and parents were working; and the boy sells lottery tickets. 

Seb tells me about Clemence’s party at this club and then back at his new place. I tell him about my plans for dinner with the boy. And when we got back, my 3rd sister had called and was on her way. We go to the club for some live music, had a couple of dances, and gin and tonics. The place is swarming with French people, trendy guys and sleek girls. I found the waitresses dressed in ball dresses more interesting. After half an hour, Seb accompanies back to the boy who understood my directions and had waited for me. I tell him I can’t eat with him; I felt bad; that my 3rd sister was coming and I need to be with her. A Vietnamese woman with good English nearby helped to translate. I tell her I want to give him some money to buy some food. He’s 16 but looks much younger. I leave feeling bad but it couldn’t be helped. We go back to the hotel; left a message for my 3rd sister, the club’s business card and a passport photo of me (we’ve never met and she probably doesn’t know what I look like). We go back to the club. We go back to the hotel; no sign of her; reception guy tells us she’s not coming today. We take a taxi to the house party. We’re confused by roads all having the same number and address. Clemence comes down to get us. We ascend to the roof where the funky guys and beautiful girls mull, drink and talk French. Seb fits right in but he fits right in anywhere. I, on the other hand, know very little French so couldn’t join in. I look at the scenery, roof tops at night and high lit buildings afar on all four corners of the rooftop; say hello to 3 people who were either drunk and couldn’t find words; didn’t speak English or didn’t want to talk then I got bored. I climbed down and found the gate locked with a heavy padlock. I go up and found a room that had lights on. Not wanting to disturb the party, I knocked at the door and asked the woman – who could speak English – to let me out. She did and I left. On the way in, I smiled at a young girl dressed in a Japanese kimono and she beamed back, I look back and she’s beaming back – if I was a guy, you can almost call it flirting. We got talking and I learnt more Vietnamese words and we exchanged email addresses. When I left, I realised I had not told Seb I was leaving. I scribbled a note telling him I was going back to the hotel and wrapped it around a rod on the gate of Clemence’s place. I took a taxi back to the hotel. I gave the taxi guy my smallest note and said in Vietnamese I don’t have anything smaller ‘kung gor itd dien’ (not spelt this way) and he smiled at me. I felt good jumping onto the computer when the reception guy told me my brother Sang was outside. I went outside to find 2 guys sitting on motorbikes. I spoke Cantonese, both just stared at me. I thought this was a joke. I was about to go back in when the reception guy pointed to an older guy coming out of the toilets. I spoke Cantonese and asked him if he’s brother Sang. He shook his head and asked if I was Hong Co – this is my mother’s name. I tell him. He tells me he’s brother Sang’s son and the younger guy on the motorbike is his brother. He calls me auntie. I stare at him. He looks older than me and he’s calling me auntie! He’s 24. His brother is 20. They go into shock when I tell them I’m 32. I wait patiently, amused and glad that I still have this affect on people regarding my age. It reminds me of the Chinese film ‘My Young Auntie’. We talk. He’s driven for an hour or so from the country and has taken an hour to find me and waited an hour. We plan to meet in the morning; his day off work tomorrow. He’s going to bring 3rd sister who will show us around because he’s not familiar with this area. We say goodbye. It’s weird meeting relatives you’ve never heard of and never seen before. But it was great talking to my nephews and they seem to find my exasperations when I can’t get Cantonese words out amusing. I think they find me, my English-grown presence amusing. Vietnamese people here find me amusing and a curiosity – I guess it’s better than a painful spot at the end of their noses. I understand when they ask me if I know Vietnamese and I always answer back ‘I don’t speak Vietnamese’ in Vietnamese. Then they seem to test me and it all becomes a playful game. I like it. I learn more this way. Tomorrow will be interesting. They tell me my 3rd sister is about 40 which seems like a century older just because there’s a 4 but really is not. I hope she’s as approachable as my nephews.

***

To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world. – Brandi Snyder.

Tags: Ho Chi Minh City, Travel, Vietnam

This entry was posted on Saturday, July 22nd, 2006 at 7:03 pm and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.