I landed in
After I left the airport terminal, my overwhelming impressions were many. But my overwhelming IMPRESSION was merely one.
Motorbikes.
Lots of motorbikes.
There has always been motorbikes...
Lots of motorbikes.
And girls. Lots of girls.
Motorbikes and girls.
Welcome to
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But while the motorbikes and girls might be the most sexy, exciting, obvious things in this town, there have certainly been SO much more…
Even BEFORE the motorbikes, my initial memory of
From that point on – it’s really been a blur…intense, insane, manic, massive, mad…
But here is a random, upchucked random collage of memories…
The traffic. (Usually overwhelming)
The heat. (Sometimes oppressive)
The smell. (Often nauseating).
The sounds. (Never relaxing).
The accidents. (Unbelievably infrequent)
The near-misses. (Believably prolific)
The comparatively low value placed on human life. (Periodically depressing)
The food. (Mostly incredible).
The people (Generally amazing).
Manic, manic, manic…
People, people, people.
A girl maybe ten years old, her body unable to connect with both the seat and the pedals simultaneously, rides a bicycle, her grandma sitting contentedly on the bag rack behind.
Xe Om (Motorbike-taxi) drivers offer their services loudly: “Motorbike?”, and then offer their products, under their breath: “Marijuana?”
A guy with one leg, on crutches, sells tobacco.
A teenage girl without hands, smiles sadly.
Agent orange victims beg in the street.
Ex-pats and locals tune them out.
Construction workers shimmy up electrical poles barefoot or in flip-flops.
I receive constant attention from locals because of my size and ethnicity.
Most locals know only TWO things about
Maids get treated with disdain – actually like they are second-class citizens - by some ex-pats, and even more sadly, some locals.
The class system is vastly apparent here. Ironically for a communist state.
One of the five remaining Communist countries in the world.
Soldiers – everywhere.
Security guards – everywhere.
Police – everywhere.
Uniforms - everywhere.
Billboards with hammers and scythes and government propaganda slogans -everywhere.
Communism everywhere.
Yet…Capitalism…everywhere.
Communism is the cover, and the political control. Yet the class system is vastly apparent, and totally based on wealth, image and perceived status.
Capitalism IS everywhere.
And small businesses are everywhere (and business which are often removable, often transportable).
Fruit vendors on street corners.
Cyclists selling crusty dried fish on vertical racks balanced in their bicycles.
Older women balance poles on their shoulders - poles balanced at either end with massive woven baskets, baskets laden with a huge variety of foods or drinks.
Younger women carry smaller plastic trays laden with toenail clippers, wallets, kids’ toys, lighters, knickknacks for sale.
Men wander the streets as well, selling newspapers, magazines, hammocks.
Young kids carry portable cases offering cigarettes and gum, young girls carry belted towers of cellophaned, pirated, newly-released books.
Police stations rest hidden every few blocks, often little bigger than a classroom.
Markets sell EVERYTHING – cramming every ware possible into claustrophobic little booths that the vendors basically LIVE in. In the food market, various animals get decimated and turned into food, life snuffed in seconds, right before your eyes.
Homes – “houses” - are narrower than most bedrooms I’ve had – but often much taller.
Bamboo poles – instead of traditional steel scaffolding – hold up construction sites.
“Footpath” – the word is a misnomer here because no one ever walks. Footpaths here are designed to park motorbikes and set up sales-booths and crumble into dust. Only the oldest and poorest locals walk. And me.
The “stop” word in the name “bus stop” is also a misnomer here, because often at bus “stops” the buses only slow down a little, and passengers need to jump on and off while in horizontal motion.
Parks are still parks, but here they are small inadequate parks, where walking or sitting on the grass is forbidden. They are small, crowded parks filled with people at dusk and dawn; exercising, walking, stretching, yoga-ing, doing tai chai. School kids doing the same at lunchtime.
Also at lunchtime, when the town slows down, cyclo drivers sleep in their cabs at
In the sunlight, younger women dress like banditos anytime they are outside -covering every square inch of skin with face masks, body gloves, hats and sunglasses.
In the evening however, skin is certainly on display, especially in trendy bars, cafes, and clubs. Sometimes the most skin is evident in foreigner-intensive areas. Physically stunning but grotesquely-coutured “hired-girlfriends” (or “hired wives”, on “concubines”, or…ok…”hookers”) follow three steps behind or sit bored across the table from their “partners” – usually physically grotesque – and old – western guys.
But that’s only one tiny subculture of Vietnamese women here. I can’t begin to tell you about my experiences with women here. Well I CAN tell you, but…I’ll get to that eventually. That and the motorbikes…
Wow…
Complete and utter culture shock...
Complete change.
Complete motion.
Complete madness.
Wow…
There’s so much I want to tell you guys. So much I want to say.
This country, this city, this EXISTENCE…is mind-blowing. I’ve been living here now for ages, in Vietnam since March 05 and in Saigon itself since January 06, and still…every day…often every hour, and sometimes every minute…I see something that I’ve never seen before, something that turns my head, something that spins my mind, something that curls my lips…into a grin of appreciation…or a grimace of disbelief…
I love
It’s got the energetic buzz (almost) of my favourite city on earth –
Right in the centre of life.
Life.
Yep, I love
And yet I’ve barely got the time to appreciate it, absorb it…let alone write about it the way I want to – in depth. When I was in Vung Tau, I worked out the following chapters I wanted to – NEEDED to - write. The planned chapters (planned at least a year ago, mind you) are as follows: (1) Why Vietnam? (2) Getting to
Which I’ve been doing…
Living…
For the record, I’m determined to eventually finish regurgitating my thoughts out into all of the aforementioned chapters (especially the last one), and I will.
But for now, there’s too much living going on. This entry will have to do.
My life in
It’s taken me a little while to get to this point though…
At least to the “stable” part…
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Town & Country
As many of you already know, I spent my initial landfall in the little resort town of Vung Tau – ten months of seasides and of sunsets, of chilling out and of settling in – of settling in to the culture and language and vibe of the town and the country and the people, settling into teaching, settling into the heat and the rain, settling into lots of weird food and fun times and new friendships.…
Ten months flew by there, but each wonderful, stress-free day had begun to feel the same as the wonderful day before it, so in December 05 (after my stint as Santa Claus visiting every classroom and barroom I knew in town) my sojourn of “Southern Exposure” ended, and I left the small town for the big city.
But before I settled in
Jodie (a foodaholic) and I were on the quest for the perfect (non-fried) spring roll, the perfect fruit shake, and the perfect shot of a water buffalo in a rice paddy. The latter quest is – as yet – unfulfilled – and the former two items were found (after searching half the country) in the exact same street we’d started searching for them.
That street was – unsurprisingly – in
(And if that phrase above is not familiar, please refer to chapter (1)
One of the reasons I left Vung Tau was that I’d begun to crave something – something I’d sensed for months – something not that far away, something across Vung Tau’s view of the South China Sea…and upstream through the muddy waters of the Saigon River.
That something…was “life”.
Vung Tau was awesome, and in may ways paradise. But it was quiet and familiar and often narcotic in its lullabies of continual relaxation. I started craving variety and sophistication and excitement and energy and buzz. And I’ve found that – and so much more – in
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Bright Lights, Big City
Life in 2006 has been pretty crazy. Pretty exhausting. And very overwhelming.
I see so many things every day that I want to remember forever, and I have so many social interactions that I truly hope I will.
I love this place.
From the second I open my front door – to a little three-metre-wide alleyway filled with hopeful fruit-sellers, smiling derelicts, happy school-kids, spontaneous BBQ vendors, zigzagging motorcycles, blind beggars, waving neighbours, sexy bicyclists, singing garbage ladies…Saigon…shit…
And THAT’S just an impression of a few moments, in the morning…
Before I actually launch myself out into the insanity.
Before I live it myself.
The worst thing about living in
But there are other things about
But those three things, really, are arguably the only bad stuff about
And, overall, the good stuff far outweighs the bad.
This city has a palpable buzz and energy that I’ve only felt the like of in a few other places in the world. It’s far from the-city-that-never-sleeps, but when it’s awake, there’s nothing like it. There are varied and countless options for entertainment – bars, restaurants, meals, clubs, cafes, markets, shops, parks, cinemas, theatres, galleries. There are easily accessible routes to a dozen other places in
Countless places to go. Countless things to do. And best of all…countless people to do them with. Well…not really countless…like I said…8 million and counting…
But that’s enough.
That’s a lot.
Ironically, the one of the worst things about this town is also the best. The people. That is – the VOLUME of people is one of the worst things. But the VARIETY of people is perhaps the best.
It’s easy to generalize…so I will continue to do so…
The People
The Vietnamese people are – generally – AWESOME.
Perhaps my perception of the Vietnamese people’s friendliness and warmth is foundless. I find them – yes, to generalize – one of the friendliest nationalities in the world – sweet, charming, pleasant, humble, welcoming, lovely. Perhaps my perception is based on the fact that I am a strange-looking foreigner here – so they have an interest in me which causes them to hype up their friendliness factor above and beyond the way they speak to other locals. I often feel this is the case. Or perhaps my perception is based on the fact that I often can be pretty friendly myself – and thus my friendliness is simply reflected back to me.
Either way…they are great people.
I’ve got some lovely ex-pat friends over here – Western-origin people who I enjoy a great intellectual and social connection with. But seldom do they make me feel as welcome as the locals do. I generally find Westerners here are MUCH more difficult to get to know, to engage in conversation, to break into a clique. Once you get to know them, they are just as great and interesting as other people. But getting to know them is often a lot more of a chore. They often have a superior, sophisticated, seen-it-all, done-it all, know-it-all attitude about them, and a vibe of “don’t-talk-to me, don’t-waste-my-time”.
Contrary to old contrasting clichés about rude Asians and polite Westerners, I find that Vietnamese almost always look into your face when they speak to you, but expatriates here only sometimes do.
There is a definite element of “big fish-small pond” syndrome over here with many Western ex-pats. In other words: lots of these people – usually males – aren’t anything special back home. Often they are the antithesis of “special” back home - they are burned-out, or misdirected, or aimless, or hopeless, or jobless, they are anti-social or unsociable. They are perceived by many judgmental Westerners in their homelands as losers, which often affects their self-images. Yet here, in
This is not the entire “big fish – small pond” syndrome however. In fact, the preceding paragraph pretty accurately describes part of my own experience here. Yet that paragraph is only part of the syndrome I’m inelegantly trying to define – and hopefully I personally don’t fall into the later part of the definition. Because, this “big fish small pond” syndrome isn’t JUST about the way the locals perceive these westerners. It’s about how the westerners start to perceive themselves.
I’m not saying this happens to every ex-pat over here – and it hopefully hasn’t scarred my own pliable psyche…yet. But I AM saying it happens to a lot of them.
Simply by virtue of their physical appearance and funny language, these (us) guys get so much more respect than back home. They (we) are constantly told by Vietnamese that they (we) are intelligent, handsome, successful, nice, lovely. The problem comes when they start believing their own press. When they start believing that this vastly elevated respect is actually deserved. THAT’S the problem. That start thinking they are big fish. But they don’t realize that they are big fish in what is comparatively a very small cultural pond. Or they realize that fact but stop caring about it. They lose perspective. And they lose self-respect – in inverse proportion to the amount of false respect they gain from the locals.
I guess it’s a bit like a drug – this continual respect and attention and admiration. Maybe it doesn’t matter to lots of these guys that this attention is baseless. But what it causes are inflated, tiresome egos which seldom get punctured as often as they would back home. And because I seldom have the patience to puncture them myself, I avoid those types as much as possible, and socialize with the ex-pat guys and gals who stay as rational and down-to-earth as it is possible to do in this crazy place.
And there are a few of these. More than a few. Thankfully, I share a house with some. And often hang out with others….
As for the ex-pats I avoid - as I say some of them suffer from “big fish small pond” syndrome, but others certainly suffer from another personality quirk – a type of scorn or condescension towards newly arrived ex-pats. Instead of welcoming them with support and advice, they are vaguely resentful of newly-arrived ex-pats (presumably for intruding on their “small pond” share of attention). They are overly protective of their small-pond. Because with every new western face to set up home here, the veterans (of 12 months or 12 years, doesn’t matter) realize that their own share of special attention from the locals will be a little less special, and a little less attention. I can claim with conscious certainty that I don’t specifically suffer from “big fish small pond” syndrome, but as for this latter flaw…I can’t claim I’m not afflicted. Not that I wouldn’t help a new arrival as much as they needed. But I DO find that after a year or two, I’m starting to feel pretty protective towards this place, and whenever I hear or know of a new import of ex-pats, I start to feel that my own experience has just become that little less exotic and special. Yep, I must admit that I’m torn between wanting to shout out to the western world, “Get your arses over here!!! It’s awesome!!!”, and wanting to keep this place as much of a secret as possible…perhaps realizing that my small pond is getting smaller, and wanting to keep as much of it as I can for myself.
And why wouldn’t I? With these people being as great as they are.
Because they ARE great.
Sure, the Vietnamese (mostly the men) have a lot of questionable moral and social standards, and the main reason I find it difficult to befriend men over 25 is that most of them exhibit (and wallow in!) the most deplorable treatment of their women partners that I’ve personally seen.
But generally…in their treatment of me…men or women…Vietnamese are all lovely people. Sure - their sense of humour and jokes are usually at a giggly level that I and most of my previous friends surpassed at around the age of 14 - but generally…they display this humour, and these jokes, so incredibly frequently. But not as much as their bountiful, infinite smiles. You see those a lot. Happy people. Lovely people.
It’s a little tougher to generalize about the ex-pats here.
Although the ex-pats are one of the main reasons I moved to
The ex-pats in Vung Tau were…well for starters, extremely sparse…and those that were there were often weird, sleazy, old, corrupt, or aimless. Towards the end of my stay in Vung Tau, I made a few good ex-pat friends, but not many. All my close friends there were Vietnamese, and that had lots of advantages (including a quicker immersion into the culture), but a few disadvantages too.
So, one of the reasons I moved to Saigon was a quest for a decent conversation with an relatively normal ex-pat – someone with whom I’d had some shared cultural background, someone I wouldn’t have to censor or slow down my speech to be understood, someone I could relate to on that surface level I’d related to most people most of my life….And I’ve found that. I haven’t forged any lifetime friendships with expats here yet, like I did during my time in the
Ironically however, I’ve found that one of the reasons I moved to
Additionally the joy of absorbing a whole new set of cultural mores means I get something from a friendship with a Vietnamese that I haven’t received anywhere else that I’ve lived long-term – a walking, talking guide book into a completely alien culture. It’s cool.
So, in many ways, I’m loving my contact with most of the locals, and loving even more the friendships I’ve made. Of course the fact that 95% of my local friends are of the female variety doesn’t hurt matters much either.
I was vaguely worried before I came here that I wouldn’t make friends, that I’d be really lonely. But the problem hasn’t been making friends – the problem has been maintaining friendships. I simply don’t have the time and energy to devote to the dozens of lovely new people offering me friendship every month, and obviously, if I DO make a few new friends, then my contact with a few older friends falls by the wayside. My problem with juggling friendships is the same as it has always been for me, in many countries, and I guess because of this – I love EVERYONE, I find EVERYONE interesting in some way, and I like to get to know EVERYONE. Of course that’s impossible to do – and the impossibility of the task has never been more obvious than it is now, in
There are lots of ex-pats here who are quite disparaging about Vietnamese people, and cynical about why a Vietnamese would want to be friends with a Westerner. And perhaps they have good reasons. In rare circumstances, a local will perhaps only befriend a foreigner with a view to accessing the foreigner’s wallet. More often, a local will facilitate a friendship with a foreigner simply to gain what amounts to free English lessons. And of course, a lot of locals will want to make friends with a foreigner not because they think the foreigner is a nice person, but simply because they are just a DIFFERENT person – an exotic novelty. While I’ve never really felt that my friendships over here have been based on the former two reasons, occasionally I will suspect that maybe the latter one applies - and that a friendship I have with local is less about having fun and creating a bond and understanding, than it is about them looking upon me as a fun, new toy to play with and show off. But I’ve felt that very rarely.
Perhaps I’m way too trusting and idealistic, but I still see the good in people first.
And with all of the people I’ve become well-acquainted with over here (literally hundreds), they have (in all but two of the cases) been more concerned about what THEY can do for ME, instead of vice versa. The kindness, hospitality, and goodwill is extreme.
And any sour friendship or contact with a local over here has ranged from non-existent to minimal. Then again, you reap what you sow. You get what you give. Karma…and all that crap. I’m sure, if I went around sniping and bitching cynically about the locals here (as some expats do) then I’d have less positive experiences with them (as those same expats do).
But I don’t, so I haven’t. It’s all good…
Sure I’ve had a few negative experiences with the locals. The worst of those was my assault and mugging. Another was loaning money to a friend who turned out not to be a friend. Others are simply locals trying to rip me off, people with inconsiderate – or dangerous driving styles – and unsociable – or feral – personal habits.
A lot of people would have this stuff happen to them and automatically blame to entire Vietnamese race based on a few bad apples. “The Vietnamese are terrible”. Thankfully, despite several bad experiences, I still have the perspective to see that those experiences are in the minority – 99.9% of my dealings and experiences with the locals have been overwhelmingly positive, so I CAN generalise about them as “great” people. The truth is, you get good people and bad people in just about any city in the world – if I was mugged or ripped off or crashed into in
As I mentioned above, I was thrilled with my wonderful friendships with the locals in Vung Tau, but craving a little intellectual and social variety when I moved to
If deference to all my wonderful Vung Tau friends, I only found intellectual or social stimulation from a handful of them. All my close friends in Vung Tau were Vietnamese, but most of them were all so similar – all lovely yet unsophisticated locals – either students or hospitality and tourism workers from the same social strata – people who maybe I helped a little bit with English, but who helped me with so much more. But – with the odd exception – they were all the same. Even if they weren’t working traditional jobs, they still had fairly traditional hopes and dreams. For example, women still hoped for a good husband and family if they didn’t have that already – and they didn’t dream of – or expect - anything else. And most of my friends there - while very interested and fascinated about the world beyond their prior experiences – didn’t seem to even consider that they would ever live a life like that. With two or three exceptions, they were, mostly, just simple, lovely, kind people. But…they were – after days became weeks and weeks became months – all starting to seem the same.
From Famine to Fashion
Which is not to say it’s a perfect city, or country. I have to be very careful what I post on this blog, in written form – and that fact in itself points to one of the main problems with this country – zero freedom of speech. Technically,
The Vietnamese I know rarely think about (or acknowledge that they think about) politics at all. This is perhaps because the political system in which they live does not technically permit them to think about the political system in which they live. Most political conversations you have, or hear, here among locals are about global politics, specifically the
Then again, perhaps the parents and grandparents don’t want to look to the past too much, don’t WANT to be reminded, and hence are enjoying the relative prosperity now without looking back, not wanting to pinch themselves in case it all disappears.
I’m amazed at how little resentment there is towards Western foreigners here, considering the unwelcome intrusions we made into the country as little as 30 years ago, and had been making for a century before that. But any resentment the locals feel towards outsiders is much more likely to be internally based (many of the southern Saigonese and the northern Hanoians carry a long standing resentment towards each other) or based on not just one century, but MANY centuries of intrusions (the Vietnamese aren’t huge fans of the Chinese, generally).
Another reason that Vietnamese folk seem to have short memories regarding foreign incursions from Westerners is that something maybe even worse than the last occupation happened in Vietnamese history since, something not caused or exacerbated by the West at all. As horrible as the American War was for many locals over here - as soon as that war ended and communism swept the country – things became much, much worse for many, many people. Loss of land. Loss of careers. Family divisions. Widespread famine. For decades, people here cared less about their brand of mobile phone or motorbike (as many do now), and more about keeping their family alive. Survival. It is ingrained into the hearts and souls of these people. Looking back at recent history, the war gets the most international press because (a) it was more spectacular and (b) at the time of the war, there was a FREE press. But the despair that arose across the country AFTER the war was not quite so spectacular, and coming from inside a country that had closed its borders to scrutiny.
When those borders gradually began to reopen to the outside world – 15 years ago at the most – and when the political grip on the citizens became a little less constrictive - prosperity began to creep back in for many, many people. Thus, exposure to the rest of the world – especially the prosperous Western world – is generally considered a good thing here.
It’s still all about survival.
It’s just that – for the first time in decades – people are “surviving” here a lot better than some others.
Case in point: One of my best friends in Vung Tau rented and lived in a room a little smaller than the main bedroom of my flat back in
Obviously we’ve got some fairly strong contrasts there – between the wealth and lifestyle of my Vung Tau friend and those of my friend from
But it’s just another example that lots of aspects of communism ideology in
Certainly the majority of people I’ve met or been exposed to in
They are simple, kind folk.
Almost ALL the friends I have here are a lot, lot poorer (in dollar wealth if not in smiles) than the dozens of friends I have in other parts of the world. And yet most of my friends are not only “surviving”, they are flourishing. They are working their arses off at studies and careers, trying to build a better life for themselves and their families. The internet and international media have opened their minds to the potential of modern, global life. Many of them – whether their salary is 600000 VND a month – or a day - are fashion victims. They know the coolest shoes, phones, bikes, even if they can’t afford them. Many are very ambitious, and very hard-working, especially the women, who – simply by the (mis)fortune of being born women – most work triply as hard as the men.
So that’s where most of my friends here are at. Working hard for a better life, and doing alright. Generally enjoying life. Because of the plethora of job opportunities and higher support networks in Saigon, my Saigonese friends are – in general – a lot more prosperous and confident than those in Vung Tau, and I think Vung Tau is a lot further ahead than most rural areas. It’s all relative.
All relative. Because ALL of my friends, (Vung Tau or Saigon) are a hell of a lot more prosperous, and doing a much better job of surviving, that a lot of people here. You see lots of people in
But these are the people that CAN work. Sure there’s an element of sadness to their lives, especially compared to the relative fortune of some other Vietnamese, or of any other Westerner. I have enormous admiration and respect for them. But they don’t – usually - break my heart. The people that do, are too old (or too young) to work, and don’t have enough family support. They can’t afford the hospital and (crazily – for a supposedly socialist system) any system of social security is a long way away. So they starve. Some of the kids are ok – orphaned or abandoned kids. I’ve visited dozens of pagodas that double as orphanages, raising and teaching the kids in a safe, secure environment.
But still, there are many that are not - a crying ten year old girl wandering the streets holding (presumably) their crying baby brother or sister in their arms. Both girl and baby wear rags for clothes. A poor blind woman who could be aged anywhere from 50 to 150, sits at the corner of the most heavily polluted roundabout in Saigon, crying in despair – holding her hand out – begging. A dwarfish old man, drunk on some dubious yellow bottled liquid sitting in the middle of road, feebly attempting to raise some money. I see stuff like this everyday.
These people have no one to help them. No family. No government, No one. But thankfully, some people do help them. I’m fortunate enough to have met a few of these people. These are my favourite people in
But, as you can assume, living here in
Like I said above, I love it. But sometimes…it’s tough. And one of the REASONS I love it is the perspective that encounters like those above give me. Depressing, yet illuminating. Always making you realise how fortunate your own life is, and your responsibility to feel compassion, to give something back, to those less fortunate. This type of perspective I will always be grateful for.
As one my wiser friends once observed, the best thing about travel is not in simply seeing new places, but in gaining new eyes.
I like that. I understand it. I relate to it.
Of course, it’s ridiculous for me to be too sanctimonious about the division in living standards here, because (while most of my friends live towards the lower end of the spectrum), I live towards the upper. I’m not living in a five-bedroom penthouse apartment mind you, but, since I arrived here, apart from a few brief stints, I’ve had the pleasure of a maid – or two. That’s right, a maid.
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Finally Maid It
Life, for some locals here, might not be easy, but for me…it’s a breeze.
Realistically, as a foreign teacher here, I am in the upper echelon of wage earners. Perhaps the only people that typically earn more are skilled foreigners paid through their companies back home, a few professionals, and of course politicians and criminals (who are sometimes difficult to differentiate). I don’t earn a lot of money in comparison to most of my expat teacher friends, simply because I usually choose to teach less hours a week (around 20) than most, perhaps the average is about 30 in
On the other hand, there is massive inequality here in the prices foreigners are expected to pay for things (accommodation, food, clothes, everything) compared to locals. A lot of people bitch about it, are anal about it. It really doesn’t bother me too much, because I feel that the inequalities in this country sway a lot more heavily towards my benefit than away from it. I DO hate it when a local tries to swindle me outta money because they think I’m stupid, but…as long as THEY know THAT I KNOW what is a reasonable price, then I’m usually more than happy to pay an extra little bit…
We apparently pay a little extra for our maid – more than standard even for foreigners, for the amount of work she does – but that’s ok. The concept of even HAVING a maid still sits a little uneasily with me – but the fact is that thousands of Vietnamese are paid to do domestic work over here – usually for other Vietnamese – and they can earn a lot more from foreigners. Labour costs are still incredibly cheap.
For my first few months in Vung Tau, I had no maid. I lived –for free - in a decrepit old room in my school – a school which used to be a hotel, and presumably barracked lots of US soldiers in the American War. The room housed not only me, but also a platoon of ants and a friendly little mouse who launched himself straight at me in the middle of the night once and gave me a heart attack. There was open wiring near the light switches, there was always a huge zap-crackle-or pop whenever an appliance was plugged in, and sometimes the lights worked and sometimes they only did if you got the right combinations of switches and timings right. There were holes in the wall from shoddy work, which gave easy access for the gekkos and the mouse. The shower leaked into the main room – and because the shower – like many over here was simply the entire tiled bathroom, I could go to the loo and brush my teeth while taking a shower, quite easily. Alas the toilet broke and flooded occasionally, and the bathroom sink fell off the wall if you leaned on it too heavily. Speaking of falling off, the handle of the doorknob to the main room would always come away I your hand as you turned it. The door was only attached with one hinge. The air-conditioner was barely functional, and you had to be immediately in line with it to feel its minimal effects. The mirror in the bathroom was set at the height of my nipples, until I raised it to my eyes. The bed consisted of three low, singles in a line, with thin mattresses. I had to pilfer a broom, mop and bucket from somewhere else to clean the room, and I had to run the exhaust fan or air-con continuously to keep the room from getting stagnant and musty. Sometimes I heard spooky noises in the largely empty building and saw shapes outside my windows. For two or three days in May I was found the door to my room barred by scaffolding some workmen had set up to paint the outside wall of the building, so I had to either clamber to my door on my hands and knees through a maze of scaffolding and filth, or climb in through an unlocked window. Another night in May, I was without electricity in my room, and sweltering in intense heat, when the dry season broke at the same time the
That was my first experience of accommodation in
My room in the school in Vung Tau certainly wasn’t palatial, or even terribly comfortable compared to most of my prior experiences, but it was fine. Instead of comparing it to my previous residences, I compared it to those of all the friends I was making, and realised that I was relatively lucky. And besides, there were three great things about that room. (1) I didn’t have to pay rent on it. (2) It was in a building with a fascinating history. And (3) It was the closest I had ever lived to my job EVER, in my life. I simply had to roll outta bed, throw on some clothes, wander down a few flights of steps and I was in the classroom.
Nevertheless, it was obviously a far from ideal situation. So, when I decided to stay in Vung Tau longer than a few months, I sought alternatives. After I saved a little money and realized that I could live more comfortably, I moved into a hotel – where I lived for six months. Six months – living in a hotel! I felt like a rock star! My hotel room was very new, extremely comfortable with sea views, a nice balcony, ice-cold air-con, a little kitchenette, a bath, and – best of all – HBO and Star Movies on the TV. And here, I didn’t have a maid. No, I had TWO maids. Clean floor everyday. Clean sheets at least once a week. Washed clothes wherever needed. And everything for the low price of US$300 a week. Later dropped to US$280. Bargain. I loved the Oma Hotel, and the staff there, but I hated having to wake up the night-guy anytime I returned home after
But I can’t bitch about that. Life was easy. Almost too easy. And it always has been.
It’s just one reasons I’m always amazed that comparatively hardly any Westerners live over here. The sacrifices you make - clean air, clean streets, familiar culture, familiar language – aren’t really as big as the benefits you get in lifestyle – cheap food, cheap entertainment, cheap accommodation. As I mentioned above, I am sorta torn between shouting out to the rest of the world – “get your arses over here!” – and wanting to keep secret the fact that
When I first arrived in