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Date: August 4, 2003
Vietnam is a machismo country full of tough nuts. Just like it
is an
innate characteristic of babies to play peek-a-boo, young macho
men love to play chicken. The first variation of this game is like
a jousting match where vehicles swerve towards me trying to scare
me, or men dance in the street, like a matador, and then jostle
my bicycle as it passes or whip my ass, shepherding me forward.
The second variation of playing chicken involves eating, drinking
and smoking noxious things in mass quantities until one party chickens
out.
Yesterday, I accepted an invitation to a drink. It was mid afternoon;
the restaurants are closed between 1-7pm, grocery stores don't exist,
there are few markets and the junk food is inedible. That left beer and snacks.
Besides my hunger, I thought I should give these fellows a chance. I was hoping
this would be a hospitable encounter and not a test of wills.
In Vietnam villages, signs advertising "Bia Hoi" (draft beer) are
every 50 meters. This can be a keg of Beer Hanoi or, more likely, an old 2-liter
plastic soda bottle filled with beer by an enterprising local and distributed
to the keg-less poor. They only cost about 8000 dong (15,515 to one USD). The
four of us drained one and half bottles of beer by the time my bowl of eggs arrived
with a side dish of spiced salt, chilies, ginger and mint leaves. I cracked open
an egg and am revolted by the sight of a chicken fetus. I had ordered the wrong
kind of egg, the white one instead of the brown one. The guys all laugh and for
a horrified second I think they expect me to eat it. Inspired, I slid the fetus
over to my neighbor and told him to eat it. "For you. A present." Nobody
was salivating over this Vietnamese delicacy. But, the guys had another treat
in mind. They fetched a bag from their scooter. Inside was a cobra squirming and
puffing its chest. To summarize a long conversation in sparse Vietnamese, English
and elaborate pantomiming, being the guest I would have had the honor to drink
a cup of rice wine with the cobra's heart floating inside still alive and beating
the wine red. After which, we would go to the brothel to celebrate. I declined.
This scenario would have likely resulted in losing all my possessions, my health
or ending up in jail.
I think cobras are beautiful creatures. I see them squashed on the road all
the time. In Thailand, it was a sad moment when I ran over a cobra four times
(twice with each wheel) when it zigged into the road like black lightening. I
wish I would have bought this snake from these guys and set it free.
Another male-bonding ritual involves eating "Thit Cho" (dog meat)
during the end of the lunar month. This is supposed to bring good luck unless,
of course, it is the beginning of the month. Currently, it is the end of the month
and one day I honed in on the smell of roasting meat. Luckily, the women refused
to serve me communicating, by pointing to their pet dog, what type of meals they
serve. The Vietnamese will tell you that only specially raised dogs are used for
food. I know this is not true. In Laos, I saw some men scooping the stray dogs
out of the road into a wagon. I was told they were taking the dogs "to work
in the rice paddies." When I arrived at the Laos-Vietnam border, I discovered
trucks of mangy, demoralized dogs jammed three in a cage and stacked four high
by six by twenty. The whining dogs and stream of urine running out the back was
gut wrenching. The drivers told me they were taking the dogs to the butchers in
Vietnam. On a second trip to a restaurant, the hostess wasn't as kind. Afterwards,
I realized she said, "Pho Cho. (Dog noodles)," not, "Pho bo (beef
noodles)". Oh well, it was bound to happen. And, in case you are wondering,
I didn't receive any good luck. In fact, fourteen kilometers later I snapped my
chain and ripped my front derailleur in half. I will have to switch chain-rings
with my foot all the way to Australia.
Usually, I avoid macho men and head for the restaurants of smiling women. Contrary
to the men of Vietnam, the women are kind and beautiful. Still they want something,
too. It is a common dream of Second and Third World women to marry a Westerner,
the bluer the eyes, the blonder the hair and the thicker the wallet, the better.
I've had five wedding proposals in Thailand, one in Laos and one in Vietnam. In
Thailand, the matron of the house said, "I have three single women. Pick
one." That was an uncomfortable moment. In Vietnam, the woman was young,
beautiful, loving and had a smile that dissipated the days tribulations. I must
have been on the road too long because I caught myself fantasizing running to
the cathedral with her. Eastern women are tantalizing because they believe in
learning to love a person. Eastern women give their love reality by caring for
their husbands and "making" them babies. Western women believe in "falling
in love" with their "soul mate" which requires no effort just a
1 in 5 billion chance encounter (assuming their soul mate may be preferred or
accidentally born of the same sex like the kathoey in Thailand). And, Western
women fall out of love just as easily. My friend, Pete Schannen asks the question,
"Do you believe in true hate. I mean have you every truly hated someone with
all your heart forever and ever?"
Anyway, I digress. My best offer is an Egyptian women and a camel.
Do I hear a Vietnamese woman and two water buffaloes?
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