Café on General Uprising

As published at SubStack, 2/20/24:

[Vung Tau, 2/1/24]

5:25AM and I am, again, at the café on Đồng Khởi. There’s singing from the TV behind me, but it’s not too loud. Right in front of me is that old man with a cane who hobbles around to sell lottery tickets. He’s masked but with his nose sticking out. Resting, he stares up at the half lit awning. Across the street, the laptop dealer is opening up. I bought a mouse from him for just over five bucks.

There’s constant laughter. Whereas online emoting often triggers snarkiness or anger, face to face conversations routinely induce mirth. There’s a dozen people here, all over 50. With bodies winding or breaking down, talks often veer towards health.

Chubby woman, “As long as your arms don’t hurt, you can still work.”

Thin woman, “But if your legs are sore…”

“Sitting down, you can still work.”

Like the hobbling man, the chubby woman peddles lottery tickets. They’re showing up in alarming number across Vung Tau. At a gas station three days ago, I saw a dejected girl no older than seven with her stack of red, yellow, blue and green shiny pieces of paper. Each has six magical digits you might have seen in a dream, which must mean you’ll be rich by sundown.

Before Tet, thousands of factory workers were laid off. That’s like getting fired just before Christmas. Overworked and homesick, these poor souls were looking forward to their Tet bonus so they could hop a bus for that yearly visit to their distant village. Now wageless, they had to abandon their cramped, cell-like home. Unable to pay bank loans, landlords also went under.

Enjoying each other’s company, most Vietnamese still joke and laugh, but that’s just their resilience. Yesterday, yet another lottery ticket seller said she had turned down a job taking care of some half dead invalid.

“It’s awful. I’d rather do this.”

“I agree. If lucky, you get a clean one, but many are so dirty, and stubborn. Some even fight back, so what are you going to do? You can’t beat them!”

Speaking of old people excreting, the second lady used “tiểu tiện,” a preposterous euphemism for urinating. It can be translated as “small convenience.” Much more terrifyingly, “đại tiện” or “large convenience” means shitting. Not so bad, though disgusting enough, is “trung tiện” or “middle convenience” to mean, you guess it, breaking wind. Just say fart, asshole!

Many Buddhist temples run old folks’ homes or orphanages. In an adjacent city, Ba Ria, there’s a youngish monk who tells funny stories to heal, he thinks, at least a hundred old women under his care. It sounds rather outlandish until you realize most stories are amusing.

I’ve moved to another cafe with a better table for writing. Walking here, I passed elementary school kids eating fried rice, fried noodles, spaghetti, macaroni or even “hamburger” for breakfast. The last I place in quotation marks because what you’ll get won’t resemble anything found at a respectable diner, Five Guys or just White Castle. What do you expect, though, for 61 cents? Such a small price still taxes struggling parents, but it’s almost cruel to deny your kids this pre-class ritual. Vietnamese love to eat out.

That great chronicler of Saigon life, Vương Hồng Sển (1902-1996), said that as a child, he couldn’t afford baguette with chicken curry, but only bread dipped into curry sauce. From 1975 to 1995, many Viets had to eat rice fried with just MSG or mixed with lard. Of course, reeducation camp inmates were lucky to stuff into their mouth anything with legs.

At 7:47AM, it’s 80 degrees and breezy. Having finished one lemonade without sugar, I might order another. At the next table, two men are talking about eating snakes. They’re too bony, so no good as fun food with booze, but as bits of protein in rice gruel, they’re acceptable. I’m no fan of minced watersnakes or watersnake patties. Eels, though, are delicious.

The barista here is fat and always wears fluffy Minnie Mouse ears. How long did it take for her to decide it’s her identity? Sleepless in bed, she could no longer escape the revelation her cuteness was best highlighted with Minnie Mouse ears. Nearing 30, she may never find a husband. Married men in their 40’s and 50’s often banter with her.

I heard one say, “We’re worn out, but you’re still blooming!”

Since “nở” means both bloom and balloon, it’s a playful dig at her girth. Quaking, she cracked up, her lovely face blooming.

This morning, I woke with a slight headache, but persisted on writing this, so now it’s almost done. With a good conscience, I can now crawl or slither home. As I pay the barista, she asks, “Are you a journalist, uncle?”

“No, an author, but in the US. I published books. I’ll tell you more on another occasion.”

“Where are you based, uncle?”

“I left the US, ah, nearly six years ago. I drift here and there. I’d like to live in Vung Tau, but every three months, I must leave.”

As she frowns sympathetically, I continue, “Next month, I must leave, then fly back in, to get three more months. If I take the bus, I’ll only get one month! It’s very stupid, the law. I’m very worn out.”

“But you look so healthy! I see you walk all over town! How old are you, uncle?”

“I’m only 60, but I look 80. I’m not healthy. Although you’re young, you must also pay attention to your health. Don’t wait until it’s too late!”

Catching myself talking like her dad, I must be careful, also, to not imply she already looks unhealthy. On her pink shirt, Bugs Bunny swells and sometimes heaves.

Such seemingly inconsequential exchanges still nourish. We feed each other.

In this cafe lives that jawless toy dog. Normally, she could be seen running around or resting, rather regally, on a chair. Today, she remains in her cage. Tired or just pensive, she has decided to shut out us annoying humans, at least for a few hours. Who can blame her, the adorable bitch?

[Vung Tau, 2/17/24]

[Vung Tau, 2/17/24]

[Vung Tau, 2/14/24]

[Vung Tau, 2/19/24]