Cavemen Hurling Forward!

As published at SubStack, 3/8/24:

[Vung Tau, 3/6/24]

Have I ever lied to you?! Of course, people lie to make themselves look better or less guilty, or to push their biases, distortions and madness, so perhaps I’ve lied to you nonstop, but let’s not sweat the detail. When I claim to be sitting at Cóc Cóc Coffee next to a mentally ill couple, I have proof, even if photos are no longer reliable in this age of AI image generators. All of America’s Founding Fathers were black transsexuals. Michelle Obama, though, is still one hot chick.

For half an hour, they said nothing, since each was staring at his or her phone, their knees nearly touching. Similar scenes occur each second across this sad globe. How many couples lie in bed, back to back, each fixated on their private porn? Coupling, a man is glued to a knockout babe on his tiny screen, placed above his heavy breathing partner’s head. She has a compact beefcake in her hand.

After visiting the Soviet Union in 1919, Lincoln Steffens triumphantly declared, “I’ve seen the future and it works!” Those embracing hyper reality, smart homes, 15-minute cities, insect burgers, lab grown meat, designer babies, Just Stop Oil, Jewjabs, sexual fluidity, brainchips and/or digital currency are similarly optimistic about what’s coming, and they’re entirely right, of course. Only Nazis or cavemen raise red flags.

As we transition into Klaus Schwab, Yuval Noah Harari and Mark Zuckerberg’s brave new reset, progressives and cavemen still exist side by side, with the ratio varying from nation to nation. Though living in a nominally Communist country, thus “progressive,” I bump often into primitives stuck or even regressing into the past, but don’t laugh. They’ll show you the way.

We can’t help but rape. Its Latin root is rapiō, meaning to snatch, grab, carry off, abduct, rape or steal. While big boys rape industrially, us puny savages furtively snatch acorns from ravaged grounds. We pluck leaves to stuff our maws. Vietnamese have done this more than anybody else. They nibble animals almost too small to be seen.

From January until late March, tiny snails called ốc ruốc are washed up on Vietnamese beaches. The size of a small button, each has just enough meat to be fished out with a needle. You catch them by dragging a steel cage backward across sand. Though the men doing this may resemble stick figures, they’re actually athletes. Each ten-hour workday is a marathon for which they earn just over $20, though sometimes twice as much. Hardly worth eating, ốc ruốc are mostly sold to lobster farms.

This week, I watched some of them at Đồi Nhái [Frog Hill] Beach. As they labored, the fatter and more comfortable swam, exercised or played with their dogs. From afar, snail catchers were like surfers, but on sand.

A 47-year-old man from Nam Định confided he once made 15 times as much, dealing in illegally tapped rubber sap. Assuming his luck would only increase, he gambled and had a great time, thus squandering all he had, including his marriage to a singer who sometimes appeared on TV.

Now, he’s always exhausted and lived alone, but at least he had no boss, “I can’t work for anybody.”

“500,000 [$20] đồng is not bad.”

“But I spend 200,000 đồng a day on food!”

He can cut that by half, but who am I to say? Though his calves were pure muscle, they were destined to rupture or strain. “You can’t do this much longer, so what’s your plan?”

“I’m thinking of opening an eatery in Cambodia. I’ll do it with a friend. He’ll put up the money.”

“Which town?”

He had no idea, so not a good sign. He had never been to Cambodia. Their border towns are packed with Chinese owned casinos serving Vietnamese or Thai suckers, but it’s too late to tap into that bonanza.

Arriving at Đồi Nhái Beach before 5AM, I saw one man with a headlamp and metal detector, looking for gold, of course, though he was much more likely to find a worthless key. Next to the beach was a huge golf course that’s undoubtedly owned by someone very well-connected. Having no access to it, I strayed into the nearest neighborhood, Chí Linh.

Newly developed, it had highrise condos and million dollar homes. Overpopulated East Asia is filled with residential towers. Unless or until we depopulate, humanity must be slotted into these massive cabinets.

Ogling at one, I could barely make out an old man on his balcony. He moved just enough to prove he’s not some propped up mummy. Should I last another 15 years or so, I would be like that geezer. Reflecting on the mess he had made of life, he’s relieved most of his sins and crimes had gone unnoticed or been forgotten. At least I’m not that fool pointing his camera up this way!

There were all these upscale preschools, with even 14-month-old babies accepted. With working moms and no grandparents around, most families don’t have a choice but to wrest infants from their loved ones. Raised by strangers, the cellphone and television, they’ll grow up distracted, anxious, angry or insane. At least the more affluent are relatively pampered. As I rested near an artificial lake, smartly dressed kids on an outing greeted me with, “Chào ông!” [“Hello, grandpa!”]

Leaving Chí Linh, I had to walk nearly two miles to reenter a more familiar Vung Tau. Popping into a charmingly shabby cafe, I found myself among bird cages and an old woman swooning and cooing over her grandson in a stroller. Just seven-months-old, he stared at me without fear as I hovered above him.

Grabbing his foot, I tilted my head, squinted and asked, “Who’s the good looking one?”

After serving my drinks, his mom went back to her sewing machine. Across the alley, women were exercising to thumping music, but it was faint enough. I could relax. What’s up with all these cages? The baby’s dad explained, “I trap birds.”

“Locally?!”

“Yes.”

“There are still strange birds around here?”

“Yes.”

“There won’t be much longer! You’re catching them all,” I laughed.

Connoisseurs will examine a bird for days before buying one, for up to $60. Same for a gorgeous cage, made by this man.

“How come you don’t put a male and a female into the same cage?” I asked.

“He’ll kill her! If I have an aviary, yes, but with a cage, he’ll just attack.” Like most of us, these trapped creatures are at least half insane.

You, too, will snatch exotic birds or tiniest snails to fend off starvation. It turned out this family had only been in Vung Tau a year. They were shooed from Saigon’s District 2. Until 15 years ago, it was semi-rural and dirt poor. Now, it’s the city’s most cosmopolitan, with developers touting it as the next Singapore or Hong Kong.

Eight bucks will get you eggs benedict with smoked salmon and salmon caviar at L’Usine, and Octo Tapas Restobar has oysters in olive escabeche, as concocted by the Basque chef Inaki Bolumburu. In sleepy, provincial Vung Tau, I only hear of these as fantastic rumors.

With their lurid lights, garish shops and mad energy verging on chaos, Asian cities point to the future, but I seriously doubt we’ll reach that Blade Runner reality. There won’t be enough fuel to light all those signs and buildings or yoyo elevators constantly. As for cars, they won’t be crawling, much less flying. Like me right now, you’ll walk.

Though poor, that baby is better off than one dumped into a preschool before he’s even two-years-old. His parents, too, will outsurvive those needing office jobs to pay off mortgages and car loans. With faith in endless prosperity, almost no one saves, so even those dressed so well and fine dining are precariously in debts. With economies contracting, they can easily be tipped onto sidewalks, from upper floors even.

Keeping an eye on Philly, my home for decades, I learnt there were shootings involving public buses on four straight days, with eight teens shot in the latest. One kid, still alive, was perforated nine times!

In Vietnam, too, outrageous crimes are also increasing, but compared to the US, it’s like a kindergarten playground, as painted by Norman Rockwell. Just half a block from my door, I can watch kids on swings and seesaws. In the same park, women dance to rumba, tango or Elvis, men kick shuttlecocks and pajamaed grandmas exercise on machines. Since there’s a muay thai tournament coming, young men and women practice punches, elbows and kicks.

Two days ago in Gia Lai, a 12th grade girl stabbed an 11th grader to death. After arguing online, they had agreed to meet, each with her posse. One brought a knife, however.

When I pointed out recently that “online emoting often triggers snarkiness or anger,” a pseudonymous commenter thought I was referring to him specifically! Such self absorption is another sign of our collective malaise.

Though insane enough, we still have a long way to go. Since caveman instincts and skills will be handy, it’s not a bad idea to brush up on them.

[Vung Tau, 3/6/24]

[Vung Tau, 3/6/24]

[Vung Tau, 3/6/24]

[Vung Tau, 3/6/24]