Out of wonderland

If I were to make a diagram of my experiences in Vietnam, there would be one branch for things that turned out as expected – generally, goods are cheaper than in America, journalism is more submissive, and fashion is equally mixed. There would be a branch for things that surprised me, either because they differ so much from America (take off your shoes when entering a shop), or because we’re not so different after all (is there anywhere the income gap isn’t a problem?).

Of things that aren’t so different, I don’t know if my biggest discovery would disappoint or delight, but it is this: many of the pleasures of visiting another culture (language, food, customs) were, in this case, already available to me in America. I spoke Vietnamese at home, of course, but also in the Vietnamese stronghold of South Sacramento, people generally don’t need English to conduct business, read the paper, or just carry on with daily life. In South Sacramento and at home, I have also eaten most of the same cuisine I’ve had in Vietnam – mi xao, banh xeo, bun bo hue, etc. I noticed this because people here constantly asked me during meals whether the food was OK, and I’d constantly explain that yes, we have all of this in America. That might be the reason I haven’t gotten food poisoning. Unfortunately, that also means it was hard to try new foods (plus I’m not brave enough to try snake).

Many of the local customs, like eating on the floor or lighting incense for the deceased, were already a part of my life, thanks to my parents. They also decorated our house with cultural ornaments, from paintings to statues to fans, which made it very difficult to buy souvenirs here, as most of the useless knick-knacks I came across are available in South Sacramento.

So I would call this discovery disappointing because it sort of defeats the purpose of coming here – emphasis on “sort of” because the country still holds enough of a unique lifestyle, history, and development for a good old-fashioned culture shock. But for tourists who can’t afford to come here, this could be a delight because all they have to do is spend some time in the Vietnamese community in their own towns. For America the implications are both good (as Viet Kieu add diversity to the country) and bad (as they insulate themselves from mainstream America).

(Aside: as I’m writing this, two chickens have just wandered into my room.)

Between the expected and the unexpected, there’s a third branch in my diagram. I noticed it in my first week in Saigon, when it came time to do laundry. The vast majority of people hand wash and hang dry their clothes, which makes perfect sense. It’s not as if I expected people to have washing machines, but I also hadn’t thought about the fact that my clothes, too, must be hand washed. So there are things that aren’t surprising, but that you don’t think about until their time comes.

And the time has come to say goodbye. Although I knew I would have to leave Vietnam, it hadn’t occurred to me that I would be leaving its people and traditions and way of life. Of course there’s plenty I won’t miss. I can’t wait to get away from Mr. Mosquito, away from the smog and the two types of weather, heat or rain. I won’t have to barter with merchants anymore, and they won’t follow me around every inch of their stores, trying to convince me to buy things I don’t want. I won’t be solicited on the street by errant peddlers who can’t possibly make a living with what they’re selling, or by poor children selling lottery tickets when they should be in school.

Usually I don’t miss anything or anyone because I know I’ll see them again. So the exceptions are things and people gone forever, separated either by time (hence my debilitating nostalgia) or, as I see now, distance. I still have a few hours until my flight back to America, but already I am missing this bustling city. I’ll miss the wind rushing past as I sit on the back of a motorbike. I’ll miss seeing a movie for $2 or staying in a beachfront hotel for $12. I’ll miss always having someone to tell me how to say or spell a word in Vietnamese. I’ll miss being called “Lien oi” and “Lien Lien” and “em.” And I’ll miss the people calling me by those names, people with whom I’ve spent almost every day for the past two months, people who hadn’t factored into the equation when I first planned my trip but who now sum up the entire summer. But I’m wrong about one thing: they’re not all gone forever because there’s no question that I’ll be back.

Relative worth

The temptation for visitors to spend money here is akin to the psychological effect of a sale: customers are partly motivated by the appeal of getting something for a fraction of the usual price (because most tourists have the benefit of a favorable exchange rate), and they are compelled to take advantage of this limited-time offer, while it lasts (because they’ll soon return to their home countries). So, Vietnam is one big clearance sale.

At least that’s the influence it’s had on me. So when I see that something I might want (four dresses, three pairs of shoes, a white gold necklace…) is cheaper than it would be in America, I’m more likely to splurge. In that respect, Vietnam seems to have brought out the spendthrift in me because I can indulge in something as trivial as ice cream every day, or as extravagant as a weekend in Nha Trang (considered the most beautiful city in the country).

But I’m a thrifty shopper at heart, and somewhat ironically, living here has augmented that prudent side. It’s all a matter of relativity. Suddenly a pair of $8 shoes is too expensive because there’s that other pair for $5, or on another day a $5 meal feels wasteful because locals often eat out for $1.

Actually, not all of it is relativity. The exchange rate and the necessity to use an unfamiliar currency also distort my perception. If I were dealing in dollars I’m sure my spending would be more in line with habit. Instead my psychological or emotional response to the dong is unpredictable. I might see my 50,000-dong note and think, “My, that’s a large number,” so I’d hate to spend it all on a taxi ride, even though it’s only $3. Or I might shell out the same note for a beaded necklace that I’ve just negotiated down from 120,000 dong, even though I am not that interested in jewelry and don’t even buy $3 necklaces in America. Troi oi! I don’t know if I’m growing or the house is shrinking.

Load o’ crocs

The Suoi Tien amusement park in Saigon claims to have 15,000 crocodiles (ca sau, which sounds suspiciously like xau, the word for "ugly"), most of which I saw while crossing Crocodile Bridge. The funniest thing I noticed was that crocodiles often sleep with their mouths open. I thought they must have been fake, but my cousin assured me they weren't, reasoning that if humans can sleep that way, why can't crocodiles? Well, gravity, for one thing. But what do I know? The animals were definitely real.

At least that was the funniest thing until I saw people fishing over the side of the bridge. And by fishing, I mean you can pay 2,000 dong for a rod attached to a piece of string attached to a piece of raw meat to dangle over the crocodiles. I wondered why it was so cheap, and the only thing I can think of is that the employees have to feed the crocodiles anyway, so might as well make a profit by letting customers do it.

I'm sure this kind of gimmick wouldn't go over well in lawsuit-prone America; it doesn't exactly seem smart to provoke the toothy reptiles. Still, seeing that everyone else was safe, I tried it anyway. It's something of a sport, swinging the meat as close to the crocodiles as you dare, while trying to keep it just out of their reach. But the deceptively placid creatures are too quick, snapping up the meat when you least expect it.

Pain at the [Vietnamese] pump

With the government subsidies and average income level, I figured gas prices had to be cheaper here than in America, but at 15,000 dong per liter ($3.50 a gallon), it was about the same. People just get more out of their money because they drive the relatively efficient motorbikes and manuals.

But over the past few days, while on my meta vacation to central Vietnam (more on that in the coming posts), I started hearing about gas prices going up. "Interesting," I thought last night as I sat in the plane from Danang to Saigon, listening to my cousin read the day's top story and recalling the surfeit of similar media coverage in America. Here the prices just jumped 30 percent to almost 20,000 dong per liter.

It got even more interesting after we touched down and tried to find a taxi home. The first driver was ready to take us, until a woman with a clipboard ushered a larger party into the cab. The next driver wouldn't take us because our house was too close. Every driver after that wanted to charge 150 percent more than we'd paid last week to get to the airport. I didn't get it. Why didn't they just take us home and let the meter run as usual?

I discovered the drivers were negotiating a fee beforehand because their companies hadn't raised fares to match the rise in gas prices yet. For once I felt as sympathetic with them as I do with xe om drivers; still, there's a big difference between 30 percent and 150 percent, so I opted for a xe om, the driver somehow speeding through the streets with my suitcase held awkwardly in front of him.

It’s all about the Ho Chi Minhs, baby

Yesterday I walked home from work because there weren’t many xe om drivers near the office, and the ones that were there tried to charge 10,000 to 15,000 dong for a ride that’s usually 6,000. The truth is I wouldn’t mind spending the 10,000 (60 cents) but if I’m going back and forth everyday I don’t want to pay more than locals. And it’s also the principle; if the drivers aren’t willing to compromise with me, I don’t want to bother.

The short, pleasant walk brought my total spending for the day to less than $2. I had paid 6,000 dong for the morning commute, 12,000 for lunch at the office, and 10,000 for dinner ingredients. Assuming an exchange rate of 16,000 dong per dollar, that works out to about $1.75 (with the unpredictable inflation of the dong, it’s hard to know what the rate is each hour). See, Professor Sachs? Living on $2 a day isn’t so bad.

It’s true that I spend more than that on touristy luxuries like clothes, snacks, and entertainment, but either way, commerce is an interesting thing. Everything is bought with cash, and though most people have bank accounts, few have heard of credit cards. My brother had warned me that if I change dollars for dong, merchants won’t take dirtied money (e.g. if Benjamin’s faced is scratched or the bills are creased), but I didn’t think they’d behave the same way towards local currency. When I bought a dress this weekend, the seller wouldn’t take my smudged 100,000-dong note, so I had to give her a clean one. Oh, well – money’s all about perceived value, anyway, right?