Saturday
LOCATION: Nha Trang
APPEARING: "The Elephant"
APPEARING: "The Elephant"
The next morning, I intended to get my orientation. I set out
to find a map of the surrounding area so that I could get myself out
of town... to somewhere a little less touristy. These big beach towns
all feel the same: diluted of their local character, made rectangular
and sharp-angled with concrete, a little too sweet, and at the same
time there's a seedy feeling of things just starting to decay. The
tropics will do that. Just 5 blocks away from the tourist center, I
found a small stand where a guy and a cart and a cooler and a
wood-fired kettle was brewing Vietnamese coffee. A few hand gestures
and roughly 20 cents got me a coffee. Using American-Vietnamese pseudo-sign language I was able
to divine where the nearest bookstore was. At the book store, about a
mile away, I got a map of the area and a useless phrasebook. A block
later I popped into a shop and pseudo-signed for a bowl of Pho: beef, fried
pig fat, and noodle soup.
Unfortunately, that fantasy of a two-day beach holiday in the middle of my trip would have to wait-- because the typhoons that passed through the week before had turned the water into a mud bath, and the beach into a jungle of broken tree limbs washed ashore, and the trappings of modern society (sandals, plastic bags, plastic, junk).
Five minutes after walking down the beach, I noticed what looked like the Vietnamese Army in full National Guard mode-- hauling all the junk off the beach and into piles along the shore. They were mostly young men, but a few officers-- one had three stars, one had four-- were in charge. I bought some boiled peanuts from woman selling them in a basket, and watched the scene. When I walked by, the 3-star officer called me over, gesturing with a flick of his hand to come stand in front of him. He was leaning/sitting on his motorcycle eating peanuts from the same woman who sold me mine. I was surprised that his hand movement was almost commanding-- I guess he's just used to telling subordinates what to do. In any case, he didn't seem threatening. With a few underlings as translators we had a typical American-Vietnamese conversation: Where was I from? Do I like Vietnam? Where am I going? Are Vietnamese women beautiful? What do Americans think of Vietnam? Do I know California?
I got about 100 meters further before I noticed a rough hundred of the younger soldiers were lining up behind a truck to get lunch. Two the guys who had been translating for the officer saw me watching and called me over. And that's how I had my first military lunch: from an Army that just a few decades ago was my country's mortal enemy. It gives one pause thinking about contemporary wars.
I spent the next hour eating what turned out to be tasty food. There was a lemongrass, curry chicken, bean sprouts, slices of fatty pork, friend eggs, tofu, and a pungent, pungent, sour broth that was poured over our rice afterward (the first sip almost made me gag... it was like nothing I have ever tried before). At one point about 50 soldiers were circled around, all sitting cross legged, with me in the center. Every few minutes someone new would come over and ask where I was from. Then someone would put more food in my bowl. Then they'd take my notebook and write down the name of what were were eating. Then they'd ask where I was going. I ate far more than I wanted to, but it was great. The strongest guy in the bunch (in the slightly blurry photo showing his muscles) wanted to arm wrestle... but I declined. When I asked some of his friends if they would offer to arm wrestle him they waved their hands and laughed. One said, "No, no-- he elephant!" I guess I made the right decision... you don't arm wrestle with a military man whose friends call him "the elephant."
Unfortunately, that fantasy of a two-day beach holiday in the middle of my trip would have to wait-- because the typhoons that passed through the week before had turned the water into a mud bath, and the beach into a jungle of broken tree limbs washed ashore, and the trappings of modern society (sandals, plastic bags, plastic, junk).
Five minutes after walking down the beach, I noticed what looked like the Vietnamese Army in full National Guard mode-- hauling all the junk off the beach and into piles along the shore. They were mostly young men, but a few officers-- one had three stars, one had four-- were in charge. I bought some boiled peanuts from woman selling them in a basket, and watched the scene. When I walked by, the 3-star officer called me over, gesturing with a flick of his hand to come stand in front of him. He was leaning/sitting on his motorcycle eating peanuts from the same woman who sold me mine. I was surprised that his hand movement was almost commanding-- I guess he's just used to telling subordinates what to do. In any case, he didn't seem threatening. With a few underlings as translators we had a typical American-Vietnamese conversation: Where was I from? Do I like Vietnam? Where am I going? Are Vietnamese women beautiful? What do Americans think of Vietnam? Do I know California?
I got about 100 meters further before I noticed a rough hundred of the younger soldiers were lining up behind a truck to get lunch. Two the guys who had been translating for the officer saw me watching and called me over. And that's how I had my first military lunch: from an Army that just a few decades ago was my country's mortal enemy. It gives one pause thinking about contemporary wars.
I spent the next hour eating what turned out to be tasty food. There was a lemongrass, curry chicken, bean sprouts, slices of fatty pork, friend eggs, tofu, and a pungent, pungent, sour broth that was poured over our rice afterward (the first sip almost made me gag... it was like nothing I have ever tried before). At one point about 50 soldiers were circled around, all sitting cross legged, with me in the center. Every few minutes someone new would come over and ask where I was from. Then someone would put more food in my bowl. Then they'd take my notebook and write down the name of what were were eating. Then they'd ask where I was going. I ate far more than I wanted to, but it was great. The strongest guy in the bunch (in the slightly blurry photo showing his muscles) wanted to arm wrestle... but I declined. When I asked some of his friends if they would offer to arm wrestle him they waved their hands and laughed. One said, "No, no-- he elephant!" I guess I made the right decision... you don't arm wrestle with a military man whose friends call him "the elephant."
