Song and Dance Routine

Let's pretend that we're making a movie about Vietnam. What genre would best sum up the Vietnamese experience? Forty years ago, the answer was unfortunately war, as the likes of Apocalypse Now and Full Metal Jacket attest. But its 2008, not 1968. Though memories of the war linger painfully, the Vietnamese are, for better or for worse, trying their best to forget the war.

Tragedy is another viable alternative. Vietnam underwent twenty-five years of nearly constant warfare, eleven years of painfully misguided and backwards communist rule, and still is home to wide swaths of destitution. The nation has enough stories of pain and heartbreak to inspire dozens of tragic films. But today’s Vietnam is too forward-looking and hopeful of the future to be summed up by the genre of tragedy.

Vietnam might even be represented by the action thriller. Any foreigner who has tried to negotiate traffic or even just cross the street in Hanoi or Saigon will agree that what is mundane in the rest of the world is edge-of-your-seat excitement in Vietnam. The Vietnamese even manage to add exhilaration to bureaucracy. Knock, knock; you’ve got a meeting with the Dean of the English department in five minutes. Surprise! Even as an English teacher, you never quite know what’s going to happen next (or at least I never seem to).

In truth, Vietnam could quite possibly be represented by numerous genres, but the one that best offers a taste of life in Vietnam is, in my opinion, the musical. The Vietnamese love to sing and dance. No university ceremony would be complete without at least forty-five minutes of musical performances. The Vietnamese sing traditional songs, modern songs, English songs, patriotic songs, romantic songs, happy songs, sad songs, and anything else they can that wouldn’t offend the party. And song would be complete without a dance? Since my arrival in Vietnam I’ve seen cha-chas, tangos, waltzes, ballet, and hip-hop grooves.

The Vietnamese love of song and dance has commercial impact as well. Karaoke is phenomenon in this country, and even sleepy Cao Lanh has eight or nine karaoke establishments. At seemingly any time of the day or night, one of Vietnam’s TV stations has an American-idol sort of talent show on air. Coffee shops blast Vietnamese pop, and advertise themselves as being CD cafes, whatever that means.

The best example of the Vietnamese’s love of song and dance was when I went with the other Fulbright English teaching assistants to Dien Bien Phu, a town in the far West of the country, practically in Laos. We visited a school, where we were warmly welcomed. The students and staff sang and danced for a good twenty minutes, which was entertaining. Then they asked us to sing. Put on the spot, most of us froze up. Finally, Kevin, a teacher from Iowa, boldly walked to the front of the room and led us in a rousing round of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” Not to be outdone, I sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” with David, a fellow teacher from Ohio. Our songs paled to the beautiful traditional songs the Vietnamese sang, but what would you sing given about 5 seconds’ preparation? No one seemed to care too much that we sang such simple songs; the Vietnamese were just happy we sang.

Since Dien Bien Phu, I’ve been asked to sing numerous times. The university asked me to sing an English song in front of a crowd of several thousand people for teacher’s day, an honor I managed to avoid by suggesting that I read a poem instead (which I ended up not reading because they told me the wrong date). Students ask me to sing a song in front of classes or when we’re out for coffee, a request I usually fulfill. The Vietnamese have no sense that singing or dancing would make Americans somewhat awkward.

But that total incomprehension of awkwardness is probably the best part of the Vietnamese’s love of song and dance. They sing and dance for the fun of it. You don’t have to be an expert to belt one out or cut the rug (and believe me, many of them aren’t). In Vietnam, life sometimes calls for a song or dance, and almost the entire population is happy to join in. Don’t be surprised in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s next big production is set in a rice paddy.

Technical Difficulties

Two weeks ago I was about to write a post about how happy I was to to have full electricity, hot water, and a good Internet connection for a whole week, a first since my arrival in Dong Thap. Before I could make that post, however, I lost my Internet, and it hasn't really come back since. As a result, I haven't been keeping up as I like with the blog, and I apologize for anyone out there following along. A frustrating situation to be sure, but this is what life is like in the developing world, right?

I'm on the road right now, and am currently in Hue and will be moving south to Danang on Monday. I should be able to post from cafes, and will try to get a few pieces up before heading back to Dong Thap. Thanks for your patience.

Ca Phe Sua Da

The café is a central part of Vietnamese society. There is literally a café on every block of Cao Lanh, and many in the countryside as well. When I first arrived in Cao Lanh, I wasn’t sure how so many cafes stayed in business, but now I know better. Many, if not most, Vietnamese men go to a café every day, sometimes several times each day. Women go less frequently, but they are certainly welcome in café culture. Students and teachers meet up at the university’s on-campus café, and in the dozen or so cafes within ten minutes’ walk of the front gate.

Some cafes are fancy affairs, with drinks costing a whopping 12,000 dong (75 cents) or more. The upper-end cafes have four enclosed walls, air conditioning, TVs, sofas with cushions, and look like something you might see in the United States. Most cafes are much simpler. The wall facing the street usually doesn’t exist, and is open like a garage. The roof is typically made of corrugated metal. The walls are usually concrete, though they too may be made of corrugated metal. Tables and chairs are usually whatever the proprietor can put together, and they rarely match. One café across from the university has tables with pictures of Brittany Spears, N*SYNC, and other American pop stars from about ten years ago. Many customers prefer to sit outside next to the street, in spite of the incessant drone of motorbike and automobile engines.

Cafes serve a small variety of drinks. Some specialize in sinh to, yogurt-based fruit drinks, which are quite good. Orange juice with sugar is a favorite drink. Some café-goers like tea, and Lipton is almost all the locals drink, believe it or not. Lipton is so popular that the brand name is synonymous with café tea on order, although every café gives its patrons all the iced non-Lipton tea they want.

But the most popular café drink by far is, not surprisingly, coffee. Coffee would seem to be Vietnam’s national beverage. The nation grows a lot of it, and Vietnam is now second only to Brazil globally in terms of national coffee production. The Vietnamese drink their coffee very differently than Americans. Vietnamese-style coffee is much more like the European variety, which is probably because the French introduced the drink to the Vietnamese.

The coffee is served in a press, which is pictured with this post. The ground coffee is placed in the bottom of the metal press, and hot water is poured into the top of the press. The water slowly drains from the press and into the glass, which is usually the size of a shot glass. The coffee is really more like what an American would call a shot of espresso, and is very strong. The coffee is subsequently served with a lot of sugar. Most Vietnamese prefer to drink their coffee cold and pour their shot into a larger glass with ice. Many Vietnamese (and this American) prefer café sua da, literally “coffee with milk and ice”, in which case the coffee pours onto sweetened condensed milk. The drinker then mixes the coffee and milk and pours the concoction over the ice.

The purpose of the Vietnamese café is not really drinking coffee, though. The café is where the Vietnamese hang out with friends, where they chat and argue, where they relax. The Vietnamese never drink their coffee quickly, especially when compared to Americans, who down their coffee by the mug. I had to learn the fine art of nursing a coffee over the course of a long conversation. An experienced Vietnamese coffee-drinker can make his café sua da last for forty minutes or even an hour. Fortunately I had plenty of opportunities to learn my skills, as the teachers and staff of Dong Thap University were kind enough to invite me to coffee with them nearly every day. By the time I get back to the US, I may have a serious caffeine addiction, but I think the conversation has been well worth it. Besides, the coffee has been fantastic.