2005 – Pho For Breakfast

“Uha seep! Uha seep!”

About five o clock, every morning I woke to the same man who rode his bike along the narrow alleyway in front of our house yelling these words. In Vietnamese, it is the name of a particular fruit they traditionally eat in the morning. To me, it sounded suspiciously like, “You asleep! You asleep!”

The funny irony was lost on me at that hour.

It took me a few weeks to let thoughts of the movie fade and begin to fully embrace the new world: good cheap food, nice beaches, rooms full of rowdy students, lazy cafes with gecko adorned walls, winding narrow alleys with overhanging ivy-laced balconies, night clubs serving Heineken by pretty women, crazy motorbike traffic hot and frustrating during the day – cool and fun at night, multitudes of street vendors selling corn on the cob, Vietnamese sandwiches, soup, sticky rice, noodles, sweets, cigarettes, hot humid summers and warm monsoon rain soaked winters.

The alien environment and culture was hypnotic, threatening to absolve my drive to complete a silly eight year project. New and exciting things presented themselves and I soon became caught up in a whole new life. I was able to live comfortably in a paradise while still sending money home to pay off bills. The life style was laid back, undemanding, approaching utopian.

Late in the day around 6 pm, I trotted off to school for three hours. The kids varied in age from seven to seventeen. Some wanted to learn, some didn’t and I adjusted my teaching accordingly. Most of the students had high respect for teachers especially foreigners and were impressed when you spoke their language. I learned a little Vietnamese, but not enough to hold a real conversation. But, one day I was making my way through the crowded classroom toward the back to open a window. I accidentally stepped on a kid’s foot. I apologized in Vietnamese, saying something like “Xin loi!” His pained grimace quickly transformed into a smile as he exclaimed, “Oh! Very good!”

I would get off work at 9:00 PM and usually take long detours home, taking advantage of the cool night and light traffic (see Late Night Drive). Sometimes I would stop by my favorite vendor to grab some sweet rice (see Sticky Rice Run).

Bill was my roommate and Saigon guide. He spoke a decent amount of Vietnamese and was familiar with the culture which proved invaluable during some of our adventures. Oftentimes after work we would meet up at a nightclubs, bars, or cafes to chat and flirt with the girls. Some days we would head out before noon and drive to an unknown section of town and explore. Even if we found nothing, it was good enough to just drive my motorbike about experiencing the daily life unfold around me in this lively city.

One of my motorbike explorations through Saigon’s serpentine alleys took me past an art college. I made a point to return a few days later with a flyer inquiring about an artist willing and able to draw a monster for a low budget film. After a few phone calls and a couple meetings with artists who didn’t work out for various reasons, I received an email from Van Nguyen, a 2^nd year student. Attached were various sketches and one in particular grabbed my attention. We met and for a nominal fee he was willing to make some revisions to the design. A few weeks later, he showed me full sized and close-up sketches of the creature. I thought they looked pretty cool.

I showed the pictures to my girlfriend. She spoke little English, but her shrug said enough. It was a sketch of an imagined monster, a silly comic book character that kids become excited about. That’s what I liked about her. She communicated her loves, hates, angers, fears with such honesty it always made me laugh at the same time it stung my pride. She was a siren luring me away from familiar land and familiar ambitions. And I liked it. Her world was new and exotic, a place I could reinvent myself and live day to day without stress or worry.

Perhaps I could have been convinced to stay, but every day, in the late morning, I would ride through a backpacker section of Saigon and see the same group of aging red faced American expats gathered in front of a small restaurant, around a table adorned with bottles of cheap beer. They may have been well accomplished men drinking to the victories of past battles, but the image sticks with me as a symbol of giving up, giving up any sort of ambition whatever form it may take.

After staying over there for nearly a year, I had managed to send enough money home to pay off a majority of my debts. The job market was improving at home and I had a movie to finish. I finally managed to climb onto a plane headed back to the states. I told everyone it should only take about a year. Then I would return. Though I said a year, I knew it would take longer. I didn’t know how long it would take and really didn’t want to contemplate how long.

Saigon disappeared outside my window as the plane flew above a layer of clouds. I closed my eyes and revisited its cafes, nightclubs, beaches, byzantine streets, my girlfriend’s face, which were still etched in my mind.

I had escaped from paradise.

~ by deblen on December 4, 2010.