Saigon Kick!

Hey all, we've made it to Saigon all in one piece.
Quite a bit has happened since we last spoke, so to
facilitate easier consumption by you, the reader, I've
decided to add a few sub-titles in the style of my
current read, "Don Quixote".
1. Our Hero's arrival and the conquering of Lake
Saigon.
2. On the Damsel met on the road and the Karaoke Bar
our Hero mistook for a Karaoke Bar.

Now you might enjoy the following post as a whole or
in sections as they constitute one rousing tale and
may not be easily digested in one sitting. However,
free advice is worth just that! Enough with he
Surgeon's General Warning, let's be off!

1. Our Hero's arrival and the conquering of Lake
Saigon.
We caught a $2 bus out of Phnom Penh headed for the
border (Moc Bai) and eventually Saigon. We received
our first taste of communist efficiency at the border.
To be fair, however, borders are always a pain in the
butt, but this one was made more entertaining by the
men in blue pajamas. On a side note, I hope that one
day I might rightfully lay claim to all the
professions I list on my visa applications, entrance
and exit forms, etc. I started simply enough with
"waiter", but have since evolved (as there is only one
direction from waiting tables) to "unemployed",
"roust-about", "mime", "robber baron", "dancer", "fun
guy" and "fromager". This trip has seen a steady
decline in my respect for international law and
custom, and I now make it a priority to smuggle fruit
across every border! Huzzah! (That's a joke, don't
worry)
The trip proceeded without incident, and upon our
arrival in Saigon, we met up with Sean's friend Tom
whom he met while buying a child here 4 years ago (I
think they got three, but who can keep track?). We
found a tolerable guesthouse, and seeing as HBO Crap
was showing "Lassie 6:Collecting Checks", we went out
into the night drizzle to search around. We hadn't
traveled a block before the skies opened and a
downpour commenced. We opted to "wait it out" in an
internet cafe, but after a solid 45 minutes I grew
restless. Having brought an umbrella, I ventured
forth. The streets were horribly flooded, and waves
literally lashed up against my shins as I waded along
the sidewalk. Turned down an alley advertising
several hostels, hoping to find one with more to offer
than three cots and a four story climb. The water had
risen to about the middle of my shin at this point,
and if you can imagine the streets of Saigon, you can
imagine what was now floating about my legs. The
usual cornucopia of third world trash; coconuts, bags,
bottles, Milo containers and a few rats. I did a
quick check for open sores (None on my legs!) and
forged ahead. By the time I had checked a few places
the water had gotten to my knees and my pants were
rolled up to my thighs. I'm sure I would have had to
beat the ladies off with a stick for the figure I cut,
had not the inclimate weather curbed their lascivious
desires! When I returned to the internet cafe with 5
dead leads and a nasty rash, Sean told me this was
typical for the wet season (and it has been). We
rushed back to our hostel, grabbed a quick bite and
Tom showed us around later in the evening when the
rain subsided. All in all, a memorable introduction
to Old Saigon.

2. On the Damsel met on the road and the Karaoke Bar
our Hero mistook for a Karaoke Bar.
The next evening Tom and one of his friends took us
out to see the town. We would follow national custom
and make sure that every venue we touched upon had
karaoke in some way, shape or form. I was with Tom's
friend Chom, on the back of his moped. Now, Chom
likes to talk, a lot, about his business, an
advertising firm. His job is, "to find beautiful
ladies" and recruit them for shoots. He'll expound on
this, ad nauseaum, even while driving a moped. I was
only slightly surprised, then, when he struck up a
conversation with a beautiful Vietnamese girl driving
her moped next to ours. I assumed he was trying to
get her to pull over so he could give her his business
card. She did, but he then explained to me that she
was going out with us tonight. Because Tom was
carrying both Sean and Ben on his moped, they thought
it best one of us should ride with Duag (pronounced
"yung"). As fate would have it, I somehow ended up
riding with her. She's a nice girl, 21, a student and
working part time at a Japanese restaurant. She said
I looked like "a little boy" without any facial hair
(I had shaved that day), but that I reminded her of
her favorite footballer, some 18 year old Frenchmen
named Roni. As any good American would, I chafed at
being compared to a Frenchmen, but I am a baller, if
not a footballer, and you need not have written the
book of love to understand that when any girl of any
nationality compares you to a professional soccer
player, that's a good thing.
We eventually made it to our first locale, an
out-out-out of the way bar whose door no tourist has
darkened in quite some time. They were excited to see
some white people, as Ben can attest to, as he was
offered a beer and invited to join a group of 40 year
old men right as we entered the door. Their version
of karaoke was a guy with a keyboard and a microphone.
Patrons would request a local favorite, he'd pound it
out, and they'd sing from memory. When it came to our
turn, Sean, Ben and I were at a loss as to how we
would pick a song. Not only did we know very few
entire songs from heart, we, rightly, assumed this guy
would know none of them. I made an executive decision
and chose "Tracks of My Tears" by Smokey Robinson.
The keyboardist had me sing a few lines, and before I
could reach the first "baby, baby" he decided Samba
was the way to go.
Now, if you ever owned a Casio keyboard between the
years of 1983 and 1992, you know the "Samba" beat I'm
talking about. It was the button after "Salsa" but
before "Swing". But when in Rome...
The samba beat commenced and Sean, Ben and I stared at
each other blankly. I had no idea how this was gonna
work but then, staring into the sea of Vietnamese
faces, we received a great knowledge. Like three
travelers on the road to Damascus, this truth set us
free, and a great peace descended upon us. The truth
was: no one gave a damn what we did.
Thus began the greatest karaoke revue of all time:
"Tracks of My Tears" into "The Theme from
Ghostbusters" into "Carry On My Wayward Son" by Kansas
into "Ben singing about how no one understood a word
he was saying and he loved English" into "Every Rose
Has Its Thorns" into "Brown Eyed Girl" (Sean's doing)
with a little "Here I Come Again" by Whitesnake to
finish it all off. By the end the owner was up on
stage with us, dancing, and a bunch of guys had come
up with fake plastic roses to signal their approval.
We were the bells of the ball! Everyone came up to
toast us, and I seemed to have won the affection of
Duag somewhere as well.
She was pouring my drinks, serving me food, she even
helped me put on my long sleeve shirt when it got
cold. It was really weird and I couldn't help feeling
like some nouveau colonial overlord. But it was nice
to talk to her and, after traveling with 3 guys for a
few weeks, I'd missed the civilizing touch of the
fairer sex.
We ended the evening in a "Private karaoke room",
which is Vietnamese code for "the top floor of
somebody's house where they've stuck a karaoke
machine". It was very strange: just the 6 of us (and
Duag doesn't sing karaoke, so there's no future there)
taking turns for 2 hours or so. Ben said this had
happened to him several times in Korea. All in all a
very fun night.

Anyhow, we spent the last day out in the countryside
with Tom's uncle, who, incidentally, fought alongside
the US army back in the early 70's. There are little
reminders like that all over the place. I'll allow
Sean and Ben to elaborate on that. But I do have one
more, short addendum. For those of you feeling left
out, perhaps wishing you might have a taste of Asia in
your own back yard, I give you:

The Vietnamese Bus Ride Experience!
Simply follow the easy instructions.
1. Go out and buy a Kia Sorenta with no frills, except
one, a TV in the back and a loud sound system.
2. Go to your local ethnic enclave (be it Chinatown,
Little Havana, Greektown, etc.) and make 4 new
friends. None of them can speak English and at least
one should smoke.
3. Pile them into the Kia.
4. Take the seat behind the driver, push his seat all
the way back, and stick a suitcase at your feet to
give the illusion that your right above the wheel
well.
5. Find an obscure Chinese sitcom on DVD, put it on
and turn the Cantonese soundtrack all the way up.
6. Now go off-roading...for 2 hours.
There you go, the Vietnamese bus ride experience!

Take care all, I promise the next won't be so long.
Casey