"You no marry? Really?"
We were halfway through the usual tick-list of questions routinely extinguished within the first five minutes of meeting pretty much anyone in Vietnam. The list usually went like this:
"What your name? Where you from? How long travel in Vietnam? Your first time Vietnam? How old are you? Are you marry?"
We had gotten to this point when he took one of the less-common forks in the road of this seemingly scripted conversation - still not entirely uncommon:
"Maybe you marry beautiful Vietnamese girl...?"
"Yeah, sure, maybe some day I'll marry a beautiful Vietnamese girl...".
I was pretty into my Cafe Sua Da in that early hour of the morning, and as I had been through this whole routine probably two or three times a day since arriving in Vietnam just over a month ago, I was barely paying attention; routinely sleepwalking my way through the conversation.
I had met Thay (actually spelled T-H-E, but for hopefully "obvious" reasons, I will continue to spell it phonetically) only moments earlier - he was to be one of our motorbike drivers and guides for the day. He was a friend of Fred's - the Australian guy that I was traveling with at the moment. Fred knew him well and trusted him.
"You like Vietnamese girl?" he continued after a couple of minutes, "You think Vietnamese girl very beautiful?"
"Of course I like the Vietnamese girls" I answered, right on cue... "some of the most beautiful girls in the world..."
This was infinitely true. Each one of them as beautiful as the next.
"I know a girl - very beautiful, she no marry! Maybe I call her...tell her come".
We had arrived by overnight bus only half an hour earlier - it was now six a.m.. Now, I am pretty sure that the original impetus that birthed the concept known as the "overnight bus" was more than likely one inspired by thoughts of offering travelers the option of a restful night sleep whilst they were pleasantly, comfortably whisked from one location to the next - barely even aware of the fact that they'd been locomoted; arriving, technically, well rested - ready to start their day with renewed freshness and exalted exuberance.
Of course the reality of the overnight bus is almost, without fail, an entirely different one:
Most times, if one is lucky - they knock off one, maybe two hours of fitful, restless sleep, before arriving in disarray and confusion, haphazardly gathering up possessions as they are rushed off the bus feeling about the same as if they had just woken unwittingly in an ice-packed bathtub in a dirty hotel with a missing kidney. This trip was certainly no exception. (I did a quick pat-down just to be sure. Yep - kidneys still intact).
A little while later, as I went to work on my second Cafe Sua Da - the strong coffee mingling with the sweetened-condensed milk - I was actually beginning to feel a renewed sense of awareness and lucidity. I started to wrestle with the possibility, in fact, that I might actually be able to salvage the day. I took advantage of this increasing heightened sense and began to survey the small cafe where we were presently seated with faculties previously unavailable.
This was a working-mans cafe in a small south Vietnamese village. Serious men drank seriously strong coffee and smoked cigarette after cigarette while the soccer game squawked and blared on in the background. Most faces carried the grave expression that I associate with those that I have seen in movies set in dark, old-school pubs in Ireland or England - serious and sullen. Apathy - alive and well, reared its ugly head and lit up another cigarette. Nevertheless, the place still had its fair share of smiling faces that mixed in appropriate contrast to the sullen ones to create a certain relaxed vibe. I was beginning to feel pretty comfortable.
Breakfast arrived just in time to erase the last lingering remains of my "overnight-bus-hangover" only moments before Thay informed me that "she" - the girl that he had decided I was to marry ; the same girl that I had forgotten he had mentioned - had arrived and that I should come and meet her.
Now, at this point - after being in Vietnam for as long as I have, I have come to understand the way that the Vietnamese view a "relationship". They are extremely pragmatic people, the Vietnamese - probably more-so in the smaller villages, less in the larger cities but I believe this pragmatism is inherent within their culture. In a Vietnamese marriage, husband and wife have very specific, old-school roles. The husband's role (as is quite traditional in most cultures, I suppose) is that of provider and money-maker, supporting not only the wife, but in many cases, much of her family as well, while the wife happily fully fulfills her role as "housekeeper" - washing, ironing and folding clothes, cooking, cleaning and raising children. Lines are much, much less blurred than they are in the west. In any case, Western men are seen- as they are in most impoverished countries, however misguided it might be, as a "jackpot"; the "catch" of all catches; the possibility for a real "way out"....
I was most definitely being set up as a JACKPOT!
Her role was to be that of the very willing, "Postage -free, Mail-Order-Bride ".
Now, I know that there is a segment of men from the Western population (I have met quite a few of them) that not only welcome these type of opportunities, but seek them out. All I can say is this: If this works out favorably for them - both of them, Western Man and Asian Woman... to this, I say - SO BE IT! Who am I to judge? If each person ultimately gets what each wants; not only accepts, but welcomes the roles that they must play...Well, to this, I say - More Power to 'Em! Happily Ever After; Go Forth and Prosper! Be Fruitful. Multiply. Take this woman, Take that man. ROCK ON!
For me personally? I think I'd rather sacrifice that kidney.
It was with this mind-set that I went out to be kind and say hello.
"Hello", I said.
"Hello", she said.
"Xin Chao" I said.
"Xin Chao" she said.
That was it. This was the extent of the conversation, This was followed by a couple of minutes spent in awkward silence - her English being extinguished - my non-existent Vietnamese pretty much flamed out (I could have also pulled off the Vietnamese equivalent of "excuse me/I'm sorry", "Thank you + (very much)" and "It's nothing" if the conversation had called for it. It didn't.) Eventually she dissolved back into conversation with Thay and barely even glanced in my direction. I finally decided to say goodbye (Xin Chao - both hello and goodbye) and gratefully went back to finish my breakfast.
For reasons beyond fathomabilty, Thay assured me that the two of them would come and join us in a little while. Several minutes later, however, I saw her get back onto her motorbike, relieve the kickstand of its duties, trip the electronic ignition and speed off into the distance. She must have thankfully, I decided, come to the realization that I was too old; not old enough; not her type; too tall, not tall enough; too poorly dressed; too well-dressed - any one of the HUNDREDS of possible "deal-breakers" that generally nip these kind of awkward, spontaneous set-ups in the bud.
Thay came back in and joined us moments later saying nothing about the meeting or her sudden departure. This seemed to confirm my recently-formed assumption that whatever deal that might have been brokered had petered out as quickly as it had been formed. I, for one was grateful. Internal chemical reactions were firing rapidly throughout my nervous system - synapses and neurons were sparking back to life - generous by-products of the protein and caffeine - and I was ready to GO. We were going to a very small village called Ba Chuk - the Killing Fields of Vietnam. I was both looking forward to it and readying myself for it emotionally....
Several hours later, the morning already a distant memory, Thay turned to me and asked quite nonchalantly, "So what you think? You want marry this beautiful Vietnamese girl?"
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