KFC rules the world

The Colonel plucked the hairs of Ronald McDonald and ate his big red shoes for lunch. I declare the Colonel international king of fast food. KFC rocked it in South Africa and now rocks it in VN. During my stay in VN, I have likely eaten at KFC 6-8 times. That likely tripled my KFC attendance over my lifetime. In the moments of desperation for greasy American food, I go into the world of KFC.

A woman dressed in Jackie Onassis like pink suit politely opens and greets you at the door. You can order the traditional chicken sandwich, pieces of fried chicken, popcorn size chicken, and a glass of fizzing Pepsi. There’s even a thimble size of mash potatoes and gravy. The shrimp burger and the fish burger kick off and end the seafood selection. I always get the #5, spicy crispy zinger chicken sandwich, glass of Pepsi, small fries. It’s safe-looking and without sharp bones. Then five minutes later it’s all in my stomach.

In other news, ketchup in Viet Nam is below subpar. It should not be called ketchup. I had my first pizza and burger in 6 months. I felt disgusted afterwards but terribly happy.

Watch out, America, I will eat your fridge out when I come home.

How old are you?

That question comes with two possible answers.

Calculation Number #1 - Western Style:
Current Date – Date of Birth = Round down the Age in Years.
Example: 4/7/06 – 10/6/79 = 26 years 5 months 1 day = 26 years

Calculation Number #2 – Viet Style:
Current Year – Year of Birth = Age in Years
Example: 2006 – 1979 = 27 years

The Viet Style calculation is inevitably higher or equal to the Western Style calculation. Once the birth date is passed on the calendar, then the two calculations are the exact same.

Not until recently did Viets remember their actual date of birth rather than just the birth year. Why? Because Viet Tet New Year is considered to be everyone’s birthday.

Fever and chills, oh My!

Since I never technically ruled out TB when I had a persistent 2 month cough and since I recently been feeling extra fatigued with nightly fevers and chills, I decided to go to a private clinic to get it all straighten out.

Fortunately in VN, everyone can be their own doctor and order any lab test of their liking. My favorites today are Anterior-Posterior Chest X-Ray and Mantoux test for a whopping 55,000 dong ($3.50).

With unexciting negative results, I head home with my own beautiful X-Ray.

The Ants vs the Gecko

The gecko is one strange character. It moves like a bad stop motion film or sticks to the wall silent ready to do more silence. What does a gecko do all day but be silent on the wall?

When my girlfriend Krista was here, she bought a box of plain Marie brand cookies. Krista ate maybe one quarter of the box and left it slightly opened in my room before we went off of for a tour of Viet Nam.

Five days later, back from the tour, Krista remembers the tasty cookies and asks me for them. I handed her the box. She opened the box. She dropped the box. She screamed.

Like a superhero, I grabbed the box and opened it once more. Inside sat the entire intact bone remnants of a Gecko next to a devouring selection of cookies.

My guess is that the feisty ants wanted more than sweets and ate the living lights out Mr. Gecko. What’s the moral of the story? Don’t be reincarnated as a Gecko.

The Other Phams

I have only met my grandfather (my dad’s father) only once. Ten years ago when my family visited Viet Nam for the first time, my grandfather met with my family in Nha Trang. From that passing encounter, I only remember thinking, “Grandfather has the biggest snaggle incisor I have seen in my life.” Tragically that is all I can remember about him when I was a sixteen year old.

My fleeting memories of him are the result of a complicated family history that I still do not fully understand. With the Viet Nam war in the backdrop, my grandfather left my grandmother who was a young mother in her early twenties and my father who was barely a toddler at the time. That sad story was replayed by thousands of other Vietnamese families during the tumultuous civil war. Despite numerous attempts by my father, he never forged a strong relationship with my grandfather, because my grandfather never fully embraced him as a son.

Today, my grandfather sits silent on his comfy sofa chair. Periods of unsettling emptiness appear in glossy eyes. A plastic bag is wrapped around his genitalia to capture spontaneous urination. His enduring snaggle tooth is gone, but so are his other teeth. He responds with semi-comprehensible Vietnamese, but most of his vocalizations resemble only gibberish. He is a man lost in his surviving body.

About 9 years ago, my grandfather suffered a stroke with major cerebral bleeding. Consequently a hole was drilled through his frontal skull bone to release pressure in brain cavity. Now, the hole is only covered by sunken skin.

Although most of his mind is lost to the world, his legacy remains visible in his other family. With a different wife, he had five children. Three remain alive as my half-aunts and half-uncle. Also the branches of the family tree extend further with five new half-cousins.

Previously I was lost in a new world of Phams. I did not know them; I am not directly connected to the heart wrenching decisions of my grandfather. However, our once intersected blood lines continue to unknowingly run in parallel. My grandfather’s mistakes carry deep wounds, but I never carried these wounds. That is not my story, but rather my father’s and grandmother’s story. My uncles, aunts, cousins, and I are only the observers of this sadness.

Unexpectedly this family extended their hearts to me with the willingness to mend the wounds and forge a new family together. I do not want to erase the past and I do not expect immediately healed wounds, but I always welcome an open heart and open mind.

Can’t we all just get along.

To Wear Jeans or a Bikini?

The following piece is brought to you by my girlfriend Krista, who courageously visted me in Viet Nam for 17 days. She braved the heat, the stares, and my stubbornness. I applaud her for willingness to use chopsticks and eat my grandmother's chicken. You're the best Krista.

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As many already know, I recently visited Cuong in Vietnam. This trip was by far the most culturally outrageous trip of my life, so far. There were many adventures, filled with emotion all across the board. I chose to share a particularly funny story, in which I am more of a foreigner than I have ever been in my entire life.

In the United States, the beach scene varies from eighteen year olds in tiny bikinis to grandma in a ruffle skirt one piece. No matter who they are, if they plan to swim, they wear a bathing suit. Having been raised by a family who had a minor addiction to the ocean; I spent summers in North Carolina hanging out all day in wee attire. A few weeks ago, I found out the Vietnamese norms for attire are quite contrary to my own. In fact, the Nelson summer gear would be considered ridiculous in Vietnam.

My first experience at the beach in Vietnam was like that dream everyone has had, where they are naked in public and can’t get a hold of any clothing. Cuong, his aunt, her fiancéé, and I went for an afternoon trip to the beach. I thought our intentions were to soak up the sun and enjoy the water. We arrived at the beach where most people were under large umbrellas. The women were wearing long sleeve shirts, pants, and any shield from the “evil sun” or “men’s eyes.” I, on the other hand, came prepared for an experience like that in the US. It was my mistake. A word to the wise: do your research before exploring an exotic destination.

After hanging under my umbrella with the group, I was desperate to feel the cool sea water on my skin and the golden sun on my face. I gave Cuong the look of uncertainty. Do I dare wear my tinny weenie bikini in front of the fully clothed swimming women? We gave each other a smile, and went for the changing room. We walked out, hand in hand. Cuong stood by my side the entire way, knowing he was not rebelling like I was. In fact, the men in Vietnam wear less than the American men. Speedos and those tight euro shorts are common. We made the walk of pride to the Great China Sea. Most of the beach front held a long stare at my lack of cloth, while I held a long stare strait towards the Sea. The sea had never been such a refuge.

Cuong and I swam for a while, enjoying the waves and cool water. I was pleased to be with such an open man, who supported my obvious determination and rebellion. I have a strong belief that women should love their bodies and expose their skin to what fits their comfort level. My comfort level happened to be a bikini. I chose to maintain it.

While I was physically comfortable, I was not culturally comfortable. My lesson was learned. My friend Holly lectured me when I arrived back in Minnesota. She reminded me of the saying, “when in Rome, do as the Romans do.” While I had my convictions, the rest of the trip I tried to respect the Vietnamese norms and cover more of my flesh. I chose to assimilate as much as my stubborn spirit would allow. I was grateful for my understanding boyfriend Cuong, who stood by my side no matter what I showed up in on any given outing.

The Cemetery of Pham Quoc Cuong

I mentioned in a previous blog that I discovered that my Grandfather had a child named Pham Quoc Cuong with his second wife. This half-uncle was born May 1979, only five months before me, but only survived up to 1 month. I am not certain what caused his death, but I may have heard the word Tuberculosis a few times from my half-family in Da Nang. When my parents named me, they never knew that my half-uncle existed and never knew that my grandfather had also chosen the name Pham Quoc Cuong.

I visited his burial plot as well as my great-grandfather’s and great-grandmother’s plot in Quang Ngai. The cemetery sat next to an enormous shrimp farm. I could hear the waves crashing the shoreline and hint of salt water as I tipped-toed through the cemetery. The sky was gray and cloudy as if the sky was prepared for a cemetery type of day. Countless unmarked grass mounds or dirt mounds scattered erratically; each mound represented the remains of a once vibrant soul and known to their loved ones. Old dried-out and burnt-out sticks of incense litter across the mounds. Over time, some of the mounds have standing simple tombstones or transformed into massive decorated concrete plots.

Cemeteries in Viet Nam are parallel in decorations and flamboyance to the cemeteries in New Orleans. These concrete masses become a mini house for the souls of the afterlife. The over the ground burials maybe made of marble or cement and painted ostentatiously with pinks or bright blues. But the Quang Ngai Cemetery did not have this lavishness. This is the run-of-the-mill rural town where most people still lives on mini-farms and microwaves seem useless.

So I stood in the cemetery with semi-strangers looking at the burials of semi-strangers. Yet all these semi-strangers shared my blood and DNA. Eeriness crept up my back when I stared at the tombstone of Uncle Pham Quoc Cuong. My uncle quietly lies in the hardened dirt of our homeland while I stand above as a foreigner learning about my esoteric past. I think in many ways my past will always remain a mystery because the answers were and will remain buried deep below my feet.

Ca Phe Sua Da

One cup of Vietnamese Java will make you stand for hours. It’s more 3-4 times more potent than your sissy Starbucks coffee grounds. Vietnamese like to filter the coffee freshly before your eyes. The coffee grounds are placed in a small tin device that sits comfortably on top of a glass. Within the glass can be nothing or some gooey condensed milk. Hot steaming water is placed into the tin device and the fantastic caffeine punch starts to drip through the filter. About 5 minutes later, with some quick stirring of the condensed milk and coffee, you get some sweet hot coffee. But Viet Nam can be blistering hot and humid, so many like to throw in some crushed ice into the glass. And thus the name Ca Phe (coffee) Sua (milk) Da (ice).

There are variations of this killer drink across the country. Some cheap restaurants dilute the volatility of the coffee with corn juice or just too much ice. In the middle of the country, they like it strong. A cup of coffee looks like a shot glass of coffee. Some like it black and then do it without the sua, but instead with repeated spoonfuls of sugar.

But however you spin it, the Vietnamese love their coffee. Coffee shops are the national hang out and coffee drinking is the national past time. You can drink in the morning or in the middle of the night. It’s more popular than the bar (but believe me, the Viets love their beer too).

Fortunately, if you don’t like coffee, fruit blends and juices are second to coffee. Name your fruit and they will blend you a soothing cool drink.

So while you are in Viet Nam, get some java one night to keep you pumping and get some fruit drinks to get you refreshed.

A New Lease on Laptop Life

About two weeks ago, my laptop refused to bless me with its bright presence. I would click on the power and it stubbornly sat silent. I went through the stages of loss and was afraid I could not recuperate with such a death. Seemingly all my work from South Africa and Viet Nam disappeared in an instant. Gone are my pictures and all my data. I crossed my fingers hoping that my hard drive survived and only my motherboard wigged out.

With Khoa’s help, I send the laptop off to a local computer store. I threw down a small sum of $60 for inspection, a motherboard replacement, and installation. Back in the states, that’d likely cost me $200 for similar service. So I had a heck of a deal.

After being notified about a successful resuscitation of my laptop without any damage to my hard drive, I showed up at the store last Friday to pick up my little digital friend, waited for more than 30 minutes, and then I got the “oops, we actually didn’t fix your laptop yet” response. Then last Monday morning, I reappeared at the store. After 15 minutes of waiting, I calmly said, “You guys have made me wait for a long time. First on Saturday and now this morning. That’s not right.”

The owner of the store turns around and blankly asks, “What do you want me to do?” I gave him no response, but other than shake my head in mild frustration.

He continues with “This is how business is done. I’m doing you a favor at this price. You can have your laptop back, but I will take out the motherboard. I don’t want your money.” He then calls his associate and orders him to remove my motherboard.

Shell-shocked, I am forced to apologize even though I am at no fault. I had to beg him to keep the new motherboard in my laptop which I dearly needed to do my work. Without my laptop, I am paralyzed. I continued to plead for 20 minutes as he nonchalantly ignored my presence. He wanted to show his strength by stomping on me and he certainly did that morning. I had no choice, but to succumb to his whims.

He finally allowed me to keep my motherboard, but required me to pick it up in the late afternoon, which made no sense to me. But powerless, I agreed to his demands.

At least now my laptop wakes up everyday with a wonderful brightness.

Guess Who's Back?

After over a two week absence from the web, I have returned with glorious Viet photos. Check the pics out on the right side panel under Viet Nam Albums. Enjoy them with a bowl of pho (beef noodle soup) and ca phe sua de (coffee with milk and ice). And soon I will incessantly bombard you with more blog stories. Stay tuned.