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.-------------------------------------------------------
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.
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