Return of the German

Early December in the little Bia Hoi. The guy on the far right is a retired colonel from the Vietnamese Army

The weekend after New Year was relatively quiet and we decided to go see the new Bond movie at the pictures in Vincom Towers. Vincom’s a modern shopping mall with four floors of shops, a cinema complex and then two towers of offices rising to 21 floors. The lift system is something of a mystery. To get to the offices you enter via one side of the building where there are two sets of three lifts. One set is signed as being for the even floors and one set as being for the odd numbered floors.

I will mention at this stage (though it has nothing to do with this story) that the Vietnamese word for “odd” as in “odd numbers” is the same word for “extension” as in telephone extension. So the English versions of many Vietnamese business cards have the business telephone number and then the words “odd number” 108 or whatever. The first time I saw this I said “but 108 isn’t an odd number” “Yes it is” said my interpreter. There followed several minutes of confusion before yet another double meaning was understood by both sides.

Despite the signage on the lifts they all appear to go to all floors, but late in the afternoon when everyone is supposed to be going home they will not go up. I stood on the 14th floor wanting to go to the 21st floor but no upward going lift would stop. They went straight from ground to 21st and then worked their way down stopping to collect people wanting to go home. We tried every combination of buttons we could think of but in the end we had to walk the seven flights of stairs. Once again I arrived at the top to find none of my Vietnamese colleagues capable of speaking. They spend too much time on motorbikes.

The lifts in the shopping complex are straightforward and not excessively used since there are escalators, but reaching the cinema on the 6th floor is more of a challenge, if you don’t know how.

The cinema is signed off the street, at the opposite end of the building to the offices entrance there is a little doorway which looks like a fire exit with the cinema sign above it and which leads onto a staircase which is actually a fire escape. Climb these metal stairs for six floors and you arrive in the corner of the cinema suite, the opposite corner to where the ticket desks are. There are also a couple of lifts (which I have yet to find) which make this journey less exhausting for the Vietnamese. This does not seem like enough access for a multi-screen complex and the secret is back on the top floor of the shopping complex. Unsigned and hidden in the back corners of the fourth floor, near the toilets, there are two sets of lifts which just go between the fourth floor and the sixth floor. It’s as if they don’t want anyone to see the movies. Despite all this the cinema was well attended and we enjoyed Casino Royale, even though we were on the front row next to the sound system – must remember to buy tickets in advance next time.

By Wednesday I could hear again and it was time for our language lesson. This time Derek had come up with the idea we should have the class in a restaurant and learn more about food. Teacher was delighted, and promised us he would not have lunch to make sure he was really hungry. We had intended to go to the big Van Ho Bia Hoi, but then thought better of it as all the seating is outside and it is still relatively cold at the minute. After a little debate I suggested we went to the restaurant at the end of the road, otherwise known as the restaurant with no food. We went there once before when we accidentally found it just inside the exhibition centre near the local supermarket. On that occasion it was empty and the staff outnumbered us three to one.

We trouped back there, five students and one teacher. Outside the door he helped us to translate the signs. It’s called ‘Countryside’ and that is the type of cuisine it claims to offer. It also caters for parties, weddings and special events. We went in. It was empty. A girl greeted us and showed us to the same table we occupied last time. She chatted to our teacher and he translated. She remembered us from before and was glad we had come again. She then told him what we had to eat last time, which sort of confirmed my view that they don’t get many customers since our last visit was over three months ago.

The menu in this place is long and extensive and we spent half an hour just practicing pronunciation and translating – it’s important to understand all the words for intestines if you want a pleasant dining experience.

Then we started to order, and as before the majority of the menu was off. They didn’t have 95% of the salads listed and only one of the beef dishes, and so it went on. Whole pages of the menu were not available today. We couldn’t have prawns because they were too expensive – said the waitress. When one of the group insisted on having snails the waitress looked at the ceiling and sighed, after which she said she would have to give us a discount on the minimum quantity as they were so expensive. None of these goings on seemed unusual to our teacher who at one point commented that the crab and vegetable soup I had tried to order was only available at lunchtimes – everyone in Vietnam knows that (apparently). Eventually we found enough to constitute a meal which we all enjoyed. Afterwards we were asked if we would like dessert, even though they didn’t have any. They would send out for it. We had green bean ice cream and green tea.

By pre-arrangement one of the women paid for the whole meal, this was our attempt to disconcert our teacher who had once given us a definition of a real man as “smokes, drinks and pays for the food”. He didn’t look too disconcerted, but then he has given up smoking recently.

We walked back slowly, trying to explain all our different leaving dates in Vietnamese – it’s hard to believe that the first of the volunteers I came out with will leave Vietnam in just over two months. As we sauntered past the little Bia Hoi the owner leapt out and called us in. Teacher made his excuses and set off home whilst the rest of us tried to explain we could not come to the Bia Hoi party at Tet. We drank beer and discussed many things few of which were understood. A Western couple walked past and were also called in and greeted like lost family. We were all seated together and began a light conversation in which it transpired they were Germans and lived not far from our house. Derek thought he recognised the man’s voice and similar thoughts were going through my mind, but he said he had only been here three weeks, so our theory seemed disproved before it got started. We drank, toasted and passed the time of day.

After a few more glasses he began to tell me about his love of dogs and about how he got quite angry that when he walked his dog the locals criticised him for not having it muzzled. “They don’t muzzle their dogs and at least mine is trained to behave” he warmed to his theme about double standards and how they put his back up. Then he said “I try to stay calm, but when I was here on holiday in September I really lost it, there was a dog which barked all night long. I totally lost my cool and took an iron bar to their gate”. At this point we all looked at each other and I said “IT WAS YOU! You’re THE German!” (see “Why more people should eat dog”)

I explained about the blog and our memories of the night he impersonated the Rank Gong. He laughed and his wife looked somewhat like she wanted to disown that particular episode of life. I don’t know what he is called yet, but I’ll probably find out tonight as the Bia Hoi owner thought we were getting on so well he’s invited us all round for dinner. Better not miss this one!

On Thursday evening I flew down to Saigon (HCMC). The complexity of design of the Vincom lifts plus my experiences at the two airports made me think in general about how the Vietnamese design things.

At the airports there are no consistent security procedures, at Hanoi my bag was scanned once and my passport checked twice, at HCMC the bag was scanned twice my passport checked three times and my ticket four times – its different every trip. The airports look like they could be anywhere in the world, modern with curved metal and glass roofs, polished floors, security guards and opulent business class lounges but the processes are distinctly Vietnamese.

I sat in the only comfy seats available to economy class passengers in one of the domestic departure lounges at Hanoi (there are two domestic departure lounges at opposite ends of the airport building – check the gate number before you follow the signs). I read my book feeling I was being watched. I was, firstly by the catering staff who insisted I had to buy something to sit in a comfy chair and secondly by a medium sized rat sitting in a large Chinese vase containing an artificial plant and munching on a previous traveller’s leftovers.

Once through the gate and out onto the tarmac we could see the plane less than fifty yards away, but we got on a bus to do a kilometre circuit round it. As the bus stopped by the plane all the people with seats at the front ran up the back stairs and visa versa, with the inevitable but apparently unforeseen consequences. Then we sat on the tarmac with no announcements until the plane finally pushed back half an hour late. There are hourly flights between Hanoi and HCMC and it can get confusing since a majority are late – the five o’clock flight that day left at the same time as the six o’clock, delays of four hours on a two hour flight are not uncommon, so it is possible to take a later flight and arrive before the earlier flight.

In HCMC the airport has been carefully designed to make the locals feel at home with built in congestion. Careful scheduling is also used to aid the process. When we arrived ours was the only plane disembarking and there was only one plane loading – but we were both in the same place. The corridor system from the gate lounges to the tarmac is shared. Getting on a plane you go out of the first floor gate lounge, along the corridor, down the stairs and across the tarmac. Getting off you go up the tunnel to the (same) first floor corridor and then down the (same) stairs into baggage reclaim. So we stood at the end of the corridor with Vietnam Airlines staff forming a wall in front of us whilst the departing passengers filled the corridor and stairs. Fifteen minutes later we had use of the corridor and stairs. There’s a flight of stairs for every two gates, I could see at least two more (empty) from where we were waiting, but there’s no way past the embarking passengers to reach them. Having only hand luggage I headed out to my next challenge – the taxis.

I think my main issue with taxis is communication. I’m not aware of being ripped off by those who drive you round the city ten times before they finally head for your hotel, nor those who try to haggle a fare which will be more than the meter (at Hanoi Airport it is the other way round – the meter will cost you more than the fixed prices on offer). However I never really manage to make myself completely understood. My taxi to the airport had driven straight past the pick up point, phoned me twice and rabbitted on in Vietnamese despite my pleas that I didn’t understand. He also insisted on conversing with me all the way to the airport. Nice guy but I hardly understood any of it and he didn’t seem too impressed with my answers to his questions either. It was the same in HCMC. The guy wanted to talk and I had the added disadvantage of the southern dialect to cope with. My brain hurt by the time he pulled up outside the hotel, I tipped him (he was friendly after all) which prompted him to jump out of the taxi and lead me across the road like I was a pensioner (oops, that’s true), hug me like a long lost lover and then walk backwards across the road to his taxi waving to me. When I went back to the airport it was a slow and gentle journey in a Lada which didn’t give the impression it could do much more than five miles an hour and the driver was silent so opportunities for miscommunication were limited.

My experiences have made me more attuned and sympathetic to those who have to communicate in a second language with someone who is also using a second language. I had a good example on the plane back. There were a group of Russians opposite me, two of them looked like retired shot putters who had put on a bit of weight and they spilled out of their seats threatening to crush the tiny Vietnamese woman sitting by them. As soon as the plane was in the air the young woman shot into the galley and a slightly hysterical conversation could be heard. She returned with a look of relief and a big smile. Picking up her things she turned to the Russians and said “You need all three seats, I go now” and was lead off to a free seat by the stewardess. The Russians took no offence and duly put up the seat arms and spread out. A little later dinner arrived and the stewardess asked “do you want pork with rice or beef with noodles?” “I will have the fish” replied one of the Russians.

That was no better than my last taxi ride of the day, from Hanoi airport back home. I went to the firm which offers fixed rates and was put into a seven seater taxi with a fixed price of $10. This usually causes a problem because our house is at the far end of town. As soon as I explained where I lived (I don’t expect the drivers to know where the road is anymore) the driver began to rant about how far it was and $10 was not a fair fare. He phoned his office who told him to shut up and get on with it after which he continued to chunter under his breath and shake his head a lot. I have some sympathy for these guys as it is further than the hotel district on which the prices are based. So after a while I said to him, in my best Vietnamese, “Ok, I’ll pay you 180,000 dong”, which is heading for $12. He immediately went into a rant, banging on the dash board and shouting “No No No ten do-lar ten do-lar” I can only assume he thought I was trying to get the price down even further. I tried again with equal success so in despair I left it. He muttered under his breath for the next ten miles and then engaged me in a conversation about how long I’d been in Vietnam. When I got out I gave him the 180,000 and all of a sudden we were bosom buddies again. I hate to think what would happen if I ever had to converse with a Thai or Cambodian using Vietnamese as a common language. Its just lucky for me my first language is English.