I remember being dreadfully underwhelmed by Ha Noi the first time that I came here in ‘04, primarily due to the misguided stereotypes that I had learned about the city before ever laying eyes on it – namely that the people in Ha Noi are cold and a little standoffish and that Ha Noi is not as exciting or interesting as Ho Chi Minh City. Additionally, my study abroad program was approaching its conclusion and many of the students were at our boiling points, no longer able to stand the company of each other for longer than was absolutely necessary. So Ha Noi was in a sense a self-fulfilling prophecy; I didn’t think it would be good and went out of my way to prove the point, looking for the negatives instead of seeing Ha Noi for everything that it was or could have been to me.

Suffice it to say then that this solo jump from Ho Chi Minh City to Ha Noi could not have come at a better time. I’ve been reevaluating whether or not Ho Chi Minh City is a place that I am comfortable calling home and deliberating alternatives. Ha Noi, the political and cultural capital of Viet Nam, has for the last several months been at the top of my list, and I have a strong feeling that after returning to Ho Chi Minh City tomorrow, the impetus for a relocation to Ha Noi will be even stronger. The more I visit Ha Noi, the more I like it. Negative preconceptions about Hanoian people and culture have all but disappeared and been replaced by real considerations for where I would live in the city and how I would make it happen, were I to make the move.

Before I leap too far ahead, though, I’d like to summarize the highs of the last ten days. Other than my first full day in the north, which was spent entirely in Ha Long Bay with my best friends from the United States, my trip was devoid of most touristy destinations. Having been to the north of Viet Nam two times already, my goal for this stay was to eat good food otherwise unavailable in Ho Chi Minh City, spend time talking to as many expats and Hanoians as possible about the logistics of living here, and finally to spend time thinking about my future in Viet Nam.

Ha Noi is a better fit than Ho Chi Minh City

When tourists go to Ha Noi after visiting Ho Chi Minh City, they tend to immediately notice that the pace of life in Ha Noi is much slower than the pace of life in Ho Chi Minh City. There’s an almost sedative-like quality to Ha Noi, what with its four seasons, calm lakes and mountainous skylines, unending rice fields, and laid back citizens. The motorbike drivers here are less pushy, the street sellers and shop owners alike are less intrusive of one’s personal space, and, compared to Ho Chi Minh City, Ha Noi is clean, even in the most tourist-populated areas.

Over the last several years I have been conditioned to accept the trash, traffic, lack of privacy, and culture of money in Ho Chi Minh City. So traveling from Noi Bai International Airport to the Old Quarter of Ha Noi, near Hoan Kiem Lake, was a shock to my senses. I noticed not the pollution but the mountains in the horizon. I noticed women and men in conical hats knee deep in rice patties, crouched down in positions that seemed to have been sustained for hours. And, above all, I noticed the attitude of the Hanoians, who seemed to gaze upon me with a metered curiosity that was not at all overbearing.

Ultimately, the only thing that has kept me glued to Ho Chi Minh City for so long has been the friendships that I have made there over the years. Ho Chi Minh City feels like a first love who I’m not yet ready to let go of, despite there being better locations and alternatives for me. With that in mind, feeling so strongly compelled to relocate to Ha Noi leaves me with a sense of guilt, as if I am abandoning everything that I’ve built with others – relationships and memories – in Ho Chi Minh City.

Ha Noi has an established expat community

Every single visitor to and potential long-term resident of Ha Noi should be aware of The New Hanoian. I found out about this website shortly after arriving in Ha Noi last week, and it has proved itself to be the most valuable source of information on the city available. The Ha Noi article on Wikitravel and information provided via Lonely Planet simply do not compare to the depth of knowledge and guidance from Hanoian expats available on The New Hanoian website.

I make strong mention of The New Hanoian to segue into another important consideration. Ha Noi, the cultural, historical, and political capital of Viet Nam, has an established expat community that is willing to help itself out. Ho Chi Minh City, despite having the largest population in Viet Nam and being the fifth richest city in Southeast Asia, does not have an expat community that provides information to its members as well as it should. This makes navigating Ho Chi Minh City more difficult than navigating Ha Noi. It also means that while the expat community in Ha Noi may be smaller than its counterpart in Ho Chi Minh City, there are easier ways to get in touch with new contacts, friends, and hobbyists in Ha Noi.

What I ate in Ha Noi

Tourists don’t come to Viet Nam to eat pizza, but expats in Viet Nam eat pizza to stay sane. Vietnamese food is excellent, but eating it every day can become burdensome. It was that thought which led me to eat good food in Ha Noi, no matter the origin. I enjoyed French, Vietnamese, and Italian cuisines alike, and have the extra pounds to prove it.

Luna d’Autunno: For the last 14 months I have been searching for excellent pizza in Viet Nam. Sadly, the pizzas here are depressing reminders that I’m no longer in the United States, where superior pizza pies are readily available. Imagine my surprise, then, when my mouth tasted the brick oven baked crust from Luna d’Autunno’s this week. Luna d’Autunno delivered a pizza so good that after my first bite, I thought, “I would move to Ha Noi for this.” I don’t know if that says more about the quality of pizzas at Luna d’Autunno or the lack of good pies in Ho Chi Minh City.

Lá: My other favorite restaurant trip during my time in Ha Noi was my visit to Lá, an expat owned and operated spot that serves soups and salads, Western cuisine, and Vietnamese food alike. The food stood on its own legs and was good enough to warrant a second visit, but what really stood out to me was the familiar atmosphere of the restaurant-slash-bar. On both occasions that I ate at Lá I felt at home. The owner, a tall Canadian man with an agreeable disposition, impressed me with his attentiveness to his guests. And the other expats there – one gentleman in particular from Kansas City who has been in Viet Nam for the last ten years – were welcoming, talkative, and engaging. Suffice it to say that if I do make the leap to Ha Noi, Lá will be one of my most frequented restaurants.

Other food stops in Ha Noi included Quan An Ngon, Angelina’s at the Sofitel Metropole, Bobby Chinn’s, Green Tangerine, and Khazaana. Reviewing these locations was a formidable task in and of itself.

A final, brief summary from my trip to Ha Noi

The hotel: I stayed at the Golden Sun Hotel, located at 23 Hang Hanh in Ha Noi’s Old Quarter. The hotel was a tad pricey, but given its quality of service, its endearing staff members, and its location in relation to Hoan Kiem Lake, I was happy to pay for my ten days there.

The lakes: My favorite part about Ha Noi, other than its proximity to the mountains, are its lakes. West Lake, a location heavily populated with expats, and Hoan Kiem Lake, a morning exercise route for many Hoanians, fast became two areas in Ha Noi that I was drawn to. I created videos of both locations (West Lake video; Hoan Kiem Lake video).

I am undecided

My journey to Ha Noi was as much about enjoying a somewhat new location in Viet Nam as it was about reflecting on my future in Viet Nam. I have been having serious doubts about the sustainability of a life in Ho Chi Minh City, for a number of reasons, and Ha Noi pushed me even closer to making the decision to relocate.

When I arrived in Viet Nam for the third time 14 months ago, I settled down in the Mekong Delta. That was far too rural for me, so I moved to Ho Chi Minh City, which has become far too hectic, noisy, and dirty for me. Perhaps the next logical jump will be to Ha Noi.

Each time that I come here, Ha Noi’s positives show themselves to be stronger than I first remembered them, and that is a fact that I must not ignore. Time will tell where I end up, but if I do pull the trigger and move to Ha Noi, if only for a year, I have a feeling that it will be a decision I will not regret.

I’m excited about Japan; I really am. But at the same time I’m quite nervous, given the fact that I only have one semester of college-level Japanese under my belt and two months left to prepare for intensive Japanese immersion. A part of me wishes that I still had the youth, naivete, and false confidence that I once had before coming to Viet Nam for the first time. Maybe then I would not be filled with so much anxiety about living in Japan as a mute, language-less and clueless of local norms, idioms, and overall swagger. Then again those are gained only by leaping head first into the fire. I’ve done it once; surely I can do it again.

Ultimately, I don’t think I will ever be the kind of traveler who is completely satisfied with short visits to foreign lands. Only during long term stays or study is one able to pick up on the nuances of a society. So I’m treating this trip to Osaka as a trial run for a longer return to Japan in 2010, which since last year has always been the plan. Viet Nam is home; it is definitely where my heart is. But day by day I am growing lazy to change or to dream of learning new languages and forging new friendships, and that’s precisely the reason I originally began traveling.

After Japan I will be going to the United States for a visit with family, friends, colleagues, and clients. I wish I could say for how long I will be in America, but as is always the case, there’s a tension — and compromise to be made — between my schedule, the schedule of those who I am closest to, and my state of mind. I know that I will not at all be comfortable drifting around Texas for several months while my pursuits in Asia are put on pause, but I also realize that by the time I see my loved ones this year, it will have been a full 18 months since I last met them face to face.

Houston is no longer home, and the minute that I left its city limits, Longview forever ceased to be my home. My closest friends are all in educational transition phases, and my family members are dispersed throughout Texas, juggling their nine-to-fives, personal lives, and future plans. I’m awfully proud of everyone in my life who seems to be doing something with the short amount of time that he or she has on this tiny blue planet, but equally confused as how best to manage my time in the States for visits.

That said, I will definitely be in the following locations during my visit to the States:

• Dallas, Texas
• Houston, Texas
• Kilgore, Texas

And I will tentatively be in the following locations:

• Okmulgee, Oklahoma
• San Antonio, Texas
• Arlington, Texas

As soon as I finish my time in the United States, I will return to Asia, most likely Viet Nam for the first half of 2010 and Japan for the second half of the year, depending on how my trip to Osaka, Japan, goes.

Singapore was amazing. In my next entry I will write about my short week there, and the lasting impact that my trip to the beautiful city-state had on me.

There have been a few online chats dedicated to this burger joint, but none of them have offered an exhaustive menu. The fine folks at Black Cat sent me their menu via email, and until Geoffrey Deetz — the wonderful owner of Black Cat — finishes the company website, the following menu will suffice.

[Enlarge Gallery]

Menu 2008

Breakfast

Drinks

Specials

Brunch Menu 2008

Brunch

Set Brunch

Burgers

Sandwiches

Sandwiches

Soups and Salads

Juice & Smoothies

For expatriates in need of a serious American-style burger, look no further than Black Cat. Also, give some of the desserts a whirl. The cheesecake brownie is intense.

Black Cat Details:

• Address: 13 Phan Van Dat, Q.1, Ho Chi Minh City
• Phone: 08 3829 2055
• Try: Any burger. You will feel like you’re back home.
• Black Cat on ChefMoz
• Black Cat on gas•tron•o•my

A Sickness Resolved

What I failed to prepare myself for several months ago, immediately after my surgery, was the truth that during my recovery period I would feel lethargic, uneasy, and slightly forlorn about the notion of living so far away from the United States. Shortly after my minor procedure home seemed to be an unreachable haven. And I didn’t understand how I could go from loving my stay in Viet Nam to wanting out as soon as possible. But as soon as I fully recovered, my answer was found in the meds.

My doses were killing any sense of appreciation for the uniqueness of the path that I have chosen, effectively snuffing out the joy that Viet Nam has offered me ever since I came to this beautiful nation. When I finished them, however, my overall level of happiness skyrocketed. Sights and sounds in Viet Nam became more vibrant, Vietnamese food became more delicious, and my relationships with the locals grew even closer.

Whereas after my unpleasant hospital visit I wanted nothing more than to be alone, I now find myself craving my daily coffee breaks with friends, because I know that our conversations are what craft my vision of Viet Nam. A close friend in Bangkok pointed out to me how lucky we both are to be living such unique, enviable lives in Southeast Asia. He was right, and I will never forget that.

A Future Revisited

The original goal was two years. Two years I would stay in Viet Nam, and after that I would spin a globe with closed eyes in deference to my destiny. But my desire to stay in Viet Nam for that long has wavered. I sometimes find myself ready to hop on a plane to Japan, China, Singapore, or even a South American nation like Chile, where my mother lives.

I believe it to be the truth of all nomads that our futures are as uncertain as tomorrow. We itch for peace of mind, constantly striving to control our environments and interpersonal relationships; however, our adaptability is both a virtue and a flaw. At the slightest hint that my day to day life in Viet Nam is not where I would like it to be, I habitually search out new adventures, unwilling to buckle down and grind down the road bumps.

I have come to a truth, though, that no matter where I go, how many times I hop on a plane or wipe the slate clean, I will always be yoked down by my fundamental unwillingness to stick to a plan. When a previously set in stone two year stay in Viet Nam becomes one, by my own choosing, I create more problems for myself and waste time not enjoying my life but fretting over a million ‘what next’s. This attention deficit disorder towards my goals and overall well-being must be stopped.

It is for this reason that I have decided to stay steady in my plans to live and thrive in Viet Nam while I am here. I will of course visit the United States next year but any thought of packing up and leaving Viet Nam does not exist in my mind anymore. I love that Viet Nam offers me the opportunity to work, save money, increase my level of proficiency in Vietnamese, and write home to tell about it. At this very moment, there is no other place in the world that I would rather be.

The Vietnamese

A final change that I have noticed is my perspective on my relationships with Vietnamese people and their culture. I would have told you a year ago that given my study abroad experiences in Viet Nam and close relationships with Vietnamese Americans in the United States, I completely understand Vietnamese people. The truth is that I don’t, and I don’t know that I ever will.

Language and culture, even my own, take a lifetime to understand. They are not commodities to be guzzled up and digested in six months, twelve months, or even twenty-four months. I used to believe that my tight grip on the Vietnamese language and observance of the locals gave me insight into the collective mind of Viet Nam and its descendants.

While I am in a better position than a casual observer to understand what makes Vietnamese people tic, I don’t know that I will ever quite grok why women are the way that they are here, or why men share the values that they share with each other.

Because of this I don’t entertain the idea of having a romantic relationship with a local – the stakes are just too high. Close friendships that involve deep, unabated interpersonal understanding are already hard enough to achieve with a Vietnamese local. Pushing for something more, given my own quirks, would be playing with fire.

Don’t get me wrong. The women in Viet Nam are absolutely charming and engaging. But they are also degrees removed from my American perspective of politics, economics, social values, and cultural traditions. I place great value on discussions that an American would deem central to American intellectualism. Those types of chats come few and far between with women in Viet Nam, so I find myself often in wanting.

Ultimately, I’m happy here. There is always room for improvement, but the bottom line of pros to cons in Viet Nam sharply leans towards a positive return on my investment of time in southeast Asia. I’m glad that I came, and I am confident that in six months I will be delivering a message with a similar tone.

Unfortunately, the last two months have been quite difficult, to say the least.  My Miss Universe vacation in Nha Trang during July was not as enjoyable as it could have been due to a severe case of constipation.  I spent most of my time either in bed or at the pharmacy trying to medicate myself by any means necessary.  Once my several week long bout of discomfort ended, it was replaced by diarrhea, the true hallmark of any Westerner’s visit to Viet Nam.  I believe that no matter how careful one is when one comes here, one will always find a way to an upset stomach.

My digestive blues subsided but were soon replaced with another, more serious, medical problem.  Last week, I noticed a small bump on the back of my upper thigh, lower buttocks region.  In just three days the bump had swelled to the size of a lemon, forcing me to schedule an immediate appointment with a surgeon at the International SOS hospital on 65 Nguyen Du.  I thank heavens that I am in Sai Gon right now, because I simply do not trust the healthcare in the lower Mekong Delta.

My appointment was less of a chat and more of the actual procedure.  I walked into International SOS and one hour later was laid down on my stomach on a hospital bed, flanked by two nurses and a doctor.  The large abscess had grown so rapidly and caused me so much pain that I didn’t even notice the fact that my privates were exposed to the world.  As my doctor began injecting my abscess with a local anesthetic and cutting it open, two thoughts were primarily on my mind: pain and how different Viet Nam really is.

The pain, although excruciating, did not bother me that much, as the anesthetic did its job quite nicely.  What did grab my attention was how my Vietnamese doctor completely lacked the sort of bedside manner that I had grown accustomed to back in the United States.  My surgeon was like a machine, barely talked to me, and promptly stood up and left shortly after draining my body of its poisonous blood.  There was no reassurance, no guidance during my procedure on the steps my doctor was taking to heal me, and no explanation as to why I may have developed my abscess.

Bedside manner is important to me, especially in a place like Viet Nam.  I found that my nurses were far more caring than my doctor at International SOS, and the general tone around the hospital was not as welcoming as I imagined it should have been.  Foreign and local doctors alike brushed past me with little acknowledgement and I even remember the hospital staff discussing what they would eat for lunch and dinner during my procedure.  Perhaps my perception of a lack of professionalism was wrong, but for a first timer to a Vietnamese run hospital, my first impression was not very pleasant.

I must stay in Sai Gon for another two weeks and visit the hospital every day.  My abscess was so large that my doctor stuffed my open wound with a wick, thus disallowing my cut to close and allowing it to heal from the inside out.  My first post-operation visit to the hospital was terrible.  I had let out so much blood that my wick was stuck to the cut and hell to remove from my body.  Thankfully, the nurse who changed my bandages was so kind and helpful that we worked through the pain together.  Even on three Codeine tablets a day, I am definitely still feeling the pain of an open wound.

These recent health problems have made me reconsider staying in Viet Nam for the long haul.  I’m simply not in a clean environment like back home.  Pollution and trash are constant irritants, food preparation safety is ignored more often here than back home, and people do not wash their hands as much as they should.  This external barrage of bacteria on my body far outmatches the allergenic irritants back home in Houston.  So I’m stuck with another decision of whether to stay and risk further health hurdles, or to return home, where there is superior healthcare and superior bedside manner.  What is a traveler to do?

“I have a question.  Those women, down there at the bar, are they working?”

“You mean selling sexual relationships?”

“Yes”

“Do you look down on them?”

“No.”

“Then yes, they are working.”

Viet Nam is no Bangkok, but here, sex sells.  Women stand in alleyways seeking single foreign men, congregate at Sai Gon night clubs and bars in search of foreign currency, and know exactly what to say and how to say it to attract a second look.

The way those who have never been to Southeast Asia would tell it and like to believe, female prostitution is as abundant as rice in this part of the world.  While this could not be further from the truth, paid sex, for those who want it and are willing to seek it out, is available any time, anywhere.

Tu Xuong, one of the most popular prostitution streets in Ho Chi Minh City’s District 3, was my home during my first ever stay in Viet Nam four years ago.  Nightly, women on mopeds would sweep the street looking for local Vietnamese men and foreigners alike with whom to do business.

Seeing the women, who are by slang called flower sellers, became so commonplace after a time that they blended into the scenery of the country.  They were no more apparent to me then than street lights or corn sellers and remain no more noticeable now than moped drivers or other fellow travelers.  Even with bar after bar lining the major tourist streets in downtown Sai Gon, I simply don’t notice Vietnamese prostitutes the way that first time visitors recognize them.

By nature, I am a cynic and a realist.  Prostitution neither surprises me nor outrages me.  I do not feel upset when propositioned for sex on a nightly basis in Viet Nam, and, more importantly, do not judge the women who choose to take that risk with backpackers, sex tourists, and locals in this country.  I do not pity every prostitute I meet or presume to believe that every single woman who sells her body in Viet Nam was forced into it, but at the same time feel a sense of sadness for those who have no other choice of work.

Despite the inordinate amount of pornography back home, Americans generally look down upon prostitution industries, especially those in Southeast Asia.  Arguments take on the form of blaming perverted Western men for the Asian sex trade while concurrently pointing the finger at soulless Asian women who seemingly have no morals or no self respect.  Relationships between Western men and Vietnamese women are put under scrutiny ad nausea, and Western men, self included, have to fight to prove that not all of us come here for sex, or at least the paid kind.

On the contrary, local Vietnamese discuss prostitutes with me the same way that an American would speak about a single mother of three working a dead end job on a minimum wage.  Locals show pity for sex workers, making it very clear that the women who do what they do have obligations to their families first and foremost, and deserve no condescension or condemnation from people in more priveledged positions.

Reasons for prostitution given by Vietnamese countrymen always go back to poverty being the source and they rarely take on a moralistic or self righteous tone.  It’s not so surprising when one keeps in mind the Buddhist undercurrents that float under city streets in Viet Nam.

Though sex isn’t discussed as openly in Viet Nam as it is in America, I do a lot of thinking about prostitution in this part of the world and the many variants of prostitution that are available in the country’s more populous cities.  Prostitution can mean going for a massage with a so-called happy ending, taking a night at a seedy hotel with a woman paid for and picked up at a club, or developing a transparent sexual, and monetary, relationship with a Vietnamese flower seller over the course of several months.  Whatever the given form, I think about it quite often, and wonder if I am wrong for accepting things as they are in this country.

It’s difficult to explain why I have become so comfortable, or not surprised, at the sight of prostitutes in Viet Nam.  Part of me knows that paid sex is available in every single city, in every single nation in the world, and accepts Viet Nam as being part of the status quo.  Another part of me truly does buy the argument that some of the women who do what they do have no other choice.  And at the same time a very small part of me holds on to the notion of free will, accepting Vietnamese prostitutes’ decisions as their own and ending any further speculation or judgements for all parties involved, tourists included.

That said, I do cringe at the site of very old men who jaunt down Sai Gon streets with barely legal Vietnamese teens, young boys included.  There was an elderly white man staying at my hotel last month who had a young Vietnamese boyfriend.  Surely the relationship was a monetary arrangement.  The fact that it was a sexual relationship between two males didn’t bother me at all, but seeing such an old man being escorted to his room by a teenage boy sent chills down my spine.  If there ever was a break in my logic of free will, the age of all parties involved would be the reason.

Ultimately, it’s difficult for me to get worked up over prostitution in Viet Nam when there are so many other pressing matters that affect so many more people in the country – and that are so much more visible – like exploding inflation, disabled agent orange victims turned street beggars, and pollution.  From dawn to dusk, prostitution seems invisible to the naked eye and it only really comes out in full force once the sun has gone down and the freaks have come out for the night.  This metered exposure to prostitution, in contrast to the barrage of daily images related to poverty in Viet Nam, constantly falls into the cracks of Sai Gon streets and into the back of my mind.

I wonder if I am wrong for being so blase about the sex industry in Viet Nam.  Social training suggests that I should deeply care about the conditions of those involved, but my reality here doesn’t facilitate a great deal of concern for the small percentage of women and men who fuel Viet Nam’s sex trade.

I am terribly thankful for the ubiquity of pizza, unhealthy as it may be.  Were it not for this greasy concoction of bread, tomato sauce, cheese, and any variety of vegetables and meats, I am not totally sure that living in Can Tho would be as easy as it has been.  Add in the fact that my stomach no longer fully trusts Vietnamese restaurant food the way that it did several years ago in Can Tho, and pizza has become somewhat of a lifeline.

That said, there are some major differences not only between the Can Tho pizza and the pizza from back home, but also the way that Vietnamese people eat pizza.  The way that pizza joints tell it, when you purchase a pizza you are to expect at the least bread, cheese, tomato sauce, and oregano.  It may be just me, but out of the dozen pizzas that I have consumed in Viet Nam over the last few months, not one of them had a suitable amount of tomato sauce.  Truly, the tomato sauce on pizzas in Viet Nam appears to act as nothing more than a bread wetter and not a team player with the rest of the ingredients.

Perhaps it is due to this utter lack of tomato sauce spread on top of pizzas in Viet Nam that Vietnamese people eat their pizzas with ketchup.  It is absolutely beyond me why anyone in his right mind would voluntarily request tiny ketchup packets with his pizza, but that seems to be the trend here.  Because pizza hasn’t taken hold of Viet Nam the way that it has gripped America, I won’t hold it against the locals for eating ketchup with their pies, but my god, the humanity!

Word to the wise: if you ever find yourself in Viet Nam for an extended stay and do not wish to leave your home for dinner, simply call up any pizza shop and they will happily deliver.  And it’s not just pizza that they will deliver but lasagna, tiramisu, canned sodas, fried calamari, and even ca phe sua da.  Delivery service in Viet Nam, while not as common as other places, is top notch when it comes to bringing you what you want.  Shops at times even pack canned sodas in tiny plastic bags which are filled with ice so that the beverages stay cold on the road.  It’s unbeatable.

I’ve been trying to persuade my family members and friends to come to Viet Nam since I first arrived.  Some of them frantically ask me what they will eat when they come here, besides of course the local fare.  I’m happy to report that I have found the silver bullet answer in the form of a pizza pie.

She’s an English teacher – my sister – which means that since returning to Can Tho, I have spent my fair share of nights at her home both entertaining and conversing with her students. And while the majority of my classroom chats have seemed more like lectures than actual discussions, some of chi Huyen’s students and I have become friends.

This was never more apparent than on Thursday, when a so-proclaimed secret event was organized by chi Huyen’s entire class for me. What I thought would be a simple night of coffee and laughter turned out to be a surprise birthday party for yours truly.

To say that I was shocked is an understatement. My birthday is not for another three weeks, but because I will be in Ho Chi Minh City and Nha Trang for the better part of two weeks during July, Huyen’s class decided to treat me to my first official birthday gathering in Viet Nam.

I was at the same time overjoyed and somewhat confused by the lengths to which my new-found friends went to treat me this week. There was cake, a massive tray of banh xeo, Vietnamese egg rolls, spring rolls, Vietnamese tea, and the obligatory fruit offerings to polish off our feast. The joy was of course for the true southern hospitality that Vietnamese in the Mekong Delta display to foreigners. The confusion, however, was that I didn’t know what was considered normal for a host of a birthday party in Viet Nam to do.

Food and party culture in Viet Nam is something that I have not yet grown used to. As the “owner” of my home and host of the party, I was expected to begin eating before everyone else, eat quickly and furiously, and spend little time tending to the organization of the party and maintenance of the house. Of course I did the exact opposite, inviting my friends to begin eating before me, cleaning up after them, and talking and observing more than actually eating.

“Why aren’t you eating?” I was asked countless numbers of times. “I can’t eat quickly” was the most honest and simple answer that I gave, but this only made my Vietnamese friends worry that the food was not delicious or that I was not enjoying my time at the party.

Not a soul wanted to touch his or her food before me, and even upon imploring my guests that it is perfectly normal, and sane, for guests to be invited to eat before a house owner in America, I was told that while I am American, I live in Viet Nam and should do as they do. The poetic justice was that it wasn’t a week ago that I taught the class about the saying “When in Rome…”

We talked, we laughed, and we ate more than we could stomach. No chairs were used, no knife was presented with which to cut the cake, and the entire birthday party seemed as though it was little more than a gathering of family members. This is, I believe, the heart of social gatherings in Viet Nam. Party formality as we see it in America does not exist, and the food, not the conversation, was in our case the driving force behind the night.

I am truly a lucky man. I would have rather been nowhere else last Thursday than in Viet Nam with a large group of my sister’s English students and my sister’s family. The majority of locals in this city treat me like an alien, but those who see me as Philip, or “Phi-Lip”, constantly reaffirm the decision that I made to return.

After my birthday party ended, a good friend helped me clean my entire kitchen, and she even mopped the floor to boot. As she scrubbed and I rinsed my dishes, I told her that the party was the nicest thing anyone in Viet Nam had done for me in a very long time. Her response was direct, but so simple: “This is the Vietnamese way, Philip.”

I say those three words before hanging up the phone with anyone in my family. It has become so normal to me now that I hardly even notice, but the look of complete shock washed over my receptionist-friend’s face as soon as I told my father that I loved him. Chanh said that it felt strange to hear me at this age tell one of my parents that I love him. Imagine his surprise when I told him that I also do this with my brother, sister, extended family, and best friends.

Love in Viet Nam is shown in different ways than it is shown in America. Back home we are vocal about our feelings towards friends, family, and lovers alike, no matter our age. Here, actions are said to speak far louder than words, and the only circumstances in which I have seen Vietnamese people be so open about their love have involved very small children. Parents and elders alike dote over babies to no end, sniff-kissing them at every given opportunity.

Somewhere along the way from childhood to adulthood, though, Vietnamese people simply stop saying the L word to each other. And it’s not just the lack of spoken affection that I notice but the total avoidance of discussing anything remotely related to one’s feelings for another person.

The paradox that I have not been able to wrap my head around in Viet Nam is that while people rarely seem to voice their feelings for their friends and loved ones, the public displays of physical affection between members of the same sex are always on display in this country.

Women hold hands with other women as they stroll down dusk laden streets, and men do much of the same, cupping each other’s wrists while walking and talking. You will rarely see a male and female publicly display affection towards one another in Viet Nam, and if they do, they are most likely young.

I grew up receiving affection from not only my family but also my friends, which makes staying in Viet Nam a little bit like an affection rehab program. Sometimes I find myself craving for a rub on the back, suffocating hug, or kiss on the cheek from friends and family members. It is after all what I grew up with, and going from feeling like I was surrounded by physical love all the time back home to nothing has been so difficult.

This problem of conflicting displays of love between vastly different cultures is truly one that is not easy to overcome. What I perceive in Viet Nam between friends as a complete lack of love is to the Vietnamese as normal as apple pie to Americans. And my ideal level of affection between myself and friends is to the Vietnamese going entirely overboard.

While both ways are fine, my way is what I am used to. So while I live in Viet Nam I will need to either find other foreigners who share the same understanding of affection as I do or suck it up and try not to feel so frustrated that I’m not allowed to hug my friends or kiss my Vietnamese family members on the cheeks as I do back home.

During my first ever trip to Viet Nam, I spent one evening trying to teach a female friend how to slow dance the way that Americans slow dance. When I brought her body close to mind, she could not stop her face from turning red, her body from trembling, and her palms from sweating.

I had known my friend for nearly six months already and was bewildered. I asked her why on earth she was so nervous to let me show her how to slow dance. Shyly glancing away from me, she responded that this wasn’t normal in Viet Nam. Little did I understand at the time how unnatural it really is here.

This morning I booked a room at the Yasaka Saigon Nha Trang Premier Beach Resort from July 11th, 2008 to July 14th, 2008. The reason for doing so was two-fold. First, it has been ages since I truly took a birthday break to smell the roses, and second, the Miss Universe 2008 Pageant is coming to Nha Trang, Viet Nam!

I have been to many places in Viet Nam, but Nha Trang is not one of them. From the way other travelers tell it, I am in for an absolute delight once I arrive in the city. Nha Trang is seafood heaven and ever since I took beef and pork out of my diet, my cravings for shrimp, scallops and any other variation of seafood have only increased. Add in the fact that my beachfront hotel will be merely inches away from the fresh catches of the day, and I may never return to Can Tho.

As it stands now, most, if not all, of the notable hotels in Nha Trang are booked solid throughout the Miss Universe 2008 weekend. A part of me did want to wait until I actually arrived in Nha Trang to make reservations at a cheaper, more local establishment, but I wasn’t willing to risk not having anywhere to sleep next month in Viet Nam’s so called party central. Make no mistake about it: although Nha Trang is a city of only three hundred thousand people, it will be packed to the brim with travelers from all over the world come July.

Miss Universe 2008 is a huge event for Viet Nam. Oddly enough, the majority of the locals who I have spoken to about recently selected Miss Viet Nam 2008 (Thuy Lam) are utterly appalled that a model just under 170cm would be chosen to compete on an international level. One hundred and seventy seems to be the magic number here, so if you ever tell a short girl that she is beautiful enough to be a model, you will surely be told that you are out of your mind. I relay this information due to experience with the matter.

Pending any unforeseen disasters with my camera or restrictions on photography at the Miss Universe 2008 pageant, I will be spending a bit of time behind the camera lens when I arrive in Nha Trang. There will be beaches to remember, absolutely beautiful women moments away from pageant immortality, and fish to fry. If you never hear from me again after next month, it will most likely mean that I have died and gone to epicurean heaven in Nha Trang, Viet Nam.

When I think of that moment, it is not the excitement of the deed or the experience of losing one’s innocence that I hope to relive. It is that brief moment during my lifetime when two lonely travelers came together, underneath a bed of wishes, and loved each other as only travelers know how to love.

A major struggle that I face every single day while in Viet Nam is the realization that most of what I do here will be a memory shared with no one else other than myself. Sure, I can take a thousand photographs of my existence in Viet Nam, but the snapshots will be cropped, sanitized, cherry picked, and at one angle. There will be no one with whom to share the three hundred and sixty degrees of memories that I will bring home to America, and that at times creates a great deal of sorrow in my heart.

I told a group of Vietnamese students last week that I will be touring Singapore very soon. They asked me with whom will I be traveling, and I said no one. Almost immediately their faces turned dark. One girl in particular questioned me for several minutes about why on earth I would voluntarily choose to travel alone. Travel, she said, was meant to be shared with loved ones. To the Vietnamese mind, it would seem, any other reason for traveling is not a valid reason to travel at all.

Independence is a staple in the American diet. Go to your nearest coffee shop and you will see solo diners reading their favorite books, businessmen cranking out their latest proposals, and students of all stripes sitting alone, digging into their text books. In Viet Nam, coffee shops are primarily designed for socializing, and in only the most upscale offerings will you chance upon a solo traveler in search of rest and relaxation.

The same applies to travel throughout Viet Nam and neighboring countries. It is unheard of for locals to visit popular tourist destinations alone, and those who do end up leaving Viet Nam on their own have a clear purpose, like study. So it makes little sense then to go anywhere alone simply for the sake of seeing something new. I replied to the Vietnamese student that my reason for traveling is to see the world, even if it means that I will likely have to go it alone. That answer didn’t please her.

It is said by locals in Viet Nam that a good friend is one who stays home with one’s loved ones even when the opportunity to travel alone to a remarkable place arises. It is not the emergence of new sights and sounds into our lives that should bring us joy, but rather the experience of sharing those sights and sounds with the people who we love most.

Herein lies the dilemma of my relationships in Viet Nam. Few of my friends have the means to travel and those who do are too busy to arrange their time around my whims. Some are conservative Vietnamese females who find it ungodly to travel alone with foreign men and others have no interest in seeing some of the places that I would like to see.

I feel as though I am trapped between my burning desire to experience the beautiful world with those who I love and the reality that people do not have time to travel, money to drop everything at home and support this sort of mobility, or a desire to see the places on the map where I would like to go.

My only choice, then, is to go through each day as connected to the world as possible without becoming so attached to those around me that leaving is impossible. And until I find my perfect traveling companion, I will continue to stare up into the dead of night and hope that one day the feeling of connectedness that the stars once gave to me is resurrected.

The event, aptly named Le Hoi Trai Ngon Dong Bang Song Cuu Long, featured every kind of tropical fruit imaginable, including rambutans, durians, jackfruits, rose apples, and mangosteens, just to name a few. While the prices were fairly steep in comparison to those at normal Can Tho markets, the enjoyable atmosphere of the My Khanh festival made up for the price disparity.

In addition to the fruit at My Khanh, there were countless varieties of plants and artists’ sculptures made purely from the flora of the region, as well as freshly grilled bamboo stalks, catfish, and snails. And while it was far too sunny and hot to enjoy a full meal, I was fortunate enough to get my hands on a few bites of banh xeo, courtesy of my best friend in Viet Nam.

I traveled to My Khanh orchard during 2005 with the School for International Training, but today bested my previous experience by more than a hair. If it wasn’t the fruit, food, or Mekong Delta tributes being sung that took my breath away, it was the abundance of animals on the premises.

Viet Nam, in my opinion, is notorious for its lack of sanitary or humane treatment of animals. I have seen monkeys chained by their necks to makeshift poles, large snakes enclosed in captivity in suffocatingly small cages, and underfed horses forced to pull entire families via carriage. I saw much of that today, as well as pig racing and crocodile gawking.

What struck me about the crocodile watching were the young onlookers who taunted the thirty or so creatures with large slabs of inedible meat which were tied to the end of bamboo poles. Maybe it’s just me, but the thought of leaning over a weak balcony and dangling meat over a pack of crocodiles doesn’t sound too appealing. In any event, these dangerous beauties made for good photos and even better, albeit scarier, memories.

My friends and I ended our visit to My Khanh with an hour of Vietnamese karaoke. Word to the wise: if you ever have the opportunity to visit the orchard and sing karaoke (there is a modest selection of old English songs), request the “phong nui”. This absolutely beautiful karaoke room is enclosed inside of a mini faux-mountain and is a cool respite from the blazing heat of Mekong Delta mornings.

All in all this Saturday in Viet Nam was the tops. I witnessed a true slice of Mekong Delta culture with good friends and despite being the sole foreigner at the festival, I felt absolutely at peace with the moment.

Colonies of tiny lizards seem to be in every Vietnamese household. Indeed, they are as much a part of my home as the paintings on the walls. The lizards are quite shy, however, and immediately scatter when I walk into the rooms in which they dwell. On the rare occasions that I do catch a full glance of their small, lithe bodies, they run from me as fast as they can. The lizards in Viet Nam are quite beautiful. It’s a shame that these coy creatures choose to remain in the shadows.

Unwelcomed guests in my home are the hoards of mosquitoes who without fail crash the party as soon as I lay my head down to sleep every night. While general wisdom in Viet Nam stipulates that we use mosquito nets, I hate feeling as though I may be suffocated by a big blue blob of silky fabric during my sleep and opt not to use the net. The choice has come at a high price, though, as the bare skin of my chest and back have played landing strip to these disgusting monsters for the last week or so.

The good news is that I am not as alone in my home as I thought. Last night, as I went down to the kitchen for a bowl of Rice Krispies and Vinamilk, I caught site of a toad who looked exactly like the toads in Houston. Old and ugly as he may have appeared, the little guy was kind enough to pause for a photo shoot. Who knows how long he had been waiting in this desolate house for a new roommate to arrive. And aside from the steady hum of my ceiling fan, the toad’s croaking has been a welcomed addition to my quiet nights of web development in Can Tho.

My sister asked me today if I wanted to search for a roommate in order to not only share costs of the house with him but also to fill the void in Can Tho. I told her that in addition to avoiding having to manage someone else’s stay in my home at all costs, I also needed the privacy. What I did not tell her, but what was on my mind, is that as long as the lizards and toads stick around and the mosquitoes stay out, that I should be just fine in this grand ol’ haven of solitude.

Part of the reason for my unbridled willingness to eat during my School for International Training home stay was the message constantly pounded into our heads that while in Viet Nam, we were to eat what the locals ate and do as the locals did. It wasn’t my place to say that as much as I wanted to do so, I could not eat rice with every meal.

Now, the novelty of Viet Nam has worn away and my place as a guest in my sister’s house no longer exists. I am not a stranger to this small Mekong Delta city anymore, and my role in chi Huyen’s home is that of a younger brother to my older sister and her husband, an uncle to her two sons, and a son to her mother. I no longer need to say that I am full or unfamiliar with the foods offered to me if I don’t want to eat. Now if I don’t want to eat, I say so, and that is that.

There is a part of me that misses the young, adventurous spirit that I once had in Viet Nam. I remember writing home about how shocked and delighted I was to try a plate of fried scorpion or how dreadful, yet exhilarating it was to eat a cooked, half-developed duck embryo while sitting on the sidewalk with my Vietnamese friends. Those days seem for the moment at least to have passed.

I went to the supermarket today and tried my best to find foods that bring me comfort or remind me of better times back home in the United States. Watermelon reminds me of my childhood in Longview, Texas; Rice Krispies, of the days that I lived on a strict budget while studying at Rice University; peanut butter and jelly, of my mother’s thriving daycare business during the eighties; and milk, of everything beautiful and regal about Texas bovine culture.

This is the only way that I know how to stay sane while living so far away from so much of what defines me. The sugarcane juice, fresh tropical fruits, and rock your body Vietnamese coffee all have a very special place in my heart. But there is nothing like the taste of nostalgia on the surface of one’s tongue.

I’m mostly used to the new noise. The nasal whines of alleyway bread sellers have become music to my ears. The low bass jingles that come from cars in reverse have become comical. And the nonstop humming that comes from the mini-fan on my ceiling makes me feel not so alone in my new Can Tho home.

While most of the harmonies that piggyback their ways into my ears are interesting, and at the very least something new, there is one sound that I don’t think I will ever get used to. It is the sound of Vietnamese men who suck their teeth at foreigners.

Though not that common outside of Saturday morning cartoons, when we find someone attractive in the United States, we whistle. I have since childhood associated whistling with happy events, like the sight of a beautiful woman or the sunshine after the rain. To my American ears, whistling is absolutely beautiful.

On the contrary, sucking teeth sounds dreadfully unpleasant to me. Imagine a “Pssst!” in reverse or the sounds that we make while attempting to dislodge food from our teeth. This is exactly the sound that local men make when they find a foreign woman, or man, attractive.

I haven’t quite figured out why Vietnamese men suck their teeth at me. Surely they are not attracted to me in the same manner that they are attracted to Western women. Perhaps it is my size or my height. Or maybe they do find me handsome and want to make a verbal note of it.

Whatever the reason is for locals to make this sound, it doesn’t seem to keep the hairs on the back of my neck from standing upright every time that I hear it. Nonetheless, every local who I have asked about the sound of Vietnamese men sucking their teeth says that it’s a positive sound, one that is meant to at the very least compliment the listener. Sadly, I think that I will need to live in Viet Nam a lot longer before I begin to hear this odd sound as music to my ears.

You may call it Vietnamese coffee, iced coffee milk, or simply liquid cocaine. I’ll settle for referring to the Vietnamese staple as my siren, and for seven thousand Viet Nam Dong per morning, my love affair with the sweet, powerful drink has taken on an entirely new meaning in Can Tho.

There is a woman who does business just a moment’s walk away from my new home. She offers to deliver by bicycle drinks of all sorts to my doorstep, but the only thing that I have had my mind on this week has been the rich aroma of her ca phe sua da and the complimentary tea that comes with every glass.

She makes it thicker than they make it in Ho Chi Minh City. I can almost swear that she uses one half of a can of condensed milk as the base for each of my drinks, but part of me refuses to look at the woman completely as she prepares my guilty pleasure. After all, ignorance is bliss, and on the terrace of my new sanctuary, where I enjoy my ca phe sua da every morning, there is only enough room for my body and the rich, intoxicating smell of Vietnamese coffee.

This evening my coffee lady asked me how long I would stay in Can Tho. Although I will be here longer, I told her that my stay would last another six months. She could barely contain her joy and I don’t blame her for it; I would also be psyched if the goods I peddle made women and men alike weak at the knees.

I truly wish that this entire story as it relates to my love for ca phe sua da was over-embellished, but alas, it is not. If apple pie is as American as red, white, and blue, then consider my newest addiction to ca phe sua da as Vietnamese as I will ever be.

“I know, I know. So let’s call it habit shock.”

The last twenty-four hours have been a complete whirlwind. I have suffered through the trek from Ho Chi Minh City to Can Tho, reunited with my home stay family from two thousand five, and moved into an absolutely beautiful three story, three bedroom home. The photos that chi Huyen sent to me several months ago in a push to get me to move to Can Tho, instead of the big city, barely do the house justice. I’m glad that I’m here but at the same time realize that my perspective in Can Tho has changed.

Whereas three years ago I paid little attention to the measures that home owners go through to protect their belongings in Viet Nam, I am now beginning to notice just how many bars and padlocks there are in this country. Upon arriving in Can Tho yesterday evening, I was given a set of keys by my sister. One key is for the large lock that adorns the front of my new home. Another key is for the main door. And another is for the door that leads to the rooftop of my abode.

My best friend in Viet Nam came to visit me last night. After dismounting her motorbike, she reprimanded me for not helping her roll the vehicle inside of my home’s greeting area. She was only stopping by for a moment, and when I questioned her need to roll the motorbike inside, she told me that Vietnamese people work hard for their belongings and want to protect them. Even in the dreadfully quiet alleyway in which my home is situated, padlocks and metal bars abound, and even the cars are protected by steel cages.

I have only been in Can Tho for a day and I am not yet used to the attention to detail that my stay here will require. In America, even in the shadiest neighborhoods, I had no issue at all with leaving my car doors unlocked to fill up at gas stations or to stop by friends’ homes. Then again, maybe I was just one of the lucky souls back home.

Padlocks aside, I’m excited about the world of possibilities that await me in Can Tho and in my new home. I now have enough room for an office, a sleeping room, and a guest room for when family members and friends sleep over. And, who knows. I might now be able to buy a few paintings to hang on the walls of my new sanctuary.

I rarely engage Vietnamese street sellers in negotiation. I learned a long time ago that the best way to find the cheapest price for any item in Viet Nam is to either have a local purchase it for me or to find it at a modern grocery store where prices are listed on all products. While I’ve all but retired from the name your price game here, I absolutely love observing how other travelers play it.

When approached by a persistent seller in Viet Nam, the method that I usually employ is to simply look in another direction or to keep walking. In America I consider this fairly rude behavior; after all, my parents taught me to at the very least say “No, Thank You”. But in Viet Nam the rules are different, where merely blurting out a “Thanks, but no. Thanks.” is a wide open invitation for a street seller to hook you in.

I was invited to breakfast by another traveler several weeks ago and could not help but find myself amused by the nonverbal stories that she would attempt to tell sellers in order to stave them off. She would open her wallet to show the sellers that she had no more money or wave her sunglasses in the air as if to say “I already have a pair!”.

To the food sellers my companion would rub her stomach and feign pain as if to indicate that eating a bar of ice cream off the back of a bicycle might not be the greatest idea. And to the Vietnamese phrasebook sellers she would with all of her might say “xin chao!” as if to say that she had already learned all that she would need for her brief stay in Viet Nam.

These small exchanges between local Vietnamese business people and foreigners usually end in smiles. It need not be spoken that most of the items for sell are not necessities, which makes the game even that much funner.

Indeed, bickering over small chocolate snacks or knock off shades seems a lot more harmless than finding oneself subject to the mercy of little knowledge of the Vietnamese language coupled with the need for, say, medicine. In any event, this is one of the staples of Viet Nam that I truly enjoy watching.

On any given day in this nation there will be those who return home frustrated and feeling like they were taken advantage of by unreasonable prices. And for the others, they will have a story to tell about how they talked a Vietnamese seller down to a great price on a faux Gucci.

In the last thirty one days I have reconnected with old friends, developed new relationships, and ended those that were merely hanging on by a thread.  I have lost weight, experienced my first string of peaceful sleep filled nights in years, and learned new Vietnamese words.  This is exactly why I came here – for the love of language, new culture, and the other.

But my insecurities in Viet Nam have resurfaced.  I notice my size in Viet Nam much more than I notice it in America, and the new beard that I sport only adds to the freakshow.  The confidence I once held with regard to my Vietnamese has been shattered again and again, and sometimes I really do question whether or not I have what it takes to grind past the learning plateau that I have landed upon.

That said, I am at peace in Viet Nam.  I have developed new methods by which to stay at ease in my surroundings, like pounding my brains in with the sounds of hip-hop and chillout music and working out until I’m too tired to care about being different.  And unhealthy as it may be, I occasionally smoke when the nerves become too much to handle.  After all, it is said that every great man has his vice, and while I am not yet great, I will indulge the belief that I am and embrace my vices.

I’m a businessman now and to the Vietnamese, I am rich.  My reality here stands in stark contrast to my reality in America.  Back home, I am a black twenty-something year old freelancer who belongs to the lower middle class.  Indeed, there is little about me back home that would stop traffic.  In Viet Nam, I am neither of those things.  Here, I am a rich, young American web developer who laughs a lot and eats entirely too much pizza for his own good.

I live a thin line here, and it will only become thinner as the days continue to pass.  At times I feel at one with this nation and on other occasions I believe that I will never be a part of Viet Nam.  I’m too exotic to have normal romantic relationships, too rich to joke about being broke, and too priviledged to pretend to understand what it is like to work twelve hours a day for one hundred dollars a month.  I’ve lived through welfare back home, but it will never compare to poverty in Viet Nam.

I love Viet Nam, but part of me is changing for the worse.  I’m now more judgemental of other Western travelers, often questioning their intentions when inviting Vietnamese females out to dinner or to their hotels.  My trust for locals no longer comes easily and the emotional barriers that I have put up make it difficult to develop new friendships with Vietnamese youth.  In short, a small part of me is becoming what I despise – a judgemental person who stereotypes other travelers.

It’s difficult not to become jaded about my own existence when traveling alone to Viet Nam, but I’m confident that I have made the right decision.  Three years ago I was a coward and returned to the United States when living in Can Tho got the best of me.  This time around, even with all of the negative forces pulling at my mind, I have resolved to seek joy in all of its forms and use loneliness as an opportunity to find myself within the noise.

Tomorrow I will be arriving to my new home in Can Tho, and I could not be a happier man.  In Can Tho lives a family who loves me as its own and that is what I need in this country.  As long as I know that I will be taken care of when the times become tough, living in Viet Nam will be a positive experience.

Boarding my Singapore Airlines flight from Houston to Ho Chi Minh City last month, I had no clue that I would feel so happy at this exact moment in Viet Nam.  Right now, I am writing my legend and preparing the pages of my future children’s bedtime stories.  In Viet Nam, I am at once observing the drop of oil in the spoon while taking notice of every single beautiful painting on the wall.  And that alone makes the next seven hundred days in Viet Nam seem like nothing more than a ripple.

“Wow.  In America some sell for five hundred dollars.”

“Yes, but you live with them.  Here, people eat them.”

As I snuck back to my Pham Ngu Lao mini-hotel late last night, I was greeted by the barking of an alleyway guard dog.  This sort of thing is normal in America, but in Ho Chi Minh City, the emerging presence of dogs over the last several years has been astounding.

I immediately noticed the change in scenery upon landing at Tan Son Nhat airport last month.  The dogs were more abundant, more varied, and a lot fatter than I had last remembered them.  I wasn’t sure if they were an indicator of the rapid development that had taken place since my last visit or if eating them had become more taboo.

If it can be said that dogs in America are in most cases treated with reverence, then dogs in Viet Nam are in most cases treated as utilities.  They act as guard dogs or food, and rarely as part of a family.  The reason locals seem to fear having their dogs stolen is because a lost dog means lost profit.  

A ten kilogram dog is sold at twenty thousand VND per kilo.  Take into consideration that two hundred thousand Viet Nam dong is easily one fifth of a month’s average salary, and it is no wonder that dogs are important here.  But, again, the importance lies not in the emotional but in the financial realm of daily life.

Over a plate of watermelon and Vietnamese coffee, my friend Chanh told me today that dogs who howl too often are killed here.  It is thought that dogs who make too many odd sounds bring bad luck to their homes, and in a nation that still weds itself to the value of superstition with regard to income, it is believed to be worth it to rid one’s surroundings of any potential evil.

Given the complete lack of dogs as family members in Viet Nam, I can’t help but wonder if canines are nothing more than emotional accessories back home.  Some of us in America treat our own dogs with more respect and love than our fellow man, and others go so far as to indulge our pets with toys, trendy outfits, and near-spa treatment.  

Premium cuts of American meat usually consumed by humans are often chopped into small bits and fed to dogs, while here in Viet Nam the notion of feeding an animal gourmet style meat is quite blasphemous.  And while it is absolutley moot to even attempt to place value judgements on which way of life is more appropriate, I do question whether or not animal rights groups back home are a creation of the elite.

In any event, it is at the very least quite jarring to grow up in a culture that values dogs as much as we do in America and then move to a country that enjoys dogs with salt and pepper.  You won’t find dog meat near my plate any time soon, but I would be telling a flat out lie if I said that I am not just a little bit curious.