Stoopin' It in Ho Chi Minh

My alley, 8:20pm. (Stoop: bottom left, all couple
inches of it.) Notice the florescent lights
strung above the alley - the wiring here is just crazy.

I was supposed to go out with my new roomies on Friday night for dinner, but because of a problem with my foot, I couldn't walk with them. Through a series of miscommunications I ended up waiting outside my front door for about an hour when the following interesting event took place.

I was sitting on my stoop (all 3 inches of it) waiting for my ride to come when the family in the house across the street came home. We exchanged Chaus ["hellos"] and Smiles (Vietnamese folk music band name?) and they went in. (Something you should know is that people's front bike areas are often converted to living space when there's no more room for family anywhere else. This house was one such place.)

So I was sitting there, trying to fiddle with my cheapo Nokia phone to look like I wasn't obviously curious and staring right into their living room (although I was), and one of the guys came out to smoke a cigarette. We proceeded to have a 30 minute conversation through his iPhone's translation app (Google Translate, I believe), and it was fascinating. As much pain as I was in, I was more curious about this man my age who had chosen to sit down next to me and try to communicate, difficult and slow as the process was.

This is my neighbor's garage/living room.
As you can see through the bars, it's a used,
decorated space. People hang out in here.

He wanted to know (and asked this several times) why I was not at home. I explained that I lived here, but was waiting for a ride to a restaurant. He asked me why I needed a ride, and I showed him by swollen foot. I explained (every exchange via the app) that I thought it was an infection and that I was going to a doctor tomorrow (it did NOT turn out to be an infection. More on that when I get my results. I'm better-ish now).

We then talked about how long I had been here, and how long I planned to stay. He also wanted to know exactly how much we were paying for our house in USD, which was weird, but I've found that the Vietnamese can be very curious and will often just ask when they want to know something from a foreigner, no matter how direct we might find the question. I didn't mind telling him, because I wanted to know what he thought. He gave me a thumbs down, whatever that means. But of course I don't know anything about his perception of rental properties - I think I'm getting a hell of a deal (although our water tank did run dry today, which is a new experience). I've also read that Vietnamese will almost always buy a home and never rent, similar to much of American thinking on the subject - that home ownership is a personal right (of course, that's changing with my generation and after in the States, but that's a tale for a different day).

Our whole conversation occurred
through this iPhone app - amazing!

We talked about me being a teacher. He asked me how old I was and he told me he was 31, too. He wanted to know if I was married, and when I said no he wanted to know how old my girlfriend was and if she was here with me. He seemed completely shocked that I wasn't married and didn't have a girlfriend. He introduced me to his wife and two boys, who were charming, I assume, and he asked me why I didn't have a girlfriend at home. I just explained that I wanted to travel and see the world, and let the "unburdened" thing read as it would.

He asked me if I liked Vietnam. I answered truthfully that it was beautiful so far. We talked about my language lessons and he tried to get me to say some numbers, but without my cheat sheet I'm still a little lost, so it was mostly just nervous laughter on my part while he talked at me, saying numbers and laughing at my fumbling. I think his mother got in the act, too, giving me numbers to repeat from where she stood in the house, but I had completely frozen up by then.

At this point I discovered that my ride went straight to the restaurant. I was a little bummed, because, after all, I'd made it down all those flights of stairs to wait for him, but also relieved because a) my foot really, REALLY hurt, all the time, and b) I was worried about 'forcing' them to slow down for me all night. I'm OLD compared to these 20-somethings! I didn't want them to speak all in English - that wouldn't have been fair to them to deny the enjoyment of their mother tongue with other native speakers - but not knowing what they're saying in front of me is a strange feeling, and makes me feel lonely as hell. Eventually it all just becomes noise.

My college years were filled with warm nights drinking
and laughing on Peoria, IL porches similar to this.
Image copyright prettyoldhouses.com

I bid my new friend adieu and as I hobbled back up the steps to my room, I thought that maybe this was the experience I needed to have tonight. Simply getting to know my neighbor a little better is a good step in the right direction. I'll be in this home for at least 4 months, and the thought of not knowing my neighbors for that entire time is a little exhausting - if only because the more remote I keep myself, the more stares I'll get, but also because I want to be a good neighbor and part of my community. I assume, perhaps wrongly, that if I get to know the people I live in such absurdly close proximity to, life will be a little more interesting and exciting in the months to come.

So, rest assured, my Peoria friends, I've now brought stooping to the other side of the world. And while I was the only one doing it this night, I made a new friend right away and can't wait to sit on the front step with a beer in one hand and an iPhone translator app in the other.