Asian Oral Adventures

"In Asia we eat anything with four legs
except a table and anything that flies except an airplane."

In America, I had a limited definition of the word “food.” The most sinister items were found at state fairs where you could eat almost anything fried on a stick. You never really knew what was inside the crispy yellow crust until you took your first bite. “Yes sir, that there’s a waffle-battered ostrich hot dog with tapioca filling, some M&M’s and a french fry in the middle.” In Asia they actually do have anything fried on a stick as well as anything dried. “Gee, your dried flattened lizards look so fresh today. Did you drive over them on your way to work? Were they mating with that stick when you got ’em?”

Wander through the Chinatown of any major city in Asia and you’ll stretch your concept of food. You don’t have to venture into the small Asian towns to find the exotically inedible, but let’s start there...

Counter help at my hotel in Rach Gia, Vietnam, says a mini-bus at 9 A.M. will deliver me from this hotel door to the next for 50,000 dong = $3.33 in six hours or so. 200 miles or kilometers or somewhere in-between. The mini-bus arrives exactly on time, on VietTime: 8 or 10 A.M. or somewhere in-between. It’s not a mini-bus. It’s not even in the bus category. It’s not somewhere in-between a big and a little bus. It’s a truck: a seat-stuffed, standard van. 

On the packed public bus to this seedy city, my “seat” was a plastic platform above the engine, surrounded by the public. My backrest was the rest of the passengers’ backs. For the return trip to Saigon, I pray for a seat of my very own. One of the first passengers to board, I claim a single by the sliding door, with a little leg room, and guard it protectively. I try to breathe a sigh of relief, but breathe an air-borne flock of old Vomit Molecules. The hotel assured me it would be an “air-conditioned” bus. They were right. I’ve never smelled air in such condition. No one on this bus has been sick (yet) but the previous passengers obviously were. Not a comforting omen for the impending journey. Do I give up my seat, by the window and the hope of fresh air, or start the uphill battle of complaining with my tiny collection of Vietnamese words: one, two, three, hello, where’s the bathroom, please, thank you and Happy New Year? Can I even find another bus today? For $3.33? I hold my ground by the seat of my pants, ready to tackle Travel Test 296: the Virtual Vomit Exam. I’ll either pass it with flying colors or fail with a Technicolor yawn.

For the next hour we slowly cruise around the city gathering fifteen more people. The air is still, stifling and hot at 8 A.M. When the bus moves, so does the air. When the bus stops, so does the air and the vomit molecules rise menacingly. My breaths are shallow, as few as possible. Breathe or heave. I breathe very slowly through my nose, trying to sneak the molecules past the Internal Odor Sensors. Odors are just tiny particles of the real thing… invisible little pieces of puke. I refuse to be a mouth-breather on this trip.

Once the passengers are sardinely-packed, our can-on-wheels hits the road. The driver closes all the windows. The air-conditioner dies. The heat climbs. The Vomit Molecules reproduce and multiply. There’s no blowing, no cooling, no fooling. The passengers finally mutiny and open whatever windows will. I vow to request a 10% refund: 33 cents…in cash.

What’s with the vomit reflex anyway? One whiff of puke and you’re ready to follow suit. When I smell dog doodoo, I don’t want to doo, too. When I smell fresh urine, I don’t want to Number One. Along with the twelve or thirteen fresh air molecules, the open windows let in the ragged array of noxious fumes of daily life in Vietnam. A cart filled with steaming manure that looks ready to burst into flames. Festering piles of pre-war garbage. Pigs near a stinking factory eating and excreting whatever is left over: animal, mineral, vegetable, and evolving combinations of all three. If there were an equal reflex for all these odors, we’d all be turned inside out.

Two hours into the trip I don’t even think about it. The Vomit Molecules have become one with my body. Only four more hours to go. I dream of a cool, spacious, sanitary hotel room and an ice-cold glass of Lysol.

The bus stops to drink fuel while we eat lunch. The roadside restaurant is well lit and busy with a clean, shiny, tile floor. Bus drivers normally stop at their buddies’ businesses so it could easily have been a dark, wooden cave, a dirt floor and empty except for us. I’m immediately accosted by the world’s smallest and most persistent lottery ticket salesmen, apparently the younger brother of the world’s youngest waitress. Declining to buy a ticket, I distract him with his photo on my digital camera. His life’s mission is quickly altered. Now he really, really wants me to take a picture of his sister and she really, really doesn’t want me to.

We have about a half hour to order, eat and move on. Lunch money (6000 dong = 40 cents) is included in the price of the bus. Drinks are extra. My choices in the 6000 dong section are limited, but at least they’re all cooked and the menu has English subtitles:

Cooked Rice Part
For the dieter perhaps? Which rice part? How many parts does rice have?

Cooked Rice Plate
Plate for sure, maybe no rice.

Fried Cooked Rice
In case it’s not cooked enough, fry it.

Cooked Rice Chicken
Which chicken parts? I've seen them completely disassembled in the market.

Cooked Rice In Frying With Pieced Shimp
Whatever.

I quickly order the Cooked Rice Chicken because it vaguely makes sense, it only cost forty cents and I’ve got a lot of writing to do. The rest of the menu is a mind- and tongue-boggling gold mine of Vietnamese oral options. The waitress does not understand why I won’t give the menu back or why I’m copying things down in my little black book. I try to assure her I’m not stealing their entree ideas, but once again, that’s a tricky concept to communicate with two greetings, a few numbers and “Where’s the bathroom?” in Vietnamese. ( Next page )

[ Page 1 ]   [ Page 2 ]   [ Page 3 ] Asian Oral Adventures © 2004 by Scott Jones.

Questions? Comments? Email scottjasonjones@yahoo.com