One Motley Crue on the Saigon Bus #4 Today - Perspective XV: The Little Things VIII

Just a couple of things today. O My last trip on the #4 bus was a charming story about and old soldier I met. That story will go down as one of my most pleasant experiences here. Today's story will have some merit as well, but of a different sort. The #4 today was a hard one to catch back from the airport. I had been in the area for a series of meetings all afternoon and it was certainly not my plan that I try to catch the bus from a location different from my usual and right in the middle of rush hour. But since I think I'm so fucking bright some days, I thought I knew the return route and could find a stop easily. Wrong, dumbo. When I arrived at what was certainly a proper stop with a shelter, benches and a big advertising poster, it had been inhabited by street shoe salesmen - guys who spread out big tarps all over the sidewalk, preventing walking, and fill them with all manner of shoes. Gym shoes, work boots, sandals, whatever. Vietnam is a big shoe producer and some of them are really quite nice, and cheap to boot (bad pun intended). But the last thing one needs is these guys taking over your bus stop when a light rain is falling. A #4 came and just cruised right on by. I had seen him swing towards the curb up the street a bit but when he got to me it was adios mutthaf*cka. It took me awhile to sort out what was happening. It took me until yet another #4 came and blew by. The stop had been closed because of the street construction in the center lane where I have mentioned before they are digging a big long hole and installing drainage pipe. Saigon is at sea level or below and it floods like a swamp when the rains come, which is almost all the time. So the anser was clear. Walk to the next stop. And that was easily a kilometer. When I finally arrived a #4 dutifully swung by and snatched me up. It was about 1/2 full so I got my favorite seat riding shotgun to the right of the driver. But rush hour is a predictable yet unpredictable daily event in Saigon. Everybody knows it's going to happen, and the resulting gridlock where motorbikes can cut off busses and big trucks crossing from other streets, but they act like it's a big surprise. After spending nearly 20 minutes in a gridlock where a traffic signal had gone down, somebody finally called the traffic police and got a yellow helmeted cop to the scene to sort the rowdy bikers out and let us finally pass. But in the interim the driver thought we needed some entertainment so he switched on 99.9fm, Vietnam's classic rock station and treated us to a good loud sample of Motley Crue, followed by some screaming Gothic shrew with three wailing guitars as accompaniment. I nodded in approval and did a little air guitar for the driver as he broke into a big smile. At least the crazy whiteys on the bus dug the scene. Once through the gridlock his assistant, the girl who takes your money, whispered in his ear and the station was changed to something more traditionally Vietnamese. There were a couple of old ladies in the back mind you. I'm sure they had had enough Crue for one day. Maybe a lifetime. O Once at my internet cafe I had two Cokes a "Ban Xeo Man" (Vietnamese rice flour and egg pancake, folded, full of shrimp and pork and veggies - mmmm - tasty) and a hot coffee with sweetened condensed milk before I sat down to write this. Upon beggining to write a little girl of maybe seven came in with a puppy. It was a big hit with the customers and she, of course, was in the selling business. Little girls here sell gum to foreigners and we all buy it now and again, but I'll explain more about that and why later. With me she didn't try to sell me at all. She was interested in my headphones and the music I was listening to in the computer. She came into my booth, played with the trackpad for a bit and then said "music." I gave her the earbuds and she promptly popped them in and laid her head on my lap. She was tired. She needed a break. The music I was listening to was the new album from Brian Wilson called "Lucky Old Sun" and it's a bit of a tour de force from an old beach boy who just refuses to die. If you've got the sound cranked up on your PC or Mac, you're listening to it in the podcast. The little girl rested for about 10 minutes in my lap and the staff smiled and commented that I had made a new friend. When she finished I asked her, "Good?". And she promtly said "No, no good". And scurried away. I found it to be just as sweet an ending to a day with a fairly harrowing bus chasing trial as one could have. Here now for your perusal. O Over and out.

For more on the "Perspective" or "Little Things" series, click below:

My Morning Wake-Up Call - Perspective XX: The Little Things XII
We'll Have A Gay Old Time - Perspective XIX: The Little Things XII
"Rolled Foggy Disposed Ricepaper" - Perspective XVIII: The Little Things XI
Joyeux Noel - Perspective XVII: The Little Things X
Lunch With Obama - Perspective XVI: The Little Things IX
One Motley Crue On The Bus Today - Perspective XV: The Little Things VIII
Attraction vs. Conversion: How To Power Your Blog - Perspective XIV: The Little Things VII
A glass box full of deep fried chicken heads - Perspective XIII: The Little Things VI
Seoul Searching - Perspective XII
He Would Have Shot Me 40 Years Ago - Perspective XI: The Little Things V
Chomsky on Colour & Sleep - Perspective X: The Little Things IV.2
Running With Scizzors - Perspective IX: The Little Things IV
Henry Miler II - Perspective VIII : The Little Things III.1
Henry Miller - Perspective VII: The Little Things III
Big Brother - Perspective VI: The Little Things II
This Carnival of Life! - Perspective V
The Art Walk - Perspective IV: The Little Things
Bentley #5 - Perspective III.2
Bentley vs. Vespa - Perspective III.1
Bentleys Invade Vietnam - Perspective III
Death Of A Colleague - Perspective II
Perspective

He Would Have Shot Me 40 Years Ago - Perspective XI: The Little Things V

O A bus is a bus is a bus - or Gertrude Stein would have said about Vietnam today. And there are a lot of buses, but the #4 is a little one, what you might call a shuttle bus, and although it goes past the airport, this is not the one, one would take to actually get to the airport. It goes much farther than that and generally carries the Vietnamese to their homes after a day of toiling in a low pay job or selling something on the street downtown in District 1. Businessmen do not ride this bus. O And I've yet to see a foreigner, aside from myself on this route. The entire trip from the big station at Ben Thanh Market takes roughly 45 minutes to one hour, depending on the traffic. And it's as efficient a trip through a construction war zone as a skilled driver can make it. The road to the airport is a collection of obstacles from a bazillion motorbikes to large green metal-sheeted barricades in the center, in the midst of a citywide hole digging project for a drainage system, and the odd pedestrian, lady with a cart of chickens or motobike deliveryman transporting large sheets of glass or mirrors with the help of an assistant riding on the back to hold the glass. O The Vietnamese bus of today is the urban equivalent of what an American tank might have been here 40 years ago. They just don't give a shit and dutifully plow through whatever happens to be lying before them. It is an absolute damn sight to behold. These drivers should be given a medal just for surviving a day in this transportation firestorm. And so I board. O Once on the bus the biggest choice is one of seats and considering that I start at the start of the route, I'm happy to have a choice. I choose the copilot's chair right to the right of the driver with a big clear-screen view of the road in front of me and all the chatter that he and his ticket-taker care to banter throughout the trip - and that can be considerable, considering - I'm just a man on a bus going from point A to point B- and not in the market for any more Vietnamese entertainment than the 20 cent ticket entitles me to. Sit your ass down white boy. You must be this tall to get on this ride. O And so I plop down next to the older man who rides shotgun in the furthest right seat. And he immediately says, "hello" with an accent and confidence that makes me immediately understand that he learned his English during the war here, so many, many years ago - an occurrence that is not unusual at all. So as the #4 gets underway we begin to converse, in the kind of small talk that pervades all participants of diverse cultures on the way to finding out what might be common to them both. The old "Where are you from - how long have you been here" questions ensue, peppered by the old pleasantry or linguistic peace offering. "Thank you", I say to him in response to a compliment about New York. "Interesting", I say to him in my response to his telling of a French proverb that roughly translates into "You can't take it with you". His name is Hanh and he has told me that he is 73 years old. And he is quite obviously not wealthy. He clutches a plastic shopping bag that I see is full of VCDs, the old cheap Chinese equivalent of a DVD, no longer a medium of use today to even the most basic Vietnamese. And he opens his bag. He presents to me some VCDs of traditional Vietnamese music and historical dramas and implores me to look at them. I do. An opening of the cover and brief scan of the language and visuals is all I am able to accomplish but it is of obvious proportion that he feels their cultural worthiness so much more than I. It's pretty old stuff. I can't imagine that he has much luck selling these to even people of his own age and even at that, not for a cent or two over whatever he paid for them. O And the bus trundles on. He explains to me how happy he is that the war is long over and that the country is now "open". The Americans and the French and god knows all sorts of countries that the Vietnamese could never have imagined are pouring money into building projects and infrastructure and education and whatnot making this man's post-war world of 73 a virtual fantasy land that Speilberg and Lucas together could not have created. The road we travel is a living breathing organism of every single day of his life rolled into one 45 minute trip and encapsulated into one blink of this man's eye as only he can see it. And I am a blind man - on the ride with my Vietnamese seeing eye dog with an eye towards the peace that all people long for far beyond the shortsighted actions of their respective governments at any one point in time. "I would have shot you forty years ago", he says, "but today we ride on a bus together. I am very happy for that", he bookends. He goes on to explain that during the war he worked in medical supply and carried medications to needy soldiers in the field. "I no ever carry gun. I no ever shoot anyone. And no anyone ever shoot me", he says, with just a hint of a wry smile - as if he could have seen this bus ride so far into what would have been his future. O He explains further that he has had ten children and that two of his daughters live in the US and two in Europe - so much pride and peace in his ideas. He goes back to the French proverb meaning "you can't take it with you" and recants it for me in impeccable French. I apologize for my miserable Francais. "But you and I, here today", he finishes, "and much money no make us better men", as he clutches the plastic bag. He looks quite softly into my eyes after I have informed him that my stop will be coming up and I must depart. "You good man", he says, "You good heart in eyes", as we shake hands in farewell. O The #4 always overshoots my actual stop, but today not at all. I know I arrived historically at just the right place and time. It's fucking perfect. O

For more on the "Perspective" or "Little Things" series, click below:

My Morning Wake-Up Call - Perspective XX: The Little Things XII
We'll Have A Gay Old Time - Perspective XIX: The Little Things XII
"Rolled Foggy Disposed Ricepaper" - Perspective XVIII: The Little Things XI
Joyeux Noel - Perspective XVII: The Little Things X
Lunch With Obama - Perspective XVI: The Little Things IX
One Motley Crue On The Bus Today - Perspective XV: The Little Things VIII
Attraction vs. Conversion: How To Power Your Blog - Perspective XIV: The Little Things VII
A glass box full of deep fried chicken heads - Perspective XIII: The Little Things VI
Seoul Searching - Perspective XII
He Would Have Shot Me 40 Years Ago - Perspective XI: The Little Things V
Chomsky on Colour & Sleep - Perspective X: The Little Things IV.2
Running With Scizzors - Perspective IX: The Little Things IV
Henry Miler II - Perspective VIII : The Little Things III.1
Henry Miller - Perspective VII: The Little Things III
Big Brother - Perspective VI: The Little Things II
This Carnival of Life! - Perspective V
The Art Walk - Perspective IV: The Little Things
Bentley #5 - Perspective III.2
Bentley vs. Vespa - Perspective III.1
Bentleys Invade Vietnam - Perspective III
Death Of A Colleague - Perspective II
Perspective