I Stand Corrected

After working until about 7 pm yesterday, we met up with another guy who works for my company on another project, and who has been here for six years. He’s a very nice guy, born in Pakistan, raised in the UK. I’d actually heard about him from one of my co-workers in DC, who calls him “The Sultan”. The Sultan is one of the founding members of the Saigon dart league, and is familiar with just about every watering hole in the city. We started out at a place called Ice Blue, where he’s good friends with the owner, Mr. Dung (pronounced “Young”), who is another founding member of the dart league, as well as a sponsor – I’m popping in on Tuesday, dart night, to hang out. We were treated to our choice of “welcome drink”, D and I selected a B-52 (Kaluha, Bailey’s, and vodka), which they set on fire, and we had to drink with a straw before the straw melted or caught on fire. After successfully sucking the shots down, with D’s straw catching fire and needing to be replaced, Mr. Dung cheerfully announced that we were no longer “fresh meat”.

Just what I had always been wanting to hear.

Mr. Dung is also quite the artist, and has caricatures that he’s drawn of various patrons on the wall, although the Sultan’s image isn’t among them. I noticed that there were no women represented, and he said he didn’t want to do a drawing of a woman in case she got offended and never came back. They had an Australia-South Africa football match on the TV, which had a very enthusiastic audience. After a few drinks at Ice Blue, we headed over to a place called Sheridan’s, which is an authentic Irish pub in the middle of Saigon – not far from my office, in fact. The Sultan also knew the owner, an Irishman who was performing with his band when we walked in. They have live music every night, and it was a little unexpected to see a group of Vietnamese musicians performing Irish music, but they were doing an excellent job. There was one singer who had an amazing, lovely, and pure voice, despite the fact that her gender wasn’t obvious to the group. I said she was a woman, but there was a contingent who thought she was a man with a very feminine voice – we finally asked one of the bartenders who had to ask a different bartender before confirming that I was, in fact, correct-o-mundo, and that she was a she. And as I said – lovely voice. There was an interesting mix of people, folks of every description, Vietnamese and expats. The guy playing the bodhran (Irish drum – the name of which I’ve probably misspelled), was from Brittany, a part of France, and he got up to sing a song from his homeland. As the bar owner passed by our group, he stopped to talk to the Sultan, and mentioned that he’d never heard a cheerful Bretagne song, as the drummer sang his lovely, but decidedly downbeat, song. Apparently in Brittany (or Bretagne, if you’re French), they speak more of a dialect, so D and I couldn’t make out the majority of the words to his song. The fact that I couldn’t doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but when D couldn’t, that was more indicative.

After a few drinks at Sheridan’s, the group decided to move on. I was somewhat reluctant, as the clientele at Sheridan’s were proving interesting, but the group wanted to carry on, so we picked up and headed to the Seventeen Saloon. Seventeen also has live music, although only on Saturday nights. When we got there, it was clear that this place had a very strong Western theme going on – as in, the wild west. Swinging doors on the front entrance, and a staff forced to wear cowboy boots and cowboy hats. One of many things I didn’t expect to see in Vietnam. It was also very popular, as evidenced by the interesting time we had finding a seat. The band started up, and it was a complete flashback to my days in Long Island, including the choice of music. When I lived in Long Island, I knew a lot of musicians who were in cover bands, so more often than not, we’d go to clubs or bars to see their bands play. And five years later, in Vietnam, I was watching another cover band, and listening to the same songs, like “Need to Know” by Marc Anthony, “If You Had My Love” by Jennifer Lopez, and “La Vida Loca” by Ricky Martin – apparently the Latin music craze is just hitting the cover band scene here.

After the first cover band did their set, a different band came up to the stage, and the Sultan informed me that these guys performed rock music and would take requests. The band launched into what was, actually, a very good cover of “Sweet Child of Mine”, but it was a little surreal to see a short Vietnamese guy with a perm and a pseudo-mullet wearing a white, semi-see-through shirt belting out Guns ‘N Roses. But the best part, the part which was so good that we had to leave immediately afterward because nothing could top it, was when they busted out “The Final Countdown”. I don’t even remember who it’s by, one of those 80s metal bands with a continent name (Asia? Europe?), but it’s just so ridiculous, so sublimely absurd and pretentious, that I can’t help but laugh whenever I hear it – which isn’t that often anymore. As we sailed out of Seventeen, D and I couldn’t help but pay tribute by singing it ourselves. I have a feeling that we weren’t what you would call “good”, but we sure were cracking ourselves up. It’s just too bad that the only part we both knew was “it’s the final countdown!”

The next place we headed to was a bar called Apocalypse Now. I think that, as the night progressed, our choice of venue became seedier and seedier. Nothing truly bad, but it was interesting. This place is quite the hotspot, and there’s one in Hanoi as well, and it was packed. We were ushered over to a table where they brought over the little plastic chairs that we see everywhere here – in casual restaurants, by sidewalk cafes, by street vendors, everywhere. We had a good opportunity to people watch, and the population of “working girls” was evident. Every so often, a woman would trip by, wearing Lucite heels, a skirt the size of a band-aid, and a shirt that looked as though it had been shrink-wrapped to her body, and it was clear that whatever she might spend on drinks or cover charges could probably be written off as a business expense, since she was clearly on the job. Interesting. I knew that it wasn’t uncommon here at all, but I hadn’t noticed it before, I guess.

Our final stop of the night, fortunately, was a place called Sahara. It’s allegedly a coffee shop, and as we pulled up, I thought it was closed, because the metal storefront door was partially closed. It was, however, wide open, and we walked in and got a table. It wasn’t terribly packed, because we were early – it usually fills up later, after all the other bars close up at midnight, and it was about 11:30. We settled in, our eyes adjusted to the low lights, our ears adjusted to the loud music, and once again we took note of the large proportion of working girls. It wasn’t a particularly bad place, it’s just that prostitution is that common, which wasn’t exactly surprising, but still made me sad. As we chatted and munched on a plate of fries, all of the lights came on. I was a little surprised and asked the Sultan if he knew what the story was. He calmly said that they turned the lights on because the police were coming, and popped a french fry with chili sauce into his mouth. I must have looked a little puzzled and/or startled, and he explained that the police will occasionally patrol the nightclub scene, and apparently if this place has all its lights on, then it’s more believable that it’s really a coffee shop, and that’s all anyone is there for. I’m still a little confused as to what that’s all about, since serving alcohol is legal, but I didn’t want to really push the issue – it felt like a good time for me to smile and nod, so I did. After about 15 minutes, they turned all the lights off again, and the Sultan said that the police must have passed and made it far enough down the road for the all-clear sign. After we finished our drinks at Sahara, we decided it was time to retire for the evening. For my part, I had a feeling that I was a bit past my limit, and that further drinking wouldn’t be advisable, unless that drink was water. The Sultan had his driver take all of us home, and I walked up the four flights of stairs to my apartment, and flopped into bed, grateful to be home. I’d had so much fun, but when my body decides that it’s bedtime, that’s pretty much all there is to it, and I could barely stay awake on the drive back to the apartment.

I’m bummed out that I didn’t meet the Sultan a while ago, because I wish I’d known about all these fun places a month ago, when I arrived here. However, better late than never, and I’ll know them if I get to come back. And as it is, I’m heading to Ice Blue on Tuesday night, and possibly to Sheridan’s tomorrow after work. D and I spent time walking around today, she did her final shopping, and we had a nice, mellow time. We bought a few DVDs, so I watched “Sideways” tonight, and I have “The Motorcycle Diaries” and “Vanity Fair” for later. However, I think it’s time for me to turn in, as it’s back to the office tomorrow, and gearing up for a very busy week – and my last days here.

Now that I know how close it’s getting to my return, I have to admit that I’ve been a lot more schmonely for home – I guess I wouldn’t let myself feel that way before because I knew I had a long haul still ahead of me. But I’ll be there two weeks from Wednesday, and I can’t wait!