Can't Explain

For some reason, I am craving two things right now, in a massive way. Two things, mind you, that I’m unlikely to be able to get until I’m back home. And I have no idea why, but the things I’m craving are: lemon-filled donuts – the kind covered with powdered sugar, and macaroni and cheese. The baked-from-scratch kind is nice, my dad and I have a good recipe for it actually, but there’s also a lot to be said for the frighteningly fluorescent orange Kraft mac n’ cheese, where the “cheez” is derived from mixing milk and butter with bright orange, cheese-flavored powder.

Mmm…

Well, I’ll be home in two and a half weeks, I’ll just get some then, I suppose. And maybe stash some mac and cheese in my suitcase for Yemen. It looks like I’m definitely going there, it’s just a matter of timing at this point. I have a feeling that I may be pressured to spend Christmas time there, but there is just no way that’s happening. Our post-Thanksgiving party is on the 17^th, and I will be there, even if I will have just gotten off the plane 2 days beforehand. (I just have a feeling that if I start compromising personal time at this stage in my career, it’s only going to get worse, which I’m not cool with. So Mandy has spoken: home from December 15^th through the 27^th – I think spending New Year’s alone in Yemen is enough of a sacrifice for the powers that be. )

I just got back from one of the worst dinners I’ve ever been to in my life. Not because of the food, which was quite nice, especially the jumbo, fresh-caught grilled prawns. But because the director of the government office with whom we’re working here brought his own gallon jug of homemade hooch, and forced me to drink until I almost vomited on the table. It was something that tasted like grain alcohol, or at least what I imagine grain alcohol to taste like, that had ginseng and deer antlers soaking in it. Lord only knows where the hell he got the deer antlers to begin with, but there they were, hacked into pieces, fuzz and everything. He poured the first shot, had everyone stand for the toast, and then after he downed his, while no one else did, they all looked expectantly at me. I tried, but started coughing – probably because of the grain alcohol thing. He then insisted that I finish it, so I did because I was trying not to offend him, but told Itsy Bitsy “there is no way I can drink more of that” and she said “well, just tell him”, which I tried to do each time. But each freaking time he’d propose a toast, he’d stand there expectantly, with everyone staring at me, and if I tried just taking a sip, that wasn’t good enough, it had to be bottoms up. Finally, I said very clearly, for about the fifth time, “please, I am not trying to be rude, but I really will be sick. I cannot drink anymore” and the implacable face was there, smiling and pushing the glass toward my mouth with everyone staring at me, and a look of sheer misery clearly written on my face. I took one sip, and I could feel my stomach lurch in earnest. I put my head down, and all of the sudden, he must have realized I meant business, and people were shoving water at me, when I was really just trying to swallow whatever was coming up as gracefully as possible, and be left alone. All the attention, of course, made me even more embarrassed when added to the thought of seeing dinner in reverse, and it was generally an excruciating experience. I’m not drunk, although perhaps a little tipsy after six (?) shots of hooch, but wow did I think I was going to lose it.

Honestly, I’m a little of hacked that not one of my Vietnamese colleagues said “Dude – she’s serious, please stop making her drink”, since I know that I would stick up for a colleague of mine in a similar situation. But the gentleman in question is very heavy handed, and apparently the last time our team was here, he was literally forcing the stuff down the throats of the men at the table to the point where some of them couldn’t get up the next morning. I know that he’s not being malicious when he does that, and I’m not opposed to drinking, I just can’t drink whatever that ungodly concoction was. My stomach is still churning.

It’s funny, because here, that’s considered hospitality, but at home it’s considered extremely rude these days to try to force alcohol on someone. (Despite what happens at fraternity parties across the country…)

But backing up, it was an interesting day. We went out to some more communes, and when they asked how many village representatives I wanted to speak with at one particular commune, I said two or three, since it’s difficult to do the kind of question and answer I have to do with a larger group of people. I’d say that five is the maximum. So Itsy Bitsy and I walked into a room to see thirty people waiting for us. Thirty. I felt like a school teacher, particularly when the part came where half of the men there weren’t at all engaged but decided to sit there and have their own conversations, to the point where I had to yell to be heard at all. I was this close to saying “if you don’t care to participate, that’s fine, but could you please go outside?”, but that would have been a no-no. As is usually the case with large groups, there were a couple people who did almost all the talking, so at the end I said “Is there anything anyone would like to add? I’d particularly like to hear from people I haven’t heard anything from yet…” at which point the same two people piped up again. I chuckled quietly to myself and wrapped up the interview.

We then went out to the middle of the commune, and I had another Pied Piper moment. We hopped out of the van near a place where a bunch of men and women were working on a project, and I was mobbed. People were stepping on each other to get closer to me, and started pulling my hair and touching my skin as I was trying to ask some questions. I understand that it’s likely because they don’t see someone who looks like me often, if at all, but it’s still tremendously unsettling. It’s also a little startling when you’re interviewing a group of people and you feel a yank on your hair and feel someone caressing your arm. I looked over at the hair puller (she was first, I just ignored everyone else), and tried to give a look that wasn’t bitchy, but that didn’t convey “hey – please feel free to do that again!” It’s a fine line, really. There were also people staring at me as I wrote, presumably because I’m left handed (apparently, school children are not permitted to be left handed in Vietnam – I know that the wiping thing Karen mentioned is true in the Middle East, but I don’t know about Southeast Asia), laughing every time I said anything, pressing in closer and closer, and it was just getting to be pretty intense. We walked away to look at a project, and people came following us, chattering and staring and pointing. I was asked what I ate as a child to grow “so big and tall” – I said lots and lots of rice. (Because really – how do you answer that question? “I gorged on lard from infancy to get the junk in the trunk. Thanks for asking.”)

So, capping off the day with doing shots of deer hooch and swallowing my own vomit was just too much for me. It’s only 8:30, but I may just watch the only DVD I have with me, think of how I’ll be home in a couple of weeks, and turn in early. If I had my druthers, I’d say that I want my Mommy, but that’s not an option at the moment. I’ll have to settle for some Pepto. We’re heading back to Hanoi tomorrow night, and in exactly one week from tomorrow, I leave for Paris! I know that Paris is having some serious problems at the moment, there’s not much debate about that, but I’m still excited to go. I realize that I’m probably being a smidge naïve, but I’ve been looking forward to this trip for months, so that’s all there is to it.