The Smile Beneath the Smile

Theme song of the Day:

Noctuary - Bonobo

In a country so stricken by poverty, its hard to fathom how a shop that sells only large stuffed caterpillars can make a go of it. This is the complexity and contradictory simplicity that is Vietnam.

As we made our way through the maze-like waterways of the Mekong Delta we were struck by so many thoughts and feelings that seemed at odds with each other.

The Mekong Delta supports millions of people and it shows. We tried to hide our unintentional looks of disgust as the spray from the boat hit our faces.

There were people bathing, fishing, and trolling boats of various shapes and sizes along the river. The floating markets are hubs of activity – each boat hangs a sample of their wares from poles at the stern – a form of advertising. Women are a huge part of this important venture. It’s so hot and humid, they row their small boats, heavy with produce, up the waterway for hours, yet they look so put together. Many don silk suits and they all don looks of determination and pride. I would be proud.

We spent a few days in a small city called Can Tho before making our way to the coast. Rach Gia is home to the port that is home to the ferry system that takes people to the island of Phu Quoc.

It’s also the first place that I really felt my visible minority status. As we walked from the bus station to search out guesthouses children ran out to great us “hello, hello, English”….people stared; turning around to watch us pass. This doesn’t happen in cities as big as Saigon. In Vietnamese culture one is best to blend in. Standing out is undesirable. … but then, there is a novelty to us ‘big girls’…5’9”, both of us. My blond hair and freckles get a lot of looks.

I was stared down by the driver of one of our taxis, after I said hello. He looked at me as though I had just uttered a string of profanities regarding his family. I felt I had offended him in some way and I was feeling quite self-conscious. I sat quietly for the 20 minute drive.  As we got out of the van to grab our bags,  he mumbled shyly in very broken, quiet English…head down: “You are very beaut-i-ful”… I smiled inside and out – it’s so easy to misinterpret.

I am amazed by the way we are welcomed. We have made friends at every turn. Our waiters and motorbike drivers insist on giving us their phone numbers, writing out English words, helping us with our limited Vietnamese phrases, offering themselves as husbands (just joking…sort of). The people that can speak English are eager to practice.

I couldn’t help but expect a sort of underlying national animosity towards Westerners…North Americans in particular, after arriving in Vietnam. It would be so understandable; the recent history of this nation can’t be easily forgotten…can it? I wouldn’t think so. It shouldn’t be. But from what I’ve witnessed so far, it seems that for many, the horrific history is just that. History.