Hey
A Night Out with Ha
We met Ha, a young man of 24 years, under the shady trees by a lake in the Old Quarter of Hanoi. Benjamin and I were having a picnic. We'd discovered a supermarket on the top floor of a nearby shopping mall and bought a hunk of Gouda, a package of jambon (ham), and crackers. While colonialism may be a dirty word, there are some modern day benefits that, at times, outweigh the negative things that result when one country presumes to take control of another. Cheese is one of those things. And anyway, the French are long gone... Merci for the fromage.
We made little sandwiches with the crackers -- after 4 cheese-less months, I was too anxious to take the time to find a baguette, another remnant from French colonial days. I almost didn't even make it out of the store with the cheese in tact. As soon as I saw it, my mouth started to water and my stomach not only grumbled, it roared, "Give me cheese, I want the cheese. Give it to me now. Maintenant!"
We got a few looks as we sat there, making our sandwiches, looking like barbarians. We had no knife to cut the cheese, so instead we used our fingers -- and when we reached the thick end of the wedge, where fingers become useless, we bit off hunks for our cracker sandwiches instead, the way mama birds feed their young.
Ha joined us when we'd finished. He was walking by and upon noticing Benjamin's tattoos, stopped to take a longer look (Benjamin's tattoos are a great ice breaker in every country we've traveled). This led to a conversation and when I asked him where to get the best Vietnamese food Hanoi has to offer, Ha suggested that we follow him to a restaurant. Having filled ourselves up on cheese and ham, we weren't in the mood for more food, but somehow, plans were made to meet him later, in front of the post office. We would have dinner together.
We parted ways and as Benjamin and I walked back to out hotel, I regretted the plan we'd made. I wondered: Why would a total stranger wish to dine with us? What's up his sleeve? Are we stupid? Conversation ensued about what nefarious events awaited us. Perhaps there would be a group of thugs waiting for us in some dark alley Ha would lead us to... Perhaps Ha would drug us and steal all of our money... Perhaps Ha is an undercover cop setting us up for a drug bust -- he was a bit preoccupied with ganja, after all... and he wanted us to sample some of his stash. I asked Benjamin if we should bring our passports... in case anyone needed to ID our dead bodies. "No," he replied, "but I'm only going to bring 20 bucks."
We met Ha at 8 p.m. As we stood in front of the post office waiting for him, part of me wished he wouldn't show up. I contemplated not showing, ourselves. But not wanting to stand up a potential new friend, or leave a bad impression of my countrymen in a foreign land, we waited. He showed up, all smiles, and we walked back to the familiar neighborhood of our hotel.
"Four or five stars?" Ha wanted to know what kind of hotel we were staying in. I told him, "No stars. We're not rich." These kind of questions make me suspicious. "We're budget travelers," Benjamin added, to be sure he got the point. Ha smiled. I got the sense he didn't believe us when he followed his question up, asking the name of our hotel. We always fake ignorance with these questions. "Oh, just some place in a dingy alley... can't remember the name, actually."
After a 10 minute walk, Ha asked if a local place (i.e. sidewalk restaurant) was O.K. "Perfect," we answered. We wanted the local experience and anyway, sidewalk restaurants, if they can be called as such, are cheap. Ha ordered Hot Pot, ice tea, and vodka. The French aren't the only ones who left a bit of their culture behind... the Russians left vodka.
We had a leisurely dinner... we spent three hours eating and toasting each other with our tiny cups of vodka. The conversation was good. Things seemed on the up. Inside my head, I was feeling happy. I let my guard down. It's always nice to find a genuine local person while traveling. That's why we travel... to learn about other people, and there's no better way than to talk with them, spend time. And it's not always easy to find the genuine people. Usually, they want something from you -- and it makes sense in a way... there is no reason for them to befriend us. As travelers, we are just passing through... why would a local person make friends with people who, after a few days, will no longer be around. In poor countries, curiosity about people from other parts of the world usually plays second fiddle to greed... or need. A friendship, no matter how short, is usually not the purpose of their interest.
At first, things seemed different than our usual encounters with locals. Ha told us of Vietnamese customs, answered our questions about his country... the Vietnam of today versus the past... the attitudes towards foreigners and Americans in particular. But then the conversation switched gears. Ha told us he is poor. He is without work. He asked us about our income and the amount of our rent back in the U.S. Ha was sizing us up. He tried to sell us his guide services, yet we were in no need of a guide. His sales pitch was gentle, slow. And when we declined, he dropped the subject and always replied, "Of course, you can do it on your own, no problem."
It's not always easy to identify the sales pitch as thus. Perhaps it is simply a means of conversation, when other topics have dried up. It's even harder to identify a con, at times, until it has come to pass. None of this marred my impression of Ha, though. He was kind and friendly. He appeared to be honest and interested. But eventually, it was time for the bill. And all of that changed.
"670,000 dong!" I looked at the bill in amazement... and then looked at Benjamin, who was in shock. That's $40 U.S. dollars... and we were sitting on plastic stools, in the dim lighting of a sidewalk restaurant, where food is kept in ice chests, dishes are washed in buckets of dingy water, and roaches skitter around on the sidewalk looking for crumbs.
This was a problem... not only because it seemed to be a gross overcharge, but also because we'd only brought 250,000 dong ($20.00) with us.
Ha assured us the price was correct. "Of course," he said, "I usually come here with 8 - 10 people, which makes the price better."
"But we are only 3 people," I replied. "And surely, we did not eat the same amount of food as a group of 8 - 10!" We had, at first, eyed the plate of meat for the hotpot with skeptical eyes. It seemed like a lot, too much for us to eat... but eat it, we did. It may have been a lot, but it was certainly not enough for a group of 8 - 10.
I asked Ha if the price was really fair. "Well," he said, "it may be 100,000 dong more than usual, but I don't usually order the prawns." (100,000 dong is a bit more than $6.00 U.S.)
The atmosphere grew tense. Benjamin explained he wasn't prepared to pay $40.00 for a meal. Ha grew nervous. I saw him shifting in his seat. Ha asked, "What is your problem with me?" I told him the problem was not with him, but with the bill. I was aware that our reaction may cause him discomfort -- "face countries" as I call them, make such matters complex.
I suggested we all finish our Vodka, have a cigarette, and then come back to the problem. Benjamin and I had two choices: go back to the hotel and get more money or make a partial payment and come back the next day with the rest. I was surprised that the woman who ran the "restaurant" agreed to the latter. But she still demanded 400,000 dong in the interim... still a high price to pay. Ha kicked in a small portion of the bill and we gave the woman all of our dong with the promise to return if, after asking around, we found that it was a fair price.
We'd been had. Of course the bill couldn't possibly be so high. We haven't eaten anything that expensive in a real restaurant anywhere in our travels. And the woman knew she'd never see us again. She wouldn't let us go without paying the full amount unless the full amount was a sham. My guess: Ha set the whole thing up ahead of time. Perhaps he is related to the people who run the restaurant. He probably told them he'd be bringing us, and together, they would split the profit they made from overcharging us. Later, we found the same Hot Pot in a real restaurant for around $8.00... and found out that on the street, it should be no more than $5.00.
"How could we be so stupid?" I asked Benjamin. We stewed over the matter for the remainder of the night. We consider ourselves, after 4 months of travel, to be wise... to be impervious to the mistakes a first week or first month traveler might make... especially after India. Perhaps our egos had grown too big for our breeches. But what it really comes down to, we determined, is that we WANT to believe in the genuiness of people. We don't want to walk the world as skeptics and cynics. We must be naive to meet the real people -- we'll never find them with closed minds and hardened hearts. To always be suspicious, we'd live in a tiny bubble full of other Westerners... and we're not traveling to hang out with Westerners all the time.
Over a few beers before bed that night, we decided that sometimes being wise is to be naive. Travel is, after all, about the people we meet and yes, sometimes getting ripped off now and then in the process.
We made little sandwiches with the crackers -- after 4 cheese-less months, I was too anxious to take the time to find a baguette, another remnant from French colonial days. I almost didn't even make it out of the store with the cheese in tact. As soon as I saw it, my mouth started to water and my stomach not only grumbled, it roared, "Give me cheese, I want the cheese. Give it to me now. Maintenant!"
We got a few looks as we sat there, making our sandwiches, looking like barbarians. We had no knife to cut the cheese, so instead we used our fingers -- and when we reached the thick end of the wedge, where fingers become useless, we bit off hunks for our cracker sandwiches instead, the way mama birds feed their young.
Ha joined us when we'd finished. He was walking by and upon noticing Benjamin's tattoos, stopped to take a longer look (Benjamin's tattoos are a great ice breaker in every country we've traveled). This led to a conversation and when I asked him where to get the best Vietnamese food Hanoi has to offer, Ha suggested that we follow him to a restaurant. Having filled ourselves up on cheese and ham, we weren't in the mood for more food, but somehow, plans were made to meet him later, in front of the post office. We would have dinner together.
We parted ways and as Benjamin and I walked back to out hotel, I regretted the plan we'd made. I wondered: Why would a total stranger wish to dine with us? What's up his sleeve? Are we stupid? Conversation ensued about what nefarious events awaited us. Perhaps there would be a group of thugs waiting for us in some dark alley Ha would lead us to... Perhaps Ha would drug us and steal all of our money... Perhaps Ha is an undercover cop setting us up for a drug bust -- he was a bit preoccupied with ganja, after all... and he wanted us to sample some of his stash. I asked Benjamin if we should bring our passports... in case anyone needed to ID our dead bodies. "No," he replied, "but I'm only going to bring 20 bucks."
We met Ha at 8 p.m. As we stood in front of the post office waiting for him, part of me wished he wouldn't show up. I contemplated not showing, ourselves. But not wanting to stand up a potential new friend, or leave a bad impression of my countrymen in a foreign land, we waited. He showed up, all smiles, and we walked back to the familiar neighborhood of our hotel.
"Four or five stars?" Ha wanted to know what kind of hotel we were staying in. I told him, "No stars. We're not rich." These kind of questions make me suspicious. "We're budget travelers," Benjamin added, to be sure he got the point. Ha smiled. I got the sense he didn't believe us when he followed his question up, asking the name of our hotel. We always fake ignorance with these questions. "Oh, just some place in a dingy alley... can't remember the name, actually."
After a 10 minute walk, Ha asked if a local place (i.e. sidewalk restaurant) was O.K. "Perfect," we answered. We wanted the local experience and anyway, sidewalk restaurants, if they can be called as such, are cheap. Ha ordered Hot Pot, ice tea, and vodka. The French aren't the only ones who left a bit of their culture behind... the Russians left vodka.
We had a leisurely dinner... we spent three hours eating and toasting each other with our tiny cups of vodka. The conversation was good. Things seemed on the up. Inside my head, I was feeling happy. I let my guard down. It's always nice to find a genuine local person while traveling. That's why we travel... to learn about other people, and there's no better way than to talk with them, spend time. And it's not always easy to find the genuine people. Usually, they want something from you -- and it makes sense in a way... there is no reason for them to befriend us. As travelers, we are just passing through... why would a local person make friends with people who, after a few days, will no longer be around. In poor countries, curiosity about people from other parts of the world usually plays second fiddle to greed... or need. A friendship, no matter how short, is usually not the purpose of their interest.
At first, things seemed different than our usual encounters with locals. Ha told us of Vietnamese customs, answered our questions about his country... the Vietnam of today versus the past... the attitudes towards foreigners and Americans in particular. But then the conversation switched gears. Ha told us he is poor. He is without work. He asked us about our income and the amount of our rent back in the U.S. Ha was sizing us up. He tried to sell us his guide services, yet we were in no need of a guide. His sales pitch was gentle, slow. And when we declined, he dropped the subject and always replied, "Of course, you can do it on your own, no problem."
It's not always easy to identify the sales pitch as thus. Perhaps it is simply a means of conversation, when other topics have dried up. It's even harder to identify a con, at times, until it has come to pass. None of this marred my impression of Ha, though. He was kind and friendly. He appeared to be honest and interested. But eventually, it was time for the bill. And all of that changed.
"670,000 dong!" I looked at the bill in amazement... and then looked at Benjamin, who was in shock. That's $40 U.S. dollars... and we were sitting on plastic stools, in the dim lighting of a sidewalk restaurant, where food is kept in ice chests, dishes are washed in buckets of dingy water, and roaches skitter around on the sidewalk looking for crumbs.
This was a problem... not only because it seemed to be a gross overcharge, but also because we'd only brought 250,000 dong ($20.00) with us.
Ha assured us the price was correct. "Of course," he said, "I usually come here with 8 - 10 people, which makes the price better."
"But we are only 3 people," I replied. "And surely, we did not eat the same amount of food as a group of 8 - 10!" We had, at first, eyed the plate of meat for the hotpot with skeptical eyes. It seemed like a lot, too much for us to eat... but eat it, we did. It may have been a lot, but it was certainly not enough for a group of 8 - 10.
I asked Ha if the price was really fair. "Well," he said, "it may be 100,000 dong more than usual, but I don't usually order the prawns." (100,000 dong is a bit more than $6.00 U.S.)
The atmosphere grew tense. Benjamin explained he wasn't prepared to pay $40.00 for a meal. Ha grew nervous. I saw him shifting in his seat. Ha asked, "What is your problem with me?" I told him the problem was not with him, but with the bill. I was aware that our reaction may cause him discomfort -- "face countries" as I call them, make such matters complex.
I suggested we all finish our Vodka, have a cigarette, and then come back to the problem. Benjamin and I had two choices: go back to the hotel and get more money or make a partial payment and come back the next day with the rest. I was surprised that the woman who ran the "restaurant" agreed to the latter. But she still demanded 400,000 dong in the interim... still a high price to pay. Ha kicked in a small portion of the bill and we gave the woman all of our dong with the promise to return if, after asking around, we found that it was a fair price.
We'd been had. Of course the bill couldn't possibly be so high. We haven't eaten anything that expensive in a real restaurant anywhere in our travels. And the woman knew she'd never see us again. She wouldn't let us go without paying the full amount unless the full amount was a sham. My guess: Ha set the whole thing up ahead of time. Perhaps he is related to the people who run the restaurant. He probably told them he'd be bringing us, and together, they would split the profit they made from overcharging us. Later, we found the same Hot Pot in a real restaurant for around $8.00... and found out that on the street, it should be no more than $5.00.
"How could we be so stupid?" I asked Benjamin. We stewed over the matter for the remainder of the night. We consider ourselves, after 4 months of travel, to be wise... to be impervious to the mistakes a first week or first month traveler might make... especially after India. Perhaps our egos had grown too big for our breeches. But what it really comes down to, we determined, is that we WANT to believe in the genuiness of people. We don't want to walk the world as skeptics and cynics. We must be naive to meet the real people -- we'll never find them with closed minds and hardened hearts. To always be suspicious, we'd live in a tiny bubble full of other Westerners... and we're not traveling to hang out with Westerners all the time.
Over a few beers before bed that night, we decided that sometimes being wise is to be naive. Travel is, after all, about the people we meet and yes, sometimes getting ripped off now and then in the process.
posted by Cheryn at 2:29 PM
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