Chuk Mung Nam Moi Pt 2

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Chuk Mung Nam Moi Pt 2

06/02/08

We arrive in Yen Bai the day before the Chinese New Year, and check into our hotel. Yen Bai is even icier than Hanoi. We are up on the 4th floor of the hotel, and the wind blows down the open corridors, and through windows. Nowhere in Vietnam seems to have central heating, so I buy several jumpers and a scarf. We wander around the streets, and everywhere are met by friendly faces and words of welcome. Old grandmas rush out of shops and gesticulate, girls and boys of all ages smile and say "hello".

I've never been to a place where the people are so friendly. Back in England, if you pass a stranger on the street and greet them, they will most probably attempt to have you sectioned as a mental, or reply with traditional British violence. A foreign visitor is even less likely to get a favourable response. The Vietnamese are a totally different breed, especially in a rural region like Yen Bai, where white faces are a rarity. Just uttering a few simple phrases in their language sends them into spasms of delight.

The first night, most of us take it easy. We have a few drinks by the lake, and are home early. Craig and Gregg are early pace setters in the hardcore race, and stay out until 1am. The next night, New Year’s Eve, is different. In a reversal from our last big night, we start with karaoke. We find our venue on the 6th floor of a big, deserted hotel. We have a room to ourselves, and sit around on big sofas with a crate of Beer Hanoi. Zoë and Gregg kick us off with "Zombie". I sit out the first few rounds of songs. I know I am not a singer, and sober and dry, I will not attempt to prove otherwise. I sit and drink whilst around me Gregg, Craig and the others rape the air red raw with rough, uncircumcised voices.

Time passes. Last night, we were joined in Yen Bai by two posh south London girls, who complete our group. They sit together in the corner, blank, empty faces staring, registering little cranial activity, other than to emote displeasure and boredom at what is going on around them. I watch the ignorant fucks as they whisper and point, and a strong, acid dislike bubbles within me. If there's one thing I hate, it's a person who thinks that measures their self worth in pound coins. These dumb, arrogant daddy's girls reek of affluence; it's dripping off their pale skin, and the rotten stench brings tears to my eyes. They contribute nothing to the group, and have nothing good to say about any of us. They just drain the positive energies from the room like bad-karma vampires.

Luckily, beer is my best defence against such creatures. For every drop of blood they suck out, I fight back with gulps from my bottle. Soon, I'm ready to add my voice to the cacophony. I warm up with an easy duet; "Nothing Compares" by Sinead O' Connor. Having pissed all over that number, I follow it up with "Black Magic Woman", "Let it Be", "Black Hole Sun" and "Blister in the Sun", amongst others. After years of avoidance, karaoke holds no fear for me anymore. As long as I have a few drinks inside me, I am prepared to make a fool of myself in the name of love and a good time.

Around 11pm, the fireworks begin outside. We pay up and leave, and stand in the street and watch. Then, we walk up the road to a bar by the lake, and sit at a table with a group of Vietnamese girls. We try a few pathetic lines, but they tell us if we want to get with a Vietnamese girl, we need to learn more of their language. Duly noted. They sit and talk to Kat instead, and pay us little notice.

Midnight comes and goes with surprisingly little fanfare. We have a few "Mot, Hai, Ba, Zo's!" (One, two, three, cheers!), but the place does not exactly go wild. Most of the group head back to the hotel, leaving only Kat, Craig, Gregg, Trung and myself. We stay until around 12.30am, and then walk back up the main street in the direction of home.

At this point, the night starts to shake itself into life a little. I'm ahead with Kat, and we pass by an internet cafe, packed full of young Vietnamese guys. We give them a "Chuk Mung Nam Moi" (Happy New Year), and they go wild. We're pulled in and they unload shots of rice wine upon us. This is the first time I have tried this dangerous bastard - a clear, fiery liquid, around 40 or 50% proof that burns everything it touches and washes away all traces of sobriety.

Soon, the other three catch up, and join the alcohol-fornication with our happy hosts. We take over a computer, and start to cue up tunes on YouTube. This is the only opportunity I've had since leaving home to access proper music, so I educate the shining happy people of Yen Bai with sugary doses of The Roots, Wu-Tang Clan and Jurassic 5.

Things become hazy as the shots pile up. There are manly hugs, laughter and a little body popping. I look around at Trung, waving his hands in the air, a huge smile across his face. "I'm so happy" he tells me. Damn right, Trung. We are the real Brits abroad. We won't rape your daughters or stamp your heads into the curb. We won't turn our over-powdered noses up at you. We unite nations under one glorious banner, using our unique and awesome power to consume alcohol in frightening quantities.

Vietnam, number one. Positive vibes are bouncing around like radio waves, cracking sonic booms of happy delirium. I need the toilet, and get pointed in the direction of the back door. I'm out into the blackness, giggling, groping. I don't see any obvious entry into a toilet, so I just tip my head back and point my dick forwards. I'm at the top of a sloping garden, and looking down below me I see tin roofs. I digest this scene quickly, and come to the conclusion that I am most likely pissing directly onto, or maybe into, other people's houses. I don't wish to offend, so I apologise, just in case anyone is listening below, wondering why the rain is golden.

Back inside, the internet boys are ready for bed. We touch feet with the pavement again and march forward. The street is lined with Vietnamese flags, hoisted high on long poles. Gregg and I acquire one each. We stop again outside a cafe, where a woman is cooking meat on a fire. I need the toilet again, so I ask the others to save me some beef, and arrange to meet them back at the hotel for a smoke.

I'm walking along the street alone, my eight foot flag held aloft. I wonder what the locals think when they see a staggering white man, waving their national flag above his head. Do they take great insult? It's obvious I have stolen it, and maybe they think I'm off to desecrate it, or that I'm trying to claim this land as my own. Or maybe they take it as a compliment. A jolly foreigner, pledging allegiance to mighty Vietnam. Just to make it clear which side my bread is buttered, I shout out "Fuck America" a couple of times. In fact, no seems to be that bothered either way. I get a few puzzled glances, but no one gets too excited.

I arrive back at the hotel, and enter the lobby. Most of the staff are sat around a big table, playing poker. I just play it cool, and walk straight ahead towards the lift. I hear a fair amount of laughter. I'm laughing at myself as I try to get into the lift, and realise this is impossible - it just wasn't built for a beer trophy of such proportions. I am forced to take the stairs, which is not so easy either. I leave the flag in the corner of the bedroom, and wait for the others. Ten or fifteen minutes pass, and I'm getting bored, so I head back out.

I find everyone where I left them, only now in even more extreme states of drunkenness. Gregg is in the middle of the road, waving his flag above his head, shouting "I would die for this country!" There is no trace of my beef, but there is an abundance of rice wine, so I don't complain. I do a few shots of the clear stuff, and then two guys lead me inside, and hand me a glass of red liquid. I down it, finding it tastes similar to port. The three of us sit around a table, and pour shots from the bottle. It's three quarters full when we start. Less than ten minutes later it's empty.

We leave again, possibly because there is no more alcohol. We disturb the poker game in the hotel and then pile up to Craig's room. Trung has disappeared to bed, and Gregg and Craig are struggling to stay upright. I'm a rolling stone, codename Magic Man. The room fills with smoke and everything fades to black. Happy New Year, motherfuckers. Chuk Mung Nam Moi.

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Comments

[Big Tinny Grant]

Word up
Pat, just a quick note congratulate you on keeping it real in 'Nam. Your blogs truly are the best part of my day. Word to your mother. Out