Every day is a mis(sed) communication

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I’ve been in Vietnam six weeks to the day, and all of that in Hanoi. The more I don't learn or speak Vietnamese, the more I realise how crucial it is if you are more than just a blow-in tourist. The deeper I get into the culture and the more I grasp, the greater the miscommunications.

Yesterday Jan, a mate from my course, and I rocked up to a side-of-the-road stall serving Bun Cha - basically cold soup with barbecued meat, rice noodles and fresh herbs. A steal at 50 cents a pop.

I can appreciate that with a tonal language, the Vietnamese might not understand my very Western pronunciation of the word two (hai), referring to our order for 2 Bun Cha. So I also hold up two fingers (the polite way round) to clarify our order. It is a Bun Cha restaurant after all - it’s all they serve - so there shouldn’t be any problems with this one. Okay sorted, we take a seat. Out comes my dish, all is normal. Then there is a bit of a wait and a smaller bowl with some liquid is served to Jan. Followed by a big plate of tofu. Doesn’t look like Bun Cha. Okay better luck at dinner perhaps…

So that night, we decide to be culinarily adventurous, and go to a restaurant that specialises in ethnic minority dishes from Northern Vietnam. Jan almost picks the bull’s penis and testicles but settles for the pig feet and trotters instead. I, suffering from a sore stomach from an earlier cuisine mishap, decide to stick with a simple dish - fresh Vietnamese spring rolls, not the fried kind.

After four intensive weeks studying to be an ESL teacher, we’ve all become masters at a technique known as eliciting and concept checking. For beginner students, this often involves drawing a series of pictures or miming an action (bad flashback to pictionary and charades) and then asking the learner if they’ve understood the concept. So, after my best frying pan action with accompanying sound effects and a stern No and nod of the head, I am satisfied that my order has been placed.

While Jan is having second thoughts about his pork trotters - basically lumps of pig fat dangling off some bone - my spring rolls finally arrive - fried! I kindly explain to the waiter that this is not my order and he agrees that there has been a misunderstanding. "It’s the kitchen fault", he says, and adds “But I think your friend like this one” and places the rolls in front of Jan.

It could have been worse like the time Sarah and I asked for an ashtray in Laos and got fried eggplant instead.

The real rolls eventually arrive but when it comes time to paying the bill, they try to fry us! The waiter explains that if we don’t pay, it will be taken out of his earnings. "But it was the kitchen’s fault", we exclaim. I try to elicit the concept of principle but no amount of charades or pictionary is going to get that one across quickly. The waiter kindly tells us again that it’s he who will have to pay. And in Vietnam, the cost of that one dish is at least his whole day’s earnings, probably closer to 2 ½ days. Somehow, the principle of it all doesn’t seem relevant anymore, so we pay up and call it a day.

One thing's certain, I'll be speaking fluent mime by the time I get back to Oz.

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Photos

Who said garbage isn't glamorous...
In the alleyway leading to my guesthouse. Photo opportunity with the garbage lady after a trip to the hairdressers...