Comfort Zones

[Vung Tau, 3/20/25]

In a Vung Tau alley, there’s a Naples Lounge and Apartment[s]. Since “Naples” evokes nothing to 99.99% of Vietnamese, this place could have been named Tripoli, Juneau or Biloxi. Foreigners who associate “Naples” with Italy or Florida don’t rent apartments in such a funky alley.

Over time, any place or person is reduced to a handful of memories. Of Napoli, several linger. Just arrived, I was given a fake note as change. When I tried to pay with this half an hour later, a shop woman laughed, then said I should just pass it on the street. Buy an ice cream or something. Her mirth was lovely.

Trying to find my room, I asked a young man where Vico Cinquesanti was. We were at Quattrosanti, he grinned, so I had to walk another block. It took me an extra second or two to get his joke. My laughter was mostly from confusion. To kid with a clear foreigner was a welcoming gesture. I appreciate his friendliness.

Finally inside, I was relaxed enough to interrogate the elderly landlady. “Are you from Naples?” “Come,” she said, then led me to a window. “There,” she pointed, “was where I was born.” That hospital wasn’t 50 yards away.

That night, I observed with fascination an old man eating and drinking very leisurely at a neighborhood restaurant. There were always four or five little dishes at his table. Sipping red wine, he chattered with the owner. Of course I don’t remember what it was but, for the sake of poetry, beauty and the love of God, let’s just say it was Lacryma Christi. It’s only reasonable to conclude he had been going there forever. Perhaps he was born in the same hospital as that lady.