Forever Sidewalk, Alley, Cafe and Corner Bar Culture

[Tank Top’s son, Chí, at the café on General Uprising in Vung Tau on 8/16/24]

Arriving at Cóc Cóc a bit too early, I crossed the street to get a coffee from the lady outside the police station. My black without sweetness came in a beer mug. Relaxing, I stared at Petrol House, Sỹ Hoàng Optician and Sambal, the last an Indonesian restaurant I’ve so far shunned. Mirroring the West, Sỹ Hoàng’s large sign features a white woman with a black man.

Spotting the Cóc Cóc barista, Nga, finally arriving, I looked across the street with longing, anguish and much self-pity, before slapping myself, again, with da Vinci’s insight, “A man who looks forward to spring is looking forward to his own death.”

Finally installed at Cóc Cóc’s back corner table, I will now tell you about my most extraordinary pre dawn at the café on General Uprising. I know your day has also been earthshaking, but shoosh, my man, it’s my turn to yak.

Soon after my arrival, Tank Top showed up with his fat son, Chí, whose name means resolve. Chinese root, 志. Hồ Chí Minh means Hồ [with a] Clear Resolve. In central and southern Vietnam, chí also means headlouse. Though Chí didn’t ask to be born into the age of TikTok, video games and Covid, his fat, dumb face shows he’s gotten the full treatment. He also doesn’t have a mom at home. Today, Chí was again busy ejaculating bullets nonstop. Every so often, his dad would shout over, “Have a drink, son!” Sometimes Chí would be treated to a few hours at an arcade. Costing $16, it’s more than what Tank Top makes in a day.

With my back to the television, I heard, “Look at the freeway overseas! Six lanes, with everything flowing smoothly.”

Turning around, I saw overpasses and interchanges at night. In the corner of the screen, it said, “Thành Phố Hà Nội,” however. Following were shots of glitzy highrises, shopping malls and, barely visible, Hanoi-Amsterdam High School for the Gifted. With everything filmed from way up, nothing at street level was visible, so it’s understandable why that man thought it was overseas. This compilation of images was intended to show, rather pitifully, this nation has caught up. From high above and especially at night, Hanoi can be confused with just about any other city. Bombed 14 times during Operation Rolling Thunder and Operation Linebacker, Long Biên Bridge still stands, but mostly as a relic. Four newer bridges cross the Red River.

Any place’s beauty and vitality, or their absence, can’t be conveyed by drones. When Garry Winogrand moved to LA, he shot from a car, resulting in a few good images, but his best work was done on foot in NYC. Life is best experienced at walking pace. Moving much slower, you can also pause at any moment, for as long as you want. Instead of being cocooned in a steel box, you’re engulfed and molested by glorious and alarming existence. American cities are worst at this accommodation. Vietnam’s are among the best.

Isolated, thwarted and often stuck, they overcome their impotence with drive by shootings, murdering other motorists and, now, running over bicyclists or pedestrians.

What’s most striking about the Hanoi video is its music. All songs are from South Vietnam before the Fall of Saigon. During the Vietnam War, culture in the North was so tightly controlled, almost none of its music and literature have endured. Art that reflects the sadness, sorrows, yearnings and joy of ordinary people is appreciated by the same. South Vietnam allowed for this. Even in the former North Vietnam, Southern culture has gained ardent fans.

When a Southern icon, Chế Linh, was allowed just one show in Hanoi in 2011, he packed the 3,750 seat National Convention Center. Walking Hanoi streets, he was swarmed by fans. Though his Mekong Delta accent can’t be more alien to Hanoi ears, they love him because he reflects more truthfully those heartbreaking years, when daily Vietnamese were maimed or killed by the hundreds, if not thousands, when bewildered and frightened soldiers just wanted to go home. Even now, the most common response to a Chế Linh song is, “Hearing this, I just want to die.”

With the TV volume turned low and Tank Top and others chattering away, not to mention Chí’s virtual AK-47 or M-16, no song could be heard clearly, but they’re all classics, at least to those over 50. One was based on a 1940 poem by Huy Cận. It was only in Saigon in 1968 that it’s put to music by Phạm Duy. It’s a lullaby. Since childhood, I’ve been particularly charmed by one line, “Sleep, little sister, normal dreams.” Since that’s what men call their wives or lovers, I, like everybody else, never suspected it was an actual sister addressed.

The singer is at her grave. That’s why this line, “Your soul has ripened how many anguished seasons?” The setting is an unkempt garden with shameplants folding their melancholic leaves. It’s a cemetery. The Vietnamese name for mimosa pudica is cây trinh nữ, meaning “virgin plant.” The poet’s sister died at just 10-years-old. Though she’s underground, he’s there with a fan, and the verb used is hầu, meaning to serve. He’s there to serve her. “Sleep, little sister! I’m here to fan you.” Around 15,000 South Vietnamese civilians were killed in 1968. “A hundred dream birds have landed on the headboard,” her grave marker.

From such a tragic repertoire, I came to the US in 1975 to hear KC and the Sunshine Band’s “That’s the way, aha, aha, I like it! That’s the way, aha, aha, I like it!” I remember telling my dad, “Unlike Vietnamese songs, American ones are so much more exciting!” War had a hit, “Why Can’t We Be Friends?” Does anyone know? I improved my English by listening to Captain and Tennille.

After my “Lying Whores” piece, Frank Drevin commented, “Why am I not homeless? Because of the lies I told and those in which I take part.” Liking it so much, I checked Frank’s recent notes, to find a video of The Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy, with his comment, “Hip-hop before Zionist pigs established complete control over American music.” Disposable Heroes remind me of Gil Scott Heron and Public Enemy. Compared to what’s pushed now, even Beastie Boys were geniuses.

Unless we can recover our sidewalk, alley, cafe and corner bar culture, we’re doomed. Don’t let any distant center dictate how you dress, sing, talk or think. Be intensely Missoula, Mleeta or Muang Kham.

[image of Hanoi on screen at the café on General Uprising in Vung Tau on 8/16/24]

[crazy woman with her daily tirade in Vung Tau on 8/2/24]

[Vung Tau, 7/15/24]

[cafe in Vung Tau’s Bến Đá on 8/14/24]