Sinking, Sunk, Adrift

[Vung Tau, 12/5/23]

Linh Dinh sounds like Lênh Đênh, which means adrift in Vietnamese, but I only became adrift after arriving in the USA. Had I stayed in Vietnam, I would have been Đinh Hoàng Linh.

Vietnamese boys named Dũng, meaning Brave, became Dung or Shit in the US. Those named Phúc or Phước, meaning Fortunate, also had to change their name.

Without thinking, I insisted on Adrift, so across the globe I’ve bobbled. After a year in India, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia, I’ve drifted back to Vung Tau, a city I’ve known since childhood. Soon, though, I’ll be flushed out again.

Accept your fate. During those months in Pakse, I lived, what a funny verb, across the street from Amor Fati. Many sunny days I wrote outside that cafe. Love your fate is right.

Coming from Saigon, I asked the driver about Vung Tau’s restaurant traffic. It’s probably down 30%, he said A fellow rider who owned a general store chimed in that it’s 30 to 40%. Of course, it’s a global reset. Midgets like us must be culled or crippled. Just be thankful you’re not in Gaza. Aghast at so many gaping mouths, our superiors decided they needed much more leg, elbow and head room. Screw the riffraff in economy class. The prettiest ones can hang around to perform some nasty tasks. Cafe Ca Dao, where I’m sitting, has lost 50% of its customers, according to its owner, Cao Hùng Lynh. A couple who had visited daily recently asked for a bag of dark roast, so they could brew bitterness at home.

My father owned several restaurants in succession in California. In that business, the profit margin is very low. If traffic is down even 20%, you’re likely losing money, especially if you have to pay rent or a bank loan. Though everything may appear sort of normal, Vung Tau is in trouble, but so is Vietnam and the rest of the world.

Inflation and unemployment are up. Social unrest and war are spreading. Even as Jewjab deaths become obscenely obvious, most governments are still pushing boosters. Don’t worry, though, insist those bruisingly shoehorned into the status quo. As long as they’ve got their job, student loan and car payments, mortgage and Netflix subscription, everything is normal, even as their city, country and world unravel.

Older Vietnamese have survived one cataclysm after another, so they know any boat can capsize, sink or be blasted into a million pieces seemingly overnight. It’s like getting hit by a truck at a most familiar intersection. One moment you’re eating a croissant, the next you’re chunky vomit, with bone bits. Most young Viets, though, are no wiser than their counterparts elsewhere, so they’re masked up, believe in Western media and consider America the global beacon.

On Ba Cu, a street named after the Azerbaijan capital, I see this sign at John Henry, a Vietnamese clothing chain. A slim, bearded white man is shown reading Entrepreneur, with “HOW TO MAKE MONEY” on the cover. From 15 yards away, though, you can only see this message above his head, “CHUẨN MỰC LỊCH LÃM” [“STANDARD OF SOPHISTICATION”]. In countless countries, Americanness remains the aim for sophisticates. This white man, though, has a body that’s almost Vietnamese, so to be like him is within reach, but first, you must buy John Henry (made in China or Vietnam) clothing. The store’s name alone reveals its orientation.

A reader was puzzled why a Vietnamese chain is called John Henry, but on the same street, there’s My Kingdom (toy store), Blue Sky Optics, Biluxury, Vascara and Vera, etc. In Phnom Penh last week, I ran into a Chinese chain called European Street. In Japan, there are 274 Jonathan’s selling mostly yoshoku, that is, Japanese riffs on American dishes. I wouldn’t mind me a plate of spaghetti with salmon roe, seaweed and scallops right now. Yum, yum! It’s corporate homecooking at its finest.

Spending five months in South Korea three years ago, I discovered that nation’s fascination with Audrey Hepburn. Though with a slim, nearly Oriental body, she had huge eyes, so is perfect to South Koreans. They have more eye surgeries than anybody else. Here in Vung Tau, I see Hepburn again, at Cafe Passion. Another photo there has two cups of cappuccino placed on the New York Times. Of course, these choices are telling, as is another slim white model at Vincy. Next door is Việt Pháp [Vietnam France].

Three times, I’ve been in Passion. Twice, I was alone, and my cappuccino was slightly sour, meaning the milk had gone bad. Bereft of customers, food items rot. At least I wasn’t robbed then shot in the head like some diner in Washington Heights just days ago.

Even as it implodes, America continues to seduce. That’s why its southern border is overrun while richer immigrants jet in. I know a Saigon woman who had a business with about 15 employees. She’s now in Los Angeles learning to be a manicurist. Since that market is oversaturated, she’ll end up in some ghetto or barrio. Only a desperate employer would hire a novice in her 40’s who knows next to nothing about American culture. She won’t be able to small talk even a tad.

Having returned to Vung Tau, I don’t want to go anywhere, but in just five days, I’ll drift to Jakarta. After 18 days in Indonesia, I’ll fly back to Vietnam, where I will stay continuously for three months. Arriving by bus this time, I was only allowed 30 days. Only the US requires no visa. Staying in Central American hotels along the way, well dressed military aged Chinese are marching in, and why not? The Pentagon can’t suck in enough natives who are fit, drug free or reasonably intelligent.

Over grilled fish and Tiger Beer in Vung Tau, I heard, again, poet Nguyen Quoc Chanh’s speculation about the dismantling of the USA. Chinese are being brought in to work with Jews. Together, they’ll run a reset America. Before this happens, whites and blacks can stage street battles to amuse the elites. Jewjabs, too, will eliminate useless eaters.

While I can certainly picture vast battles royal breaking out nightly from sea to toxic sea, I don’t think America will be great again with an altered demographics. 1.4 billion Chinese won’t be wearing MAGA hats. That nation’s irreversible decline is perfectly embodied by its president. Even in his prime, Biden was obscene.

I’m staying at Mercury Hotel. Though at a prime location, it’s nearly empty. Most rooms on my floor have their doors wide open. I hear no noises. Strolling around last evening, I noticed all these forlorn businesses, Bu Bu Ice Cream, Trang Tien Ice Cream, Sophie Restaurant, Pato’s Bing Su, Góc Phố and Tiger Bar, etc. Bistro Nine, a local institution, had two customers. It’s really as bad as the YouTube videos I had seen. With nothing to do, workers stared at cellphones. At VFB, the pretty bargirls just perched on high stools, spacing out. There’s no one around to admire their slim, bare legs. Behind them, the silent pool table mourned.

Just after five this morning, I walked to Front Beach to see dozens of people already wading, swimming and exercising, same as it ever was. A parking attendant in camo pants was playing “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” on his large speaker. Around 5:20AM, most lights were turned off, but everyone stayed calm in darkness. It’s perfectly safe here.

If walking in the opposite direction, I would have seen people exercising and dancing at Triangle Park. After sunrise, old guys would show up to play elephant chess, same as it ever was. Two days ago, someone there said he had seen me before.

Yesterday, I decided to check on a black dog belonging to a restaurant security guard on Yên Bái. Over a year ago, I had walked him several times. Though I did see a black dog, he was chubbier and not at his usual spot, so it’s a different one, I thought. Delirously, though, my buddy barked and yanked at his chain. As I pet him, he was flopping and play biting for at least two minutes.

Rilke has an memorable phrase, “here there is no place that does not see you.” After drifting just a bit more, I will return to this normality.

[Passion Cafe in Vung Tau, 12/7/23]

[Vung Tau, 12/6/23]

[Vung Tau, 12/6/23]

[Vung Tau, 12/5/23]