[South Korean tourist at Củ Chi Tunnel, 10/10/18]
Leaving my room at 3:25AM, I saw my homestay cleaning lady, Hà, with a small bag and an umbrella. She had just come downstairs from her room in the main building. Built by the French over a century ago, it’s high ceilinged and stately, with a steep roof. Before air conditioning, you couldn’t just pack people into boxes.
“You’re going to your home village?”
“No, Saigon,” she smiled. It’s clear she’s glad to have a day off. Sister Hà is always cheerful, however.
The Viet word for home village is quê. The Mường and Chứt minorities also use a similar word, so we’re clearly related. This is reassuring. In modern times, quê started to accrue negative connotations. To be quê mùa or nhà quê is to be a hick, meaning you’re less likely to dress like a Westerner, or know how to enjoy cheese, butter, fresh milk or, now, a cheeseburger, hot dog, pizza or fried chicken. Most tellingly, you never got into Édith Piaf, Juliette Gréco, Beatles, Bee Gees or just “Moscow Nights,” as sung by Vietnamese singers.
There’s a transcendent version on YouTube by Anna Netrebko and Dmitri Hvorostovsky. Watch it, weep, then sell that 20-year-old car you’ve been sleeping in. You’re moving to Moscow! At Sheremetyevo International, just sobbingly apologize for having voted for any American politician. “Just let me in! I’ll gladly be a toilet cleaner in the Moscow Metro! At least my soul will be free!”