This is part 4 of a short story I wrote about our time in Vietnam. Please feel free to find the other parts here.
We lived in the backpacker’s section
of town. The streets were covered with men walking around with
boards covered with sunglasses, lighters, vendors with stacks of
knock-off books for $3 for backpackers like us.
of town. The streets were covered with men walking around with
boards covered with sunglasses, lighters, vendors with stacks of
knock-off books for $3 for backpackers like us.
Like us? No, the backpackers were notlike us. Cold and unsocial, they wouldn’t look you in the eye. They
spent their nights in the outdoor bars, sitting on plastic chairs
facing the streets. It was not for us the book vendors asked,
“Marijuana?” after we turned down their legitimate products. The
shops carried bottles of Absolut and Jack for $5.
We were asked not to drink, at least
not near the coffee shop we were doing ministry with. Instead we
walked four blocks or more away if we wanted a bottle of Saigon Red,
which I would get at a family restaurant along with a big bowl of
fried rice for about a dollar.
not near the coffee shop we were doing ministry with. Instead we
walked four blocks or more away if we wanted a bottle of Saigon Red,
which I would get at a family restaurant along with a big bowl of
fried rice for about a dollar.
Also, there was La Fenetre de Soleil,
which means Window of Light in French. It was an old abandoned
looking building. We wouldn’t have found it if Danielle wasn’t with
us.
which means Window of Light in French. It was an old abandoned
looking building. We wouldn’t have found it if Danielle wasn’t with
us.
It was ten o’clock and street was
dark. The only thing marking the door was a small, pale, neon blue
sign. Geckos watched us as we walked up the broken-tiled stairs.
They perched on the tagged and scratched concrete walls. We found
out later they were tearing the building down in a month. I could
tell why. What a piece of crap. We walked down a long concrete
hall full of shadows, the kind of hall you imagine drug addicts lie
along, passed out in their own piss and drool.
dark. The only thing marking the door was a small, pale, neon blue
sign. Geckos watched us as we walked up the broken-tiled stairs.
They perched on the tagged and scratched concrete walls. We found
out later they were tearing the building down in a month. I could
tell why. What a piece of crap. We walked down a long concrete
hall full of shadows, the kind of hall you imagine drug addicts lie
along, passed out in their own piss and drool.
“Where are you taking us, Danielle?”
I asked. “This is ridiculous”
I asked. “This is ridiculous”
“I’ve been here before,” she said.
“Just wait.”
“Just wait.”
We turned through a tall wooden door
and then all of a sudden it was light. The ceiling was high, crowned
with French molding. Silk tapestries laced with Christmas lights
decorated the walls. The furniture was colonial and mismatched,
sitting atop shimmering but well-worn oak floors.
and then all of a sudden it was light. The ceiling was high, crowned
with French molding. Silk tapestries laced with Christmas lights
decorated the walls. The furniture was colonial and mismatched,
sitting atop shimmering but well-worn oak floors.
And there was dancing. We came as
swing night was winding down. There was a European guy dancing with a
Vietnamese woman in a black dress, white sneakers and black rimmed
glasses. They stepped forward and backward, spun in and out. They
did a slow diagonal step, he pushed her forward as she slid back,
back three steps slow, and then leaning forward, pausing, leaning
back, pausing. It was strong and subtle and looked like they just
wanted to play, tease each other a bit and take it slow, no need to
show off with the room almost empty. I don’t have the language to
describe that dancing. I’d never seen anything like it before, nor a
place as surprisingly magical before, the twinkling eyes and shadowy
luminescence.
swing night was winding down. There was a European guy dancing with a
Vietnamese woman in a black dress, white sneakers and black rimmed
glasses. They stepped forward and backward, spun in and out. They
did a slow diagonal step, he pushed her forward as she slid back,
back three steps slow, and then leaning forward, pausing, leaning
back, pausing. It was strong and subtle and looked like they just
wanted to play, tease each other a bit and take it slow, no need to
show off with the room almost empty. I don’t have the language to
describe that dancing. I’d never seen anything like it before, nor a
place as surprisingly magical before, the twinkling eyes and shadowy
luminescence.
A British expat with a dark and joyful
face talked to us after the dancing finished. He was elegant and
open, like La Fenetre itself. He had the most beautiful accent. It
was like being introduced to a new world. It was an oasis in the
midst of Saigon’s large tacky spectacle. But it was a world that was
going to die, die as soon as their month expired and someone came to
tear the place down.
face talked to us after the dancing finished. He was elegant and
open, like La Fenetre itself. He had the most beautiful accent. It
was like being introduced to a new world. It was an oasis in the
midst of Saigon’s large tacky spectacle. But it was a world that was
going to die, die as soon as their month expired and someone came to
tear the place down.
We came back twice more and I learned
to salsa alongside balding Asian men with slick black combovers,
tweed jackets and pencil mustaches. The best dancer was a small man
whose lips set into a tight grin when he danced. I watched him for
an hour trying to understand how he was doing the things he was doing.
I couldn’t get it watching him, he spun too fast, sashayed too wide.
I held my breath and counted his steps but never understood.
to salsa alongside balding Asian men with slick black combovers,
tweed jackets and pencil mustaches. The best dancer was a small man
whose lips set into a tight grin when he danced. I watched him for
an hour trying to understand how he was doing the things he was doing.
I couldn’t get it watching him, he spun too fast, sashayed too wide.
I held my breath and counted his steps but never understood.
Instead I had to learn by holding
Danielle’s back and counting 1, 2, 3 and stepping on toes. The small
Vietnamese man danced late into the night, was still there when we
left, and tired out all his partners so that by the end I felt sorry
him. His partners’ smiles were beginning to lose their life, to
become empty shells. His were still full of enjoyment. He would be
there until they knocked the lonely, rundown building–geckos
too–down.
Danielle’s back and counting 1, 2, 3 and stepping on toes. The small
Vietnamese man danced late into the night, was still there when we
left, and tired out all his partners so that by the end I felt sorry
him. His partners’ smiles were beginning to lose their life, to
become empty shells. His were still full of enjoyment. He would be
there until they knocked the lonely, rundown building–geckos
too–down.
La Fenetre saved me. It got my feet
moving down six long Saigon blocks, through the super-heated ,
shimmering air, up broken stairs, down shadowy halls, and into one,
two, three steps alongside Vietnamese dancers. I was finally away
from the pale walls of hotel rooms and into the life of the city. I
had been stewing in the death of my hotel room–the death of my
team, the loss of my friend–for too long. It was time to begin
again.
moving down six long Saigon blocks, through the super-heated ,
shimmering air, up broken stairs, down shadowy halls, and into one,
two, three steps alongside Vietnamese dancers. I was finally away
from the pale walls of hotel rooms and into the life of the city. I
had been stewing in the death of my hotel room–the death of my
team, the loss of my friend–for too long. It was time to begin
again.
