Don't drink the water

I usually learn the hard way. This time was no exception. I drank the water. I paid for it later. Paid for it on the bathroom floor. Paid for it the next day. Paid for it the day after that. Then I was done paying, but the exchange rate really bit me in the ass. I'd been warned, and I took the advice to heart, but sometimes a habit is a hard thing to kick. I was never one for bottled water...except for that "Smart Water" stuff. That just makes me feel like a million bucks when I carry it around. In fact, I used to keep the same Smart Water bottle for weeks on end and just refill it at the water fountain. Then someone told me that the plastic erodes and causes cancer, or poor circulation, or frost bite, or some other strange disease that everyone claims to have but doesn't actually know where it comes from. Other than that, if given the choice between bottled or tap, I would choose tap. It always tastes like you're drinking something hearty. Like you're gearing yourself up for a long winter. You can actually taste the lead and rust and other such metals when you drink tap water. But no more. My days of tap are over. Now I choose bottled because I choose to live.

The beer is good though. You can drink that from the tap and feel good all night. How you feel in the morning is iffy, but that's pretty universal. The Vietnamese really like their beer. They also really like their karaoke. So much so that they've erected full on karaoke amphitheaters that are open every night of the week. Karaoke here is not for the faint of heart. And if you don't know every single word of a song, don't even bother. Your lack of professionalism is not appreciated. When I first came across Vietnamese karaoke I thought I had stumbled into a bar with live music. There was a raised stage, a band, dramatic lighting, and a singer who took himself far too seriously. He looked like the frontman of a band. Faux hawk, tight faded jeans, button down shirt with the top buttons unbuttoned, belt buckle the size of Australia. You know the type. While I didn't know the song, being as it was in Vietnamese, I did know that the singer was off key. I wondered how any establishment could hire such a person to perform all night and call it entertainment. My ears were near bleeding. Then, mercifully, the song ended and the singer left the stage. "End of the set," I thought. Little did I know. This was karaoke. It was merely one bad act after another. And the the singers thought themselves close to cleanliness which is next to godliness. But really, they were dirty, and couldn't sing on tune if a gun were pointed to their head. So after the a man with the faux hawk left the stage, he was replaced with another man with a faux hawk and tight jeans and a belt buckle the size of Australia. The band played behind him and he sung off tune. Like Carrie Bradshaw I couldn't help but wonder...the Greeks have their tragedy, the Romans their gladiators, the English have Shakespeare, the French have baguettes, the Americans have everything, the Germans have their breadth, and the Vietnamese...well they have their karaoke. And they'll be damned if anyone is going to take that away from them. 

I'll post and then get back to you later. I have so much to write about and don't want to keep you waiting. My first week is done, and I have survived. Mercy me. Thank God.