Since coming to Vietnam I have found that my tolerance for just about anything has gone up. I've become much more tolerant of bad driving. More tolerant of the humidity. More tolerant of showers that never seem to be the right temperature. More tolerant of sweet old women who smile at me and then rip me off when I try to buy produce. More tolerant of people speaking poor English. And finally, and maybe mostly, I have become tolerant of the filth here. Now, don't be mistaken. Vietnam is a relatively clean country. Every morning I see Vietnamese sweeping floors, sidewalks, and streets free of the dirt and garbage that accumulated there the day before. And somehow, and this continues to amaze me daily, despite the fact that there are thousands of stray dogs running around this town, I have yet to see any dog poop anywhere. I don't get it. It's as if these mangy dogs with their fleas and their bastard pedigrees have all been born with the inate ability to use a toilet. It's quite fascinating. As I was saying, my tolerance for all things filthy has increased tenfold. Why, just last night, I stopped at a cafe with my friend Elsbeth to drink some tea before bed. It was a lovely cafe with bright lights, comfortable seating, and wifi. About halfway through my drink that, on the English menu was loosely translated to "Milk Tea with Strawberry Pudding" Elsbeth let out a scream and nearly jumped onto the table. I turned my head just in time to see an enormous black rat (pushing 2 feet long tail included) scurry out of sight behind the counter where all the drinks are made. I scream. She continues screaming. I scream louder. Back and forth we go. The cashier, alarmed by our shouts, couldn't seem to figure out what was wrong. She was quickly filled in by two Vietnamese girls sitting outside who saw the whole ordeal go down, and who, I slowly realized, were laughing at us. The cashier turned her eyes to the floor and gave a knowing smirk. How silly of these American girls to be frightened by a rat. As time ticked by, my heartbeat slowed and I tentatively removed the iron grip I had around my knees as I hugged them to my chest as not to allow any part of my person to be within a foot of the ground. More time passed and, like a small child testing the waters of the ocean for the first time, I put one toe on the ground. Then another. And another. Until both feet were firmly planted.
Now, in any other country, had I been at an establishment where food and/or drink was being served and I saw a rat, I would have most definitely left...without paying. Well, I would probably shout, "I'm not paying! This is an outrage!" but then leave money on the table...with a 25% tip included. I have no backbone. But, being in Vietnam, and having this increased tolerance for filth, I simply screamed, shed a small tear, and then continued to sip my milk tea with strawberry pudding (and yes, it was as strangely delicious as it sounds). Moreover, when I was about two thirds done with my drink, the rat emerged again, this time to leave. One more scream was heard from my lips, and then it was done. I finished my tea, stayed another few minutes talking to Elsbeth, paid my bill, thanked the cashier, and went on my way thinking, "What a lovely cafe. I must remember to go there again."
I have had many similar experiences to this one in my time here. Simply substitute "rat" with "giant cockroach" or "obviously a human hair in my rice." It just doesn't seem to bother me anymore. In fact one of my favorite places to eat here is a restaurant that we've renamed "Filthy McFilthy's". A family establishment with more than a little grime around the edges. You are familiar with the phrase "You gotta eat a pound of dirt before you die"? Well, let's just say, after three months in Vietnam, I could die tomorrow having successfully fulfilled that statement. Whenever we go the boss woman squeals with laughter and joy (probably because she knows she can overcharge us) and runs over to the table jabbering on in Vietnamese. I smile and nod and go off in English. The two of us like a pair of old deaf friends; having no idea what the other is saying. The food is always good. The service excellent. The name completely appropriate. Filthy's is quite filthy and yet I go there anyway. Despite the ants that regularly crawl up the table to share your meal, despite the permanent layer of food and garbage on the floor (when they clear the tables they just wipe it all on the ground), despite the animal parts that hang outside in the heat, despite all that, I still go and eat and most of all, enjoy.
