Home-town Visits and Mystery Meat

Every week I get some sort of invitation to go spend a day at a student’s home with their families. I like doing this, really I do. That being said, these days always have the potential to turn into a hostage situation. The day begins around 6:30am, and by the 10am lunchtime everyone’s explicit hope that I will stay for dinner...stay the night...stay forever... has been made perfectly clear. In order to avoid all the awkward, “Please let me go home now” conversations, I’ve become very skilled at having plans mandating I leave by 2pm. This still leaves plenty of time for tea, non-verbal communication with parents (me smiling, them speaking Vietnamese), meeting the adorable and ancient grandparents, a big lunch, and, of course, the requisite afternoon nap.

This past Saturday, I found myself at Ha’s house. Ha lives on a small fish farm about an 1 1/2 hours away from Hai Duong.We went via bus and took possibly the worst road in Vietnam, but that’s another story. Once we arrived, Ha showed me around her house. It was a small cinder block home surrounded by a star-fruit tree orchard and 3 man made fishing ponds.

Ha asked if I like fishing. “Does the pope like to pray!?” I didn’t say. “Of course I like fishing.” I said. Within seconds I was given a stool and a bamboo fishing rod, and someone found a snail for me to use as bait. I was getting excited. I legitimately like fishing, and even more than fishing I like catching. I thought fishing on this fish farm would be like shooting fish in a barrel, like pickin’ green beans. Perfect. The family came out to watch me---the American woman---fish. I cast and began to wait.

Nothing.

Everyone seemed perplexed that the fish weren’t jumping out of the water to lay at my converse-clad feet. Even the father cleaning the freshly killed chicken in the water a few feet away seemed surprised. Time passed. Ha and her small cousins left and came back with a bucket full of powder that looked like saw dust but was, in fact, pig food. They started throwing the pig food towards where my line entered the water. For the fish with a more discerning palate??

Still nothing. I started having flashbacks to many a first day of trout season as a kid, sitting by Skippack creek impatiently reeling in and recasting as my dad said things like, “It’s called fishing, not catching, Mad.”


Still Nothing. Now Ha went over to where her father was cleaning the intestines of the chicken, took some unidentified chicken organ, and put it on my hook. For the more carnivorous fish??


Still nothing. About an hour passed and my crowd had lost interest. Ha decided it was time for me to throw in the towel, and I had to agree. She blamed the weather, which I thought was very sweet of her. We ate a fish-less lunch, took a great nap, and met her new litter of piglets. I can’t believe I forgot my camera--they were so cute.

The next day, Sunday, I had promised my student Hoa that I would go to her house about 1/2 hour from Hai Duong. Its always good to find an activity on these hometown days, so I asked Hoa if there was anywhere in her town to buy jeans. Remember my first terrifying/hysterical shopping fiasco? Well, I’ve since come to love shopping for jeans in Vietnam. Seriously. Its an addiction. They only cost about $6-10 dollars and they all have designer labels. My newest pair are "Dior." They're also sized by the waist, which I love, and since everyone here is short, they can alter them on the spot for no additional charge. I even got brave and bought a pair of skinny jeans with Hoa. They sort of look like they’ve been painted on, but in a not-totally-gross way.

After shopping, Hoa and I made the usual rounds through the village as she demonstrated her newly acquired motorbike driving skills. I met some local babies, saw some local water buffaloes, and had tea with some local Party members...par for the course. Hoa’s boyfriend, with whom she is madly and adorably in love, and he back with her, was making a hot pot lunch. Basically this is a boiling pot of broth brought right out to where you sit and eat. The ingredients for the soup-like dish are all raw, and you put them in to cook little by little as you eat. As I sat down for lunch, I looked at the raw ingredients and saw parts of a chicken that I didn’t even know existed. I made the decision to just ignore them. At least until they were cooked and Hoa’s boyfriend gave me the chicken heart and brain out of respect. What do you do to that??? You eat them. That’s what. Honestly it wasn’t as gross as I thought it would be. They just tasted "organny."

About halfway through lunch, Hoa’s aunt came over with plates of unidentifiable leftovers from her family’s lunch to share with us. There was a small exchange between Hoa and her parents before Hoa said to me, “It’s dog. You do not want, right?”
My face must have spoken volumes because before I could even utter a sound something erupted between Hoa and her family and the plates of dog meat were swiftly removed from my view.

I have seen the dog restaurants. I have even seen the dog parts for sale at the market. But suffice to say that being offered dog already on a plate in front of me brought my cross-cultural experience to a new level. Don't say I'm not trying, Vietnam. I really am.

I didn’t get any pictures of my time with Ha and Hoa, but I did take this picture of my dinner at my boss Mrs. Thu’s house on Sunday night. It was a great, traditional Vietnamese meal.