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Saturday, January 02, 2016
Dinner last night with the Frenchies and the Norwegians:
Turns out the world is full of interesting, cheerful, insightful people, who speak many language, including English. Lucky for the ignorant, fat, monolingual Yankees, right?
Good evening and good morning (respectively) from Mũi Né. Saigon looms but a day or two away.
(as I mention from time to time, if you're reading this directly on Facebook, you may be missing some photos. I strongly suggest hopping over to www.minglefreely.com for the full effect)
And magnificent sunsets
Good evening and good morning (respectively) from Mũi Né. Saigon looms but a day or two away.
I've shed some tears thinking about this, because it signals that we're near the end of our motorbike odyssey through Vietnam. There are no words, though I've written many, to truly describe how deeply and profoundly this journey has nursed, challenged, and enriched my soul. So I'll stop now, because I'm getting teary, and I choose to eat more breakfast and write more later.
Here's what the south calls an "omelette." Delicious, but a total departure from the "piggies" that the Northerners call "omelettes." This is more scrambled eggs poured into a blazing hot skillet and swirls around with ham and tomatoes. Blam, onto my plate. As I've mentioned before, most hotels offer a free breakfast of Dionysian proportions -- fruit, eggs, bread, coffee, tea, the best damned strawberry jam I've ever had over and over -- and I eat, like, five of them. Thankfully, the Viets live to serve and I've never been castigated.
Also, the "bacon" is actually bacon, but nowhere have I encountered a cook who knew how to crisp it. (Chris says this is true the world over). I suspect many places actually steam bacon. Not complaining, just observing. In fact, think I'll order some more. Now.
Best Day of My Life, So Far. And it's only 8:30 am.
Friday, January 01, 2016
Jeffries the Younger
This is my baby brother, Chris Jeffries, who's twice as amazing as many people. <3 None of this would be happening if not for "Jeff." (On the mountain pass, far far up in the sky above Dà Lạt, Viêtnam)
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Hello from 2016
(Facebook friends: Reading my blog is much better in its native form at www.minglefreely.com)
But today it's a different year than it is at home in Kentucky, USA. In other words: "Duuuuuuuude.... It's January 1, 2016 up in this bitch."
More importantly, it's breakfast time, and I'm writing to you with all the wisdom that a fairly hungover, hungry, uncaffeinated stranger in a strange land could posibly offer. Such are my gìts to you from the Future.
Let's see: It's bright here in The Future. I'm blaming that on the big windows and my hangover, but do not let that detract from your own soon-to-be-bestowed future = brightness equation.
It's also kind of still Christmas, at least almost as much as it's ever been, which is to say: completely manufactured. I will say that those who are concerned about the loss of the Big C in Christmas should come over here and stomp their feet, because these Buddhists seem to give not one fuuuck the baby Jesus. He's nice enough, I'm sure many of them would agree. But the Viet people are niceness incarnate, so no need to mince over some kind of immaculate conception.
The Viets just want a big decorative tree, a red and white Santa hat, too small, often with the world "Santa" embroidered on it (which is a little on the obvious side, don't you think, Vietnam?), and, y'know --- Jingle all the way. And what's wrong with that?
It's pretty great. In the US, we fight about it; they're actually full of joy about it. Hard to argue with that in terms of the "reason for the season." And anyway, failing a crèche (and I've seen not one image of Jesus in Vietnam, although Chris's bumper car the other night in Tuy Hôa did seem to sport a lit-up cross on the back, so let's just say "Chrismas" from now on, shall we?),
They've got altars out the Yin-Yang -- from along the glorious wonderful muddy country roads, all the way up to big city hotels, like this one. In fact, here's Mick's Favorite Altar Award #1
(*Quick note: Last night, I heard the hotel clerk proudly pronounce the place's strange name and she said "Lee-Jen-see." So... get it? SPELLING IS HARD. Or maybe somebody already has a joint called the "Regency.")
Back to the altars and their offerings of food for the Buddha: I don't know what happens if you're dumb enough to try to take some of Buddha's Choco-Pies, but I suspect it could be kind of embarrassment-inducing. Kind of like ambling into a funeral, snapping photos.
Which we did.
Yesterday.
Oh, sorry -- back to my report from the future. It's great! I need more coffee and breakfast Phô, pronto. In a little while, I'm going to get my feet fixed up, in a plush pedicure chair. I found a place that has that type of chair, which hopefully guarantees that I'm not accidentally hiring a hooker. You can't be too careful. I've resolved not to have a massage here because I just don't know where that's going. An Aussie friend told me that if somebody says "You want massage baby?" then cover your junk. That's a handjob. A comma can make all the difference.
Nonetheless, I was offered a massage here at the hotel because last night I was the only one clownish enough to get up in front of a lobby of people with the staff emcee and lead the hotel NYE revelers in "some New Years songs," as she requested of me. All they've got is ABBA's "Happy New Year," which she had sung or played over the lobby PA several times prior to drafting me. People seem generally pleased, but where do you go from there? "Some New Year's songs?" Hmm, I didn't think they'd know Deathcab for Cutie, and my rendition of Auld Ang Syne didn't quite ascend to "It's A Wonderful Life" altitudes -- though the look of glee on Viet faces whenever I play ukulele makes it worth more than all the Dong in the world. Sorry -- unfortunate word choice. It's the Vietnamese currency. What do you want me to say?
But I've got a trick up my sleeve because I know The Song. And I told her. Somehow she produces sheets of lyrics of The Song. The Song that has enchanted young and old alike across the land, from the most backwater rice paddy burg right up to the cosmopolitan gleam of Panama City-like Nha Trang. The Song is magic. The Song is baffling. The Song is .... Leo Sayer's 70's hit "More Than I Can Say." She and I practice a couple of times -- a few feet away from where we'll sing it together in the center of the lobby. Into an open mic, we practice it. So, you know, this is going to be a huge surprise to our eager fans, who, like me, are really there for the snacks and free booze.
But sure enough it slays. I never doubted the power of The Song. I hope one day to find out why in the fucking fuck every person in Vietnam knows The Song.
In fact, here it is, so "Happy New Year, Happy New Year," something something something something something, whatever ABBA says.
Finally: Despite being horribly underpracticed, I decided to drop the Frank Loesser Classic, probably my favorite holiday song ever, "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?"
Twice even. Because later after most of a bottle of Vietnamese rum that tasted like grapes and probably didn't have any grapes in it but was full of booze, I played it again for some drinker than I South Africans on the roof of the Legendsea.
So happy new year, my loves. Don't hate me because I get to celebrate it twice. It's only because this is the Best Day of my Life So Far.
What are YOU doing?
My NYE is complete because I got to play Frank Loesser's timeless gem "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve" for two appreciative audiences tonight. I'm out. G'night, America! #drunktiredhappy
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Accidental grab, Comrade, I promise: Guy taking a leak beside typical Communist billboard, the #graphicdesign of which I love and delight in every time. This juxtaposition was happenstance. After the shot, I noticed this guy's buddy kind of staring at me laughing and I realized what I'd just captured. #Vietnam #oops #pissoncomrade #shityouseeinvietnam
Monday, December 28, 2015
Wi-Fi Baby
(Note: If you're reading this on Facebook, you really ought to hop over to my blog www.minglefreely.com . You're missing italics, bold, and some photos, how can you stand it? )
I want your wifi, baby
Here's my phone, type it right in.
I want your wifi, baby
Won't you please it right in?
I need to check my email,
and tell the Facebook places I've been.
(Please feel free to write more couplets)
Like lots of travelers, I'm on an endless
quest for wifi. My phone plan -- which AT&T epically over promised and under delivered, but then, after hours on the phone over 3 days, did their all-thumbs best to honor -- has no data component. Short meaning: beyond txting (free, unlimited) and actual animal-like phone calling ($1/min. hahaha), I gotta have wifi to do anything. Thus, the quest. The endless quest.
Fortunately it's everywhere.
Hell, I spent a glorious afternoon at a place called Hidden Beach, lolling in the surf and wifi.
South China Sea, y'all. Near Phường Cam An. Water, wifi, seafood, Seagrams and soda.
But here's what's so great. The Viets are so friendly and me no speakie, so anywhere I go, I just go to the wifi screen on my phone and hand it to the nearest employee of any given joint. This seems common, by the way. Without hesitation, they type in the password, smile and hand it back to me. Blam, it's on again, Internet friends.
So much confusion is avoided and I wish we could adopt this custom in the US. I know -- type it yourself, lazy white boy. You may not be familiar with the Viet alphabet. It's the same letters but they get cray cray crazy.
Using a Viet keyboard (go ahead, a look, your phone will probably install one w/o much effort, my iPhone did. Had no idea it would do that), watching a Vietnamese person type is like some kinda crazy-ass Magic. Their fingers move like mine, but crazy shit winds up showing up on the screen.
So here, in Vietnam, considering my lameness, it's totally legit to hand the phone to somebody with a polite and sincere "thank you," a smile, and slight bow of the head.
So anyway -- service sector employees of America -- think of the time that could be saved with high maintenance people: "It's not working. Is that a capital B? Is that a zero or an O?'" It's possible, quite possible that everybody would be happier if servers, clerks, host and other valued service-industry peeps would just grab our phones out of our dumbass hands and type in the password and hand the phone back. I know I like it.
Best day of my life so far, on and offline.
Oh, your moment of Vietnam Zen:
Ring around the swimming pool. Morning scrubbing.
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