Unintentionally Attending a Highschool Party

I was in a bit of a slump in early May after my first research assistant, An, had to return to work at the Research Institute of Marine Fisheries in Hai Phong. It may have been the three days of data entry that got to me, or perhaps because I was having a horrific allergic reaction to mosquito bites on my feet and ankles that kept me awake at night. Either way, I was feeling pretty down.

Cue my new research assistant, a recent graduate of the aquaculture program at Can Tho University. His name is Thanh (not to be confused with the Thanh who came diving in April). Thanh is a bit more reserved than An, and is keen to be a great research assistant, whereas An was more of a facilitator, showing me the ropes of fisheries in Vietnam.

After a day of settling in, I took Thanh to one of the main fishing villages where seahorses are landed. Kids waved and yelled hello to me; brightly dressed women lounging in hammocks smiled and waved. "They all know you!" said Thanh. Yes - I'm the seahorse lady, don't you know?

What was originally intended to be a day of introduction to recording seahorse landings quickly took a turn for the Vietnamese ... The dock where seahorses normally arrive was occupied by about 25 teenagers. It turned out that Hang, one of my little Vietnamese sisters, had just finished her last day of classes for Grade 12. She and her friends were having a feast of seafood and sharing many beers (note - there is no legal drinking age in Vietnam), so her mother ushered Thanh and I over, insisting we join the party.

Thanh was a bit hesitant at first - but this wasn't my first rodeo. I dug into some clams and a mysterious but delicious fried pancake. When someone wanted to share a pint with me, I gladly obliged (in the entire group, there was only one beer glass - it gets refilled, and two people share the glass, each drinking half - I like the unity of it!).

My new 18-year-old Vietnamese BFFs!

Thanh was horrified that as my research assistant he was drinking with me. I told him it's all part of the process. Eventually he relaxed and we spent the afternoon enjoying ourselves, drinking beer and eating seafood. Soon enough everyone was heading to the living room for karakoe. We missed all of the seahorse boats arriving, but we strengthened our relationships with the community - so much more important in the long run!

Karaoke in the living room - beer bowl in the foreground (the beer is kept cool with ice, which also waters it down and makes it easier to drink all afternoon!)

We were too drunk to motorbike back to our rooms on the other side of the island, so we stayed over with Hang’s family. I fell asleep on a sweaty mattress, wedged between Hang and her younger sister. I feared another onslaught of mosquito bites - but knew that it was worth it!

South Ham Ninh

The eastern side of Phu Quoc Island is where most of the seahorses are caught and landed (brought to shore), either by trawl boats or by compressor divers. An and I have spent a ton of time on the northeastern side, but less in the south. The main town in the south, Ham Ninh, has a market that contains hundreds, if not thousands, of seahorses each day. Whenever I'm at Ham Ninh, I'm in weird mood because I'm surrounded by so many dead (or soon to be dead) adorable sea babies.

Seahorses for sale in a tank at the Ham Ninh market

Recently, An and I spent two days at the main Ham Ninh port, but we didn’t see any seahorses landed there. Knowing they had to come from somewhere nearby, we decided to head to a village to the south. Sure enough, seahorses are brought off the boats there and then sold at the market.

South Ham Ninh Village in the background

After several weeks of good relationships with fishers at other ports, we waltzed into South Ham Ninh (as I like to call the village) expecting everyone to show us their seahorses, no questions asked. That was not the case. A few fishermen obliged, but two in particular whisked off their goods within seconds. I saw easily 50 seahorses per fisherman, but the buckets containing their catch were handed to women on motorbikes and driven immediately to the market. I tried desperately to follow them, wanting to know everything I could - but they were gone.

Bucket o' seahorses - recently caught by compressor diver

Frustrated, An and I went home. What were we supposed to do?

The next day, we went back to South Ham Ninh and the same thing happened. Seahorses arrived, we asked to count them, they disappeared.

Finally, on the third day, I was frustrated enough to say I’d pay to see the seahorses. For $10 we were granted permission. I quickly counted the seahorses, aware of the tense emotions of the fishers and buyers around me. After two minutes or so, I was finished – a boat with two divers had caught over 60 seahorses in one day! I handed back the bucket and the seahorses were motorbiked off to the market.

An and I weren’t sure what to make of it. There was no way I’d be able to pay $10 every day to count those seahorses. Then a buyer came up to us and told us what a mistake we'd made, that now the whole community would expect us to pay to see their seahorses. I was devastated - I definitely don’t have the budget to pay to see all these seahorses!

So we decided to go visit the house of the fisherman who catches crazy amounts of seahorses. In a somewhat odd parlour chat, we drank Mountain Dew and An tried his best to explain why we want to see his seahorses. He finally agreed to let us see them, and even to let us follow him the next day when he would be diving for seahorses.

We organized our dive gear and left at around 8am, after delays due to low tide. We saw six seahorses, while our boat captain caught about 25 (20 years of fishing experience gives you a slight advantage, I guess).

Pregnant little fellow!

Whenever I'm diving, I'm searching madly for seahorses, but my mind also does random things. I sing songs to myself, or think about what I'm going to do later. I've recently discovered some wine that costs $2.59 a bottle. It’s terrible, but it’s bearable as a spritzer so I was looking forward to making one later. That drink was not to be, however...

When we reached land, we started to pack up the taxi. The driver is one of my favourite people on Phu Quoc. He is friendly, plays ridiculous music all day long, and doesn't charge us as if we’re tourists.

I could see a group of men on a porch beckoning me over. “Em, oi!” They called. I walked over to share a few shots of rice wine. Once the taxi was loaded, An joined me. We were in a circle with two compressor divers, two other men, and a prominent community leader. The next two hours were a blur of sharing shots and eating seafood…

My family probably can’t believe it, but I've literally thrown every former food hesitation out the door. That evening, I ate mushrooms followed by chicken liver followed by a "wild animal" that I hope was not dog. Then came the interesting stuff - snails that were chewy like rubber, clam after clam, squid ... Then I saw Mr Community Leader slicing up a cuttlefish - that was covered in ink. An gladly accepted the piece he was offered, and encouraged me to do the same. What the hell, I thought. Ally in Canada would never even think about eating that, but Ally in Viet Nam just throws caution to the wind! I ate the ink-covered flesh, and black liquid dripped down my lips and chin. I wasn’t bothered in the least, perhaps because I was five rice wine shots deep at this point.

Familiar faces started to join us on the porch - buyers and fishers, who started becoming more friendly with us. The community leader assured us that any time we need anything, we need only go through him. A buyer agreed to set up at oxygen tank so I can count live seahorses without them dying. I was elated. In a community where I thought my reputation had been potentially ruined, we suddenly had so many options!

By the time we left, it was past 8pm. I thanked our taxi driver profusely, who sat and chatted happily with everyone the whole time. I collapsed in bed with a gurgling stomach and a blurred brain, but I was happy!

Boats of South Ham Ninh in the fading evening light

Vietnamese Food Part III: Beer Edition

Give me a woman who loves beer and I will conquer the world. - Kaiser Wilhelm

Back when I arrived in Vietnam, I had a beer at a restaurant on my first night. I think it was a Tiger beer ... it was light, tasty, and exactly what I needed at the time.

It wasn’t until I reached Hai Phong that I tried fresh “Bia Hoi” (pronounced bee-ah hoy) which is Vietnam’s famous draft beer. A light lager that is usually served over ice, bia hoi is brewed daily and matured briefly before being served. It’s super cheap and easy to drink – I remember being thoroughly impressed by the RIMF staff’s drinking capabilities, before I realized the beer is about 3%!

Drinking fresh bia hoi in Hai Phong with one of the RIMF staff, Chieu

There are a few interesting cultural traditions with beer drinking. People “cheers” every time they take a sip (which, to be honest, gets a little tiring). I didn’t understand the reasoning behind it until one of my colleagues, a professor from Can Tho University, explained it to me one night when he was visiting Phu Quoc.

“When you are drinking,” he said, “there is something for all of the senses – your eyes see the beer, your tongue tastes the beer, your hands feel the cool beer, and you can smell the beer. But your ears are left out – so that is why we clink our glasses and cheers so often!” CHEERS FOR THE EARS. Haha!

There are also shouts of “HUNDRED PERCENT”, which means you should drink all of your beer (in Vietnamese, “Tram phan tram”). Sometimes, after clinking glasses, they will point to their glass and say "How much?", at which point you respond with 30%, 50%, etc, pointing to an invisible line on your own glass. An taught me the phrase “Chay hay minh”, which means “Drink to get drunk!”

There are many common lagers in Vietnam, including Bia Hanoi, Saigon Green, Saigon Red, Saigon Special, Bivina, Tiger, and 333. What I find most interesting about the beers (because, forgive me, they all taste very similar) are the beer girls that go with them. Depending on the restaurant / drinking venue, there will be at least one designated server wearing a tiny dress that’s themed based on the beer they serve. Blue for Tiger, Red for Bia Saigon, etc. These women constantly refill beer glasses and top up melting ice (as I mentioned before, beer is served over ice to keep it cool).

One time, I was served a beer with a monster sized ice piece. I wasn’t even able to take a sip because the ice was so massive. An called over a beer lady, who promptly picked the ice cube out of my glass with her ice tongs, dropped it back in her ice bucket, rustled around, and found a new piece of ice to drop in my glass. I was SUPER weirded out – who would get my original ice piece, covered in my slobber? Whose glass had my new piece been in previously?! My germ-phobia kicked in, and my intestines cringed. But I just went with it. Since then, I’ve seen this ice-swapping occur many times … I guess germ spreading is just not a big deal in Vietnam.

TRAM PHAN TRAM!

Notes & thoughts from my first month on Phu Quoc Island

• Tropical island heat is INTENSE. When I’m out doing research I have sweat dripping down my forehead, filling my eyebrows, rippling along my cheeks. I am a sweat festival within minutes of leaving the proximity of a fan. It’s like a Bikram yoga studio, 33 degrees and 80% humidity ... But in a studio there's no sun, beating down and searing your skin in seconds. I can literally watch my skin burn - if I've missed a spot with my sunscreen, I'll know within a few minutes, because a red patch will show up.
• I recently found some “granola” (basically corn flakes with some dried papaya), which I eat with yogurt for breakfast sometimes, when I don’t feel like having pho (thank you French colonization, for yaourt and for baguettes). However, I naively left the granola out in my room one night. When I opened it up the next morning, it was an ant city! There were probably over a hundred ants in the bag. I had to make a quick decision between no breakfast and granola-with-ants-and-yogurt. I went with the bonus protein option. I found a fridge to put the granola into, but ever since then there have been a few little ants in my breakfast each morning. Yum!
• The above ants also live in my computer’s keyboard now. I like to think that they are cleaning out all of the little crumbs and messes, like my personal cleaning squadron.
• It is common to see foreign men with Vietnamese women (I’m only uncomfortable when it’s older British men and younger Vietnamese girls who giggle at everything they say, uncomprehending). But it is rare to see a blonde woman with a Vietnamese man. Hence I get weird looks (from Vietnamese and foreigners alike) whenever I’m motorbiking or walking around with An (I also get weird looks in general, but I can tell when it’s the “what is she doing with him” look). 
• It’s interesting to learn the intricacies of a culture. Like women’s roles. I asked An about it and he said “Men make house, women make home.” Women do most of the child raising, cooking, and cleaning. It’s rare to see women in power positions. It’s also a harsh world woman-to-woman; in divorces or separations, women have very few rights, even if their husband was adulterous. The blame is often placed on the woman, and there is little sympathy (indeed often scorn) from other women.
• It’s the worst feeling waking up thinking there are bugs crawling all over you... especially when you realize there are actually bugs crawling all over you.
• I love motorbiking in the evening, especially through the forested parts of Phu Quoc. Massive bats and birds start flying everywhere, catching the dusk’s bugs. It’s beautiful - the whole jungle comes alive with buzzing and singing. 
• One day we were motorbiking along when something massive (like the size of a hefty grape) whacked me in the face. An even stopped to ask if I was OK because my reaction was pretty evident, despite sitting behind him. About a minute later An yelped – that’s when I noticed the giant wasp (that had hit me in the face) that was crawling along An’s back – I flicked the giant black-and-orange beast away. Within minutes An had a huge welt on his back – luckily it wasn’t a “toxic” wasp and the swelling went down within an hour or so. 
• Women cover up all of their skin from the sun – they wear high socks, pants, hoodies, masks, gloves, and wide hats. I feel like I’m naked in comparison, even wearing a long-sleeved shirt and shorts to my knees. It's not a matter of religion; just that having white skin is considered beautiful (unlike North America's obsession with tanned skin). I'm no tan-junky, I love my SPF, but I will re-emphasize my first bullet point - it is PAINFUL to have to wear any extra clothing than the bare minimum. I usually compromise with long shorts and a T-shirt.
• One day I was wearing a tank top, and two girls motorbiked up next to us, and one pinched my arm, yelling “WHOOEEE!!” in disbelief that I would let my skin see the sun. She then laughed, made a peace sign and biked off.
• Whenever I’m in a fishing village recording information about seahorses, I’m usually surrounded by anywhere from five to twenty people who are curious about what I’m doing. I can’t understand what they’re saying, so I always imagine them saying “The weird white girl is counting seahorses again, come look!”
  

Hon Thom

Recently, researchers from RIMF were visiting Phu Quoc for a crab survey. After two days on the main island, they were planning to head south to one of the smaller islands, and asked if An and I wanted to join. We jumped at the opportunity, and got up at 5am on Wednesday to motorbike to An Thoi (which takes about an hour), then catch a boat to Hon Thom. Hon Thom is the largest of the 13-island archipelago to the south of Phu Quoc.  

We took a speedboat (they call it a “canot”, with a French accent) from the An Thoi port to Hon Thom – my first time travelling on anything other than a small, slow wooden fishing boat! We arrived in a large bay filled with fishing boats of all kinds – crab fishing boats, trawl boats, smaller compressor diver boats. We were dropped off on the beach, and walked through the market towards the centre of the island. I could tell immediately that foreigners rarely come to Hon Thom; people stared at me like I was an alien. Children chased after me, yelling “Hell-O!” – I smiled and waved back at them, feeling like a minor celebrity. 

The main drag on Hon Thom

I was immediately enchanted by the island. It is everything Phu Quoc is not – quiet, no cars, no hustle and bustle. Mangos, durian and coconuts dot the ground; the fruit is so bountiful on the island that people can’t keep up with it. After about a ten-minute walk, we arrived at the house where we’d be staying. Mr Cuong, the researcher from RIMF, stays here with his “brother,” Hai, whenever he does crab surveys on Hon Thom. Hai lives with his wife and his mother; next door, his sister and her husband have a similar house. They are large concrete buildings with open front rooms, and a couple smaller rooms in the back. The backyard houses chickens, roosters, ducks, and about four dogs milling around; a mottled black and brown one was my favourite.

When we walked up to the house, Hai’s mother gave me a big hug. I realized this was the first proper hug I’d had since I arrived in Vietnam, and it felt amazing! 

This is a good time to explain that Vietnamese people refer to each other based on their relative ages. I am usually called Em because I am younger than most people (most people in Vietnam guess my age at somewhere between 15-19, and I also generally underestimate their ages). I refer males who are slightly older than me as Anh, and females Chi. For males my father’s age, I call them Chu; for females, Co. A grandfather I’d call Ong, and a grandmother, Ba. 

So, my newly adopted grandmother will hereto forth be reffered to as “Ba.” Hai’s wife, I will call Chi. 

After dropping off our stuff in the house, An and I went to check out the nearby beaches. I am constantly horrified by the garbage on the beaches here. I poke around the shoes, hats, plastic bags, and other detritus wearily, knowing that even if I pick it up and put it in a garbage can it will likely end up back in the ocean. 

We kept walking and found an abandoned fish sauce factory – the result of investments gone awry. Then we spent an hour talking with crab fishers about the seahorses they catch, which involved a few shots of rice wine (imagine it like the concept of three cups of tea – getting to know someone – except it’s three shots of homemade spirits). I usually leave interviews in a good mood, despite usually hearing about declines in seahorse populations. The rice wine eases the pain. 

Abandoned fish sauce factory

We eventually made it back to the house for lunch, which was served on the tile floor of the living room. Everyone sits cross legged, which I haven't been able to do since I injured my ankle in February, so instead I kind of half squat - half kneel. I sat next to Ba and was fed constantly – she plucked snails out of their shells, dipping them in sweet sauce and dropping them into my bowl. I must have eaten thirty or forty of them. I was also fed fish and chicken and heaps of rice. Stuffed from lunch, we all fell asleep in various hammocks surrounding the house. Sweat was dripping down my face, roosters were crowing constantly, dogs were barking, but I was too tired to notice – I slept deeply for an hour. 

In the afternoon, An and I took a small boat from Hon Thom Island to an even smaller island, Hon Roi, to check out the seahorse fishery there. We returned to Hon Thom just as the sun was setting over the ocean, and it was gorgeous. 

When we got back to the house, Ba gestured that it was time for me to take a shower and change out of my sweaty, stinky clothes. I’d only brought one extra shirt, originally not knowing if we were even staying overnight. I was a bit hesitant to take a shower, figuring I’d be fine until I got back to Phu Quoc the next day. But I was ushered into the small bathroom and Chi kindly gave me some loose pants to change into. I was shown which bottle was shampoo, and which was body wash. Now, I was faced with the simple matter of figuring out the shower… There was a large bucket on the ground, and a handheld shower head. Was I supposed to stand in the bucket? The entire floor would be covered in water if I didn’t but I thought it was a bit questionable to get into the bucket so I stayed on the tile. I turned on the showerhead and lukewarm water came out (how I wished it was ice cold!!). I rinsed myself, trying to get most of the water into the bucket (figuring at this point that it was just for reusing). Eventually, I realized the bucket of water was for hand washing or toilet flushing. It is added manually, using a smaller bucket, to the toilet bowl. HOORAY FOR REUSING! 

Back to shower time – I grabbed the body wash. The only English word on the bottle was “Charming”. I sniffed it apprehensively before thinking to myself, “Who cares! Anything is better than sweaty researcher at this point!” I emerged from my shower refreshed and smelling sort of musky (but ever so charming). 

Dinner on the patio

We ate a huge dinner that night, along with many shots of cloudy rice wine. Around 11pm, people started making their way to bed. I was sleeping in the front room, and felt like an absolute princess with a mosquito net set up around me and a fan pointing directly at me (with its own little generator for whenever the power went out). I was able to ignore the squawking roosters and barking dogs with the help of earplugs, but my royal slumber was interrupted at around 3am by the most horrifying sounds. There was a constant, piercing wail of agony, terrifying screaming that didn’t seem to end. Was something giving birth? I had dreams about a dying werewolf. As I was pulled out of the haze of sleep, I thought maybe it was a dinosaur. What would I do if there was a dinosaur?! I got up and stumbled to the bathroom, just as Hai was getting up and heading outside. Good, I thought to myself. He’ll protect me from the dinosaur. When the screaming ended I fell back asleep.

In the morning, An asked how I slept. “OK,” I said. “Except for all of the noises – what the heck was that awful sound?”

“Oh, you mean the pigs singing?” An said, deadpan. 

“Umm … An were they killing pigs?”

“Yes, for the market, I think.” He said. “Did you also hear the dogs speaking?”

...

......

...

We ate a quick breakfast then took a small boat around the Hon Thom port, talking to fishers about whether they catch seahorses. As usual, it was sunny and hot, and by the end of the morning I felt completely brain dead. Luckily Ba came to my rescue when we returned to the house – she fed me mangoes on mangoes until my teeth felt fuzzy. After a three-fish variety lunch (plus some very delicious recently deceased pork), we went back to Hon Roi for the afternoon to get more information from the fishers there. 

Shoreline & village of Hon Roi

As I mentioned before, I’d brought one extra shirt for this whole trip and had not expected to be so extremely sweaty. When we returned from Hon Roi, my caring Ba stared at my pink sweaty face and said “tam!” tapping her chest. An translated – “You want to shower?” This time I didn’t hesitate. YES! To replace my sweaty clothes, I was given matching red tights and a top – Vietnamese women always seem to be wearing matching tops and bottoms. I hurried off to the shower, then there was a knock on the door. “Em, oi!” Suddenly I was given new undergarments, too. What the heck, I thought, might as well be Vietnamese through and through! Besides, my lululemon sports bra was pretty much 100% sweat at this point. 

After my shower, I grabbed my new clothes. The top was kind of a one-shoulder number, and I kept flipping it back and forth, not knowing which way to put it on. Of course I got it wrong, and Chi, amused by yet another one of my inabilities, made me switch it around as soon as she saw me. When I walked outside, the men smiled and laughed at my transformation. I was no longer wearing my usual shorts and t-shirt, and they were probably surprised that I can actually look like a girl.

Chi was preparing dinner and I asked if I could help with anything, but she responded “Khong.” No. Ba was sweeping up the yard, so I followed her around, picking up stray mangoes that had fallen during the day. For dinner, we ate delicious rice and pea soup along with squid and fried fish. Ba lovingly removed the squid heads and rolled them up with fish and cucumbers in pieces of lettuce for me to eat, as though I was a little child. They were delicious and I ate about eight. 

Beers with Ba! She could chug way faster than I could, and made fun of me for it ;)

After one more night (with no dinosaurs), I woke up feeling like I never wanted to leave that remote paradise. I was relieved that my phone was dead – there is 3G almost everywhere in Viet Nam so it’s tempting to forget where I am and stare at my phone. I watched a pack of six dogs run by, alerting the four that hang out at Hai’s house to begin barking. I could hear a lizard calling (which sounds kind of like a squeaky toy), and watched a chicken lead her chicks across the yard. 

Reluctantly, I packed up my things and said goodbye to Ba, who gave me another big hug and kiss on the neck (which is kind of more akin to her snorting my neck… I looked it up and it’s called a sniff kiss, smelling the skin of the beloved). We hopped on Hai’s motorbike and drove down to the beach. Kids shouted and ran after the motorbike, waving at me. I made a mental note to make every effort to come back here at least once a month.