Mopeds & Miracles

It's a curious thing to be able to wrap your hands around the essence of your life. To be able to feel every bump and know every wrinkle. To have figured it out, completely. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Rewind to Sunday night, in the hot, thick air of Saigon. A mouth waters in such climates. A mouth asks for the smallest of concessions. A mouth wants... beer . And I've known my mouth my whole life. As one of my favorite body parts, how could I possibly deny it? Then beer it is. Now, one of the wonderful traditions of Vietnam is the drinking of Bia Hoi . Bia Hoi is not fancy beer. Bia Hoi is not bottled beer (served draft only). Bia Hoi is not even very good beer - upon first tasting it, you smack your lips several times in a vain attempt to discern what actually makes it taste... slightly funny. What it is, is local beer. Brewed in some small shop and served the same day (as they don't use preservatives so it won't keep for more than a couple ...

May 1, 2008. A national holiday in Vietnam, it marks the day that Saigon fell. For the Communist government, it's Reunification Day . For me, it's the 33rd anniversary of when my family fled the country. For my Vietnamese relatives, it's the 49th day since the death of my aunt. The Vietnamese love wakes so much, they have two. Once right after the death, and again 49 days later. Ironically, Reunification Day is just that, as our family has come from far away to gather for the wake. Relatives from Da Lat drove for six hours to be here. I'm no exception. Thirty three years after fleeing the country, I've finally come home. And when I say home, I mean this quite literally. The house I'm standing in is the house my family lived in before we left. It was a surreal feeling, imagining little baby Tai crawling around on these same floors. It was as close as I would ever get to crawling back into the womb. A monk chanted the prayers for the dead, but I coul...

Do you remember the smell of coffee in the morning? Its gentle pull easing you into the waking world? The subtle tastes on your palate? Well forget everything you know. Vietnamese coffee is a whole different ballgame. In fact, it's not a game at all. Seriously, these people are not playing around. Coffee was introduced to Vietnam by the French. The Vietnamese took to it instantly, but in typical Vietnamese fashion, they said "Hey guys, I really like what you've got here with this whole coffee thing, but what if we..." And then they proceeded to stomp all over French coffee. They triple distilled it until one ounce equaled an American coffee. They added condensed milk to quintuple the sugar content. They made it better, faster, stronger. American coffee is your high school varsity soccer coach, giving you that pep talk to get you off the bench and playing your best. Vietnamese coffee is the neighborhood tough guy, punching you in the gut then saying "...

For more than half a year, the idea of moving to Vietnam has hung over my head. Dark and heavy, it was my cartoon rain cloud. I came to know my constant companion; not as you know an intimate friend, but as you know the mole on the back of your neck. Never having seen it in your life, you know the shape, the size, the hardness. And so the question inevitably became, just how big is this thing anyway? It's eight months big. I first gave birth to the idea when I said it out loud in August of 2007. "I think I could live here." Six words. It wasn't much of a birth - a sad little preemie on life support. I never thought my little newborn would survive, but little by little the idea took root. It overcame so many growing pains. What would I do with all my stuff? What would I do with my car - my beloved Veronica? How would I earn a living? And now it's all grown up (for those who don't know this bit of common knowledge, one month in idea years is equal t...