recognize any of it. The old man studied the signs.
“What do you suggest?” I asked him
He didn’t answer, and it was pretty loud in there, so I tried again, louder this time. “What’s any good?”
“Noodles.”
“What if I don’t like noodles?”
“Then you shouldn’t have got off the plane.”
“There’s a lot of stuff written up there. It can’t all be noodles.”
“I’ll order for you.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is, or will it be a surprise?”
The guy who seemed to be taking orders came along just then, so I didn’t get an answer. The old man did some pointing, held up four fingers and threw out a few words in Vietnamese. The order guy said some stuff back. It sounded like he was giving the old man hell for something. Then he looked at me, not real friendly, and walked away, shouting in the direction of the people who were cooking.
“So what am I having?”
“Noodles and fish.”
“Is the fish cooked?”
The old man shrugged.
“Will it be dead at least?”
“Pretty much.”
“You speak very much Vietnamese?”
“Some. I used to be pretty good. But I’ve forgotten a lot.”
That was it for conversation. The old man didn’t seem to feel like talking, and I was too tired to try.
I’ll say one thing — the place got the food out really fast. It was maybe a minute or so before I was staring down at a plate full of noodles and some things sitting on top of the noodles that I assumed — and hoped — were chunks of fish. It was all steaming and, actually, didn’t look or smell, that bad. I took the chopsticks and moved some of the noodles around, checking for anything that crawled. I didn’t see anything.
For a few minutes the old man and I just ate, no talking. The thing is I’m okay with chopsticks, but I kind of have to work at it. So I was concentrating pretty hard.
“Not bad,” I shouted after I’d worked my way through some of the noodles and one piece of the fish. “What kind of fish is it?”
The old man didn’t answer. He pointed at one of the pictures, which was exactly zero help. I got the feeling that whenever he thought I might not like the answer to one of my questions, he just didn’t bother to respond.
He chewed for a while, then looked at me. “You play any baseball?”
“What?” It wasn’t the conversation I expected to be having in that place at that exact time.
“Baseball. You play any?”
“Little League.”
“You any good?”
“Not bad, I guess. I played shortstop and once in a while catcher. Our team made it to the city finals one year. But we lost. I made an error in the last inning. Probably cost us the game.”
“Shit happens.”
“I thought we had a rule about saying shit.”
“We have a rule about you saying shit.”
“That’s not fair.”
The old man swallowed some more noodles and nodded. “You’re right. No more shit. Eat.”
We ate. But before I could finish, I was falling asleep. Sitting there surrounded by noise and chaos, I was afraid I’d slump forward head first into the noodles. The old man said something about Vietnam being a big-time baseball country. I was too tired to answer. Or care. He stood up, paid the guy who’d taken our order, and stepped back from the counter. I barely got my gear pulled out from under the counter before two businessmen-looking guys (what kind of business happens at midnight on a Saturday night?) piled into the seats we had just vacated.
We stepped out into the street. “Want me to carry something?”
I shook my head. “I’m good.”
He headed off in what I hoped was the direction of the Rex Hotel. We were maybe ten minutes getting there, and there was constant noise and movement and light going on around us the whole time. But I don’t remember much more than that because I was in a total zombie state for most of the walk.
2
Which is probably why I don’t remember much of that first look at the Rex Hotel either.
I woke up the next morning a little confused. The light was streaming in on top of me from a large window next to my bed. I didn’t have a shirt on, but I was still wearing the jeans and socks I’d had on the day before. I couldn’t remember getting undressed for bed. I guess that’s because I didn’t, not really.
I sat up and looked around. I was alone in the room. No sign of the old man. There was a clock on a shelf that jutted from the wall near the window. Ten sixteen. I was like whoa, I never sleep that long.
I got up and went into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. When I came out, the old man still hadn’t come back from wherever he’d gone. I got dressed, unpacked my clothes, and turned on the TV. I was still trying to find a channel that was in English when the old man came through the door.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty’s finally up and moving.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I don’t usually sleep in like that.”
“Don’t sweat it. Jet lag. Let’s go get some breakfast.”
“Is it going to be sort of … normal food?” The idea of noodles first thing in the morning was enough to make me give up eating for as long as we were in Vietnam.
“Bacon and eggs normal enough for you?”
I did the fist pump. “Oh, yeah.”
We ate in the rooftop restaurant. It was outdoors with a pretty cool view of the centre part of the city. That surprised me too, the city itself. Seeing them in daylight, the buildings weren’t what I expected. I mean, inside me, I knew it wasn’t really going to be all huts and grass shacks. But still I hadn’t expected this.
For starters, everything was bigger than I thought it would be. And the architecture was a lot different from what I expected. Some Asian looking buildings, pagodas and stuff, some fancy what looked like European architecture and some really modern looking places like you’d see in Los Angeles. That is if you ever got out of the airport and actually saw Los Angeles.
It was hot already, but there were some clouds around that looked like there might be some rain.
The waiter spoke English, and the old man ordered three orders of bacon and eggs,
