Placidity

Saturday night was just right, from the start until the end. I started by obtaining the most basic survival resource, which I had longed for since I arrived in Vietnam: Cheese! Real cheese! We found the place to get it (the same French restaurant where we celebrated Widhar’s birthday), and I just couldn’t hold myself. It is unbelievable how something that you are used to have on a regular basis and suddenly becomes scarce can turn into the most precious treasure.

Cheese in hand, we needed to stop by our place in order to drop it in the fridge. As we arrived, we found a very typical scene: in front of the house, on the street, a few small plastic chairs had been placed and the landlady was sitting there with her mother and her son, having a relaxed and happy chat. When she saw us arriving, she promptly took out additional chairs, and invited us to sit and chat with them. It was a very pleasant conversation indeed… although I missed at least half of it. Well, the lady, lovely as she is, doesn’t speak a word in English, and her mother speaks a little less than her. Luckily enough the son does, and between his occasional translations and Djudju’s “Basic Vietnamese Phrases” Book (I should comment on the chapter “romance and sex” of that book one of these days) we managed to learn a little more about our host and her family.



Then, straight to our last stop of the night: Café Serenata, a sound recommendation of Lonely Planet: “Tables here are scattered around a lush, pond-filled courtyard and inside a charming villa. Popular with couples after dark with live music some nights”… and that was one of those nights! The Menu had the most unique feature: there were two sets of prices, one for the day, and one for after dark (s.t.f.e.: a case of effective price discrimination).

And after the talk, the music came. There was a small band that played alone first, and then two lady singers followed. The first of them sang exclusively in Vietnamese, and had a very strict routine for each piece: First, with the most charming smile and a very delicate and feminine voice, she announced the name of the song. Second, her face turned inexpressive and she looked as if she hated each and everyone in the room while she stood there waiting for the band to start playing. Third, just as the melody started to sound and as in an act of magic the smile reappeared, and she graciously sang a song that, although always indecipherable to me, was unequivocally romantic.



The second singer, on the other hand, was specialized in foreign language songs. She didn’t have a routine as structured as her predecessor: just sat there and got the job done. It was, however, a great performance. Inspiration followed. Smiles. Pure placidity.