{"id":199965,"date":"2019-12-29T09:41:27","date_gmt":"2019-12-29T09:41:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/?p=199965"},"modified":"2020-01-01T06:16:38","modified_gmt":"2020-01-01T06:16:38","slug":"peak-buffet-for-ungrateful-insensates","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/?p=199965","title":{"rendered":"Peak Buffet for Ungrateful Insensates"},"content":{"rendered":"

Linh Dinh \u2013 The Unz Review Dec 28, 2019<\/h1>\n
\"\"<\/a>

Nha-Trang-2019<\/p><\/div>\n

It\u2019s always good to get up at dawn to walk around, for you\u2019ll see a less guarded, composed and worn out version of humanity. They\u2019ll still have the rest of the day to blunder, lapse, commit a crime or jump off a bridge. Passing a Nha Trang park, I spot middle aged broads dancing the cha-cha-cha, and an old man clapping his hands loudly as he sternly strolls around its perimeter. Like everybody else, Vietnamese are more or less insane. Always grumbling about the Chinese, they pray daily to Chinese gods.<\/h5>\n
\"\"<\/a>Ducking into a cafe, I promptly email my friend Niccolo Brachelente in Okinawa, \u201cI\u2019ve been in Nha Trang for a few days. It\u2019s my first close look at this city. Tons of Russian<\/span><\/a> and Chinese<\/span><\/a> tourists<\/a><\/span>, and lots of restaurants serving foreign food. I talked briefly to a guy from Puglia. He owns Da Fernando. You may want to find work in Nha Trang. I think you\u2019d like it here.\u201d<\/h5>\n
A sommelier then restaurant manager, Niccolo has been in Asia and away from his beloved Tuscany for 15 years. He\u2019d rather go home and teach yoga, but the economy there is bad. Niccolo\u2019s sister toils in Germany.<\/h5>\n
I always take care of my fellow Italians, capite? I have no idea why il mio padre gave me such a non-Italian sounding name?! Vafanculo to him and his spaghetti barge, if there\u2019s such a thing! Next time I\u2019m in Sicilia, I\u2019ll get La Cosa Nostra to burn down la casa nostra, with him in it. That will teach il coglione to not fuck with a real Italian!<\/h5>\n
It\u2019s not even 7AM, so I better calm down. Tranquillo, tranquillo! This day might not go well. Like I said, I met Fernando. As I scanned his persuasive menu on Nguyen Thien Thuat Street, the white-haired dude ran out.<\/h5>\n
\u201cI lived two years in Italy,\u201d I said to him in Italian.<\/h5>\n
\u201cMe, many more.\u201d Funny man. \u201cI\u2019m from Puglia.\u201d<\/h5>\n
\u201cI lived near Siena.\u201d<\/h5>\n
\u201cSiena.\u201d<\/h5>\n
\u201c\u201cIn Certaldo<\/span><\/a>. The birthplace of Boccaccio.\u201d<\/h5>\n
\u201cVery famous, Boccaccio. No one knows him.\u201d<\/h5>\n
A natural comedian, this Fernando. Hardly anyone in the West knows his heritage anymore, and if he does, he\u2019s deeply ashamed of it. For soiling us all with The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare should be expunged, at least, if not drawn, quartered, decapitated and dipped in chopped liver. Ban that cracker!<\/h5>\n
In Vietnam, heritage is always stressed, for nationalism is what holds this nation together. Military heroes from centuries past are revered, and key poets have streets named after them. On propaganda billboards, it\u2019s patriotism, national unity and the need to protect the country that are stressed, with nothing ever said about international brotherhood or communist solidarity. That shit doesn\u2019t fly here. Russia and China, too, have become unequivocally nationalistic, and that\u2019s why they\u2019re still confident and strong, unlike a certain bickering, confused and opioid-addled pseudo nation.<\/h5>\n
In the US, working class bars are festooned with flags, and politicians spout patriotic slogans and concerns for Main Street, but it\u2019s all mindless symbolism and desperate or cynical posturing. There is no emphasis on knowledge of history or preservation of heritage.<\/h5>\n
\"\"<\/a>In Nha Trang, there\u2019s a street and high school<\/span><\/a> named after Alexandre Yersin (1863-1943), and his house is a museum. There\u2019s even an Association des Admirateurs de Yersin that does a lot of charity work. A great man, the famed bacteriologist is justly honored in his adopted homeland.<\/h5>\n
Russians and Chinese<\/span><\/a> swarm all over downtown Nha Trang, but do they mingle? Of course not, for they can\u2019t talk, or have anything in common culturally. They both eat dumplings, but one with a thin sour cream, and the other with satay and soy sauce. When I sat in the Russian-owned Killed Kenny Bar for several hours, I met people from England, Northern Ireland, Australia and the United States, but no Chinese or even Vietnamese.<\/h5>\n
The American was Nathan Mathabane, son of Mark, who wrote Kaffir Boy. Nathan is impressive enough. A geology major who also ran Division 1 tracks, he\u2019s now an Assistant Dean of Admission at Princeton. Nathan\u2019s in Vietnam to check out its diving scene. Happy to run into each other, we talked at length about Oregon, New Jersey, Philly and the sad state of an increasingly angry country. I hope to run into you again, Nathan.<\/h5>\n
At Grill Yard<\/a><\/span>, there\u2019s a mural of a Chinese and Russian toasting<\/span><\/a>, with the first in a Manchurian outfit, complete with queue, while the second is a rotund tourist, with a camera dangling on his vodka-infused beer belly. The Grill Yard\u2019s cook, though, is a Vietnamese in a New York Yankees cap. Though American culture is still dominant worldwide, Chinese and Russians are consolidating their hold on Eurasia. Fearing to be left out in the cold, Uncle Sam is doing his best to disrupt this.<\/h5>\n
Now, I must make some hushed confessions. Yesterday, I slipped into a Greek restaurant to regale myself with an indifferent, practically smirking moussaka, and two days ago, I stole into Haus Bremen<\/span><\/a>, to inhale, in near record time, its honest-to-God pork schnitzel<\/span><\/a>. At Swiss House<\/a> La Casserole<\/a><\/span>, I also stuffed my face with a chicken cordon bleu<\/a><\/span>. A Vietnam-based Swiss who can no longer taste anything, thanks to tongue cancer, told me about this wonderful joint. On its wall, there\u2019s a mural of a Saint Bernard, lounging next to an alphorn, with the Matterhorn<\/span><\/a> behind him.<\/h5>\n
Twice this week, I planted myself at Red Caf\u00e9 to pig on its delicacies, with salty fish and beer<\/span><\/a> on the last occasion. Vobla and pivo, I craved. You see, once you\u2019ve enjoyed something, no matter how briefly, you\u2019ll miss it at some point, so the more you roam and splurge, the more you\u2019re constantly deprived of just about everything. Even in Manhattan, London or Tokyo, life must be local.<\/h5>\n
So don\u2019t travel, OK? Just stay home with your meatloaf, corn and mash, but I miss that too!<\/h5>\n
Missing so much, contemporary man makes do with a ruthless stream of colorful shadows. Since he can\u2019t be everywhere, he must welcome the facsimile of everything into his insatiable skull, and that\u2019s the logic of television, the internet, endless pornography and even multiculturalism.<\/h5>\n
In Haus Bremen, I met 60-year-old Dieter and 50-year-old H\u1eb1ng. Before opening this restaurant 3 1\/2 years ago, they had a beer garden in Siem Reap, Cambodia, for a decade.<\/h5>\n
Since neither speaks the other\u2019s language, they communicate in a barebone English. It apparently works well enough to keep them together into old age.<\/h5>\n
H\u1eb1ng has two daughters of her own. \u201cBut I\u2019ve known them since they were this small,\u201d Dieter said as he lowered his right hand to just above his knees. \u201cI taught them how to swim.\u201d He made a butterfly stroke through the air. \u201cThey are my children.\u201d<\/h5>\n
The older is majoring in engineering in Saigon. Already fluent in English, she\u2019s studying German and will go to Germany for her last two years of college.<\/h5>\n
Each year, Dieter and H\u1eb1ng go to Germany for a month, primarily to see his mother. H\u1eb1ng has been to Berlin, Hamburg and Bremen. When I asked if she had seen a German Christmas market, H\u1eb1ng said no, since they had to be here for their business. \u201cAnd it\u2019s too cold for her!\u201d Dieter added.<\/h5>\n
It was only yesterday, it seems, that I strolled the streets of Leipzig and could take a quick train to Dresden. You are everywhere you\u2019ve been and, most organically and essentially, every dish you\u2019ve eaten.<\/h5>\n
Mao doesn\u2019t quite sell, so the Chinese Communists have settled on reactionary Confucius as their international brand, but they already have a much better weapon in the battle for global stomachs, hearts and minds, the ubiquitous Chinese restaurant. Each plate of pork fried rice bathes the Middle Kingdom in a warmer glow, though this can quickly backfire with acid reflux!<\/h5>\n
Displaced, Dieter has established roots in Southeast Asia, but he doesn\u2019t pretend to be Cambodian or Vietnamese, and except for too frequent shakedowns from corrupt cops, no one bothers him here. Non integrating whites are welcomed in Vietnam, for there aren\u2019t too many of them, and they don\u2019t cause serious social problems. A case like Gary Glitter screwing 12-year-olds is extremely rare.<\/h5>\n
Whites in Vietnam don\u2019t prey on local women, but are routinely targeted by cold blooded gold diggers. In touristy areas, pale ones are harassed by motorbike-riding pimps and touts, who offer \u201cboom boom.\u201d<\/h5>\n
In Vung Tau, there are actually thousands of Russians, there mostly to work for Vietsovpetro, an oil drilling company. They have their own walled compound. A Russian couple own possibly the worst donut shop on earth, for the glaze often drips right off. She\u2019s bald, and he has just one hand, supposedly lost in Afghanistan. They never smile. In Nha Trang, Russians own or work in restaurants, or are employed by tour operators.<\/h5>\n
There are also hundreds of Aussies in Vung Tau. Thanks to their boozing habits, they\u2019re much more conspicuous than Russians.<\/h5>\n
\"\"<\/a>Two weeks ago, I met 75-year-old Warren<\/a><\/span> at Ned Kelly. Before coming to Vietnam in 1967, he had fought Communist insurgents in Malaysia, \u201cI got here after Long Tan, so I missed that, but then Tet came. My tour was over, but after the fighting started, they said, \u2018You\u2019re not going anywhere!\u2019\u201d The white bearded, glassy eyed man chuckled.<\/h5>\n
After the army, Warren ended up in Holland and the UK for nearly five years. Illegal in Europe, he mostly worked on an oil rig off Scotland.<\/h5>\n
\u201cIt took me more than four decades to return here,\u201d Warren said of Vung Tau. On his tenth day, he met a woman at a bar, and they\u2019re now married, with two kids, 6-years-old and 11-months-old. She also has a 16-year-old daughter.<\/h5>\n
Warren rents a three-bedroom house in a choice neighborhood for just $216 monthly. Here, he lives with his wife, their two kids, her 16-year-old daughter, her parents and brother, though this man chips in $43 a month. Warren\u2019s not sure what his brother-in-law does for a living, only that he often leaves the house in a green uniform.<\/h5>\n
\u201cIs he in the army? Post office? Electrical company?\u201d<\/h5>\n
\u201cI have no idea.\u201d<\/h5>\n
Though his wife wants to go to Australia, Warren tells her they can\u2019t afford it. When he dies, she\u2019ll get a handsome war widow\u2019s pension of $2,500 a month. Is she counting the days? Warren doesn\u2019t care. He has no illusions. He\u2019s just grateful for the daily sunshine, sea breeze, endless 86-cent beers and even burgers with beetroot, just like down under.<\/h5>\n
\u201cThe one thing I worry about is getting sick. If I\u2019m too sick, they won\u2019t allow me on a plane, you know what I mean?\u201d Warren won\u2019t be able to go home for free treatment.<\/h5>\n
When I met Warren that day, he already had six Tigers by noon, so it was nearly time to hobble home for a nap, hopefully not dirt. He had on a bone-colored, embroidered shirt with knotted Chinese buttons, something you\u2019d more likely see on a small boy. \u201cSee ya later!\u201d Maybe I will.<\/h5>\n
With this article, I close my Nha Trang<\/span><\/a> chapter. In two hours, I\u2019ll board an all-night bus for Hoi An, a town that has retained more of its history than anywhere else in Vietnam. Every other place has been well razed, bombed, bulldozed or simply improved. Man doesn\u2019t just befoul, but make much that\u2019s worth preserving, at least until recently. Progress is the heroin of the masses.<\/h5>\n
There is still time for dinner. I think I\u2019ll pass on the \u201cLady Beef<\/span><\/a> Pizza.\u201d It\u2019s not all it\u2019s cracked up to be. That bus will rock me to fitful sleep. In the dark, I\u2019ll snake up the coast.<\/h5>\n
In Hoi An, I\u2019ll meet poet Phan Ba Tho, whom I\u2019ve translated. Twenty years ago, I cleaned his vomit after a drinking bout in Saigon. He\u2019d have done the same for me.<\/h5>\n
Suddenly, I think of Vallejo\u2019s fortifying yet heartbreaking lines:<\/h5>\n
I like life enormously<\/em>
\nbut, of course,
\nwith my beloved death and my caf\u00e9
\nand looking at the leafy chestnut trees in Paris
\nand saying:
\nThis is an eye, and that one too; this a forehead, that one too\u2026 And repeating:
\nSo much life and the tune never fails me!
\n[\u2026]
\nI would like to live always, even flat on my belly,
\nbecause, as I was saying and I say it again,
\nso much life and never! And so many years,
\nand always, much always, always, always!<\/em><\/h5>\n
Much gratitude to Clayton Eshleman for this magnificent translation. One can\u2019t say thank you often enough. May your inner tune never fail you, always, always and always!<\/h5>\n
Linh Dinh\u2019s<\/em><\/strong> latest book is Postcards from the End of America<\/span><\/a>. He maintains a regularly updated photo blog<\/span><\/a>.<\/em><\/h5>\n

 <\/p>\n

Source<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Linh Dinh continues to drift around Vietnam, as he reflects on modern American style \u2018patriotism\u2019, which is no more than cynical and empty posturing <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":146,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[61],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-199965","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-Commentary"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/199965","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/146"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=199965"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/199965\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":199976,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/199965\/revisions\/199976"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=199965"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=199965"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thetruthseeker.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=199965"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}