Thoughts

It’s been about six weeks since I arrived in Saigon, and I think I am starting to miss my San Francisco [home]. Flashes of scenes and neighborhoods of SF pop into my mind. I miss my previous apartment with the red wall and orange bedroom. I miss leisurely strolling around the neighborhood of Potrero Hills. I can picture driving down Portola and seeing the view of downtown and the Bay Bridge with lights shimmering in the evening sky.

Yesterday, I had lunch at a restaurant called Havana. The drinks menu sported the famous silhouette portrait of Marxist Revolutionary, Che Guerera, in Andy Warhol style. …You know, the painting by Andy Warhol of the nine squares of Marilyn Monroe in different duotone color combos. I could describe the décor but I don’t think it’s very interesting. Basically, it’s not Asian-looking. I look at the menu and was a little disappointed to find that nearly everything listed was not Cuban. There were many Vietnamese and Italian dishes. There were only a handful of Spanish dishes. So, I ordered a Vietnamese style lunch combo—nothing else was appealing. The patrons at the table next to me were speaking Spanish. The table next to them had people speaking in English about San Francisco. I didn’t feel like I was in Vietnam. Sitting inside that restaurant, I felt as if I was at an hispanic eatery in a heavily Vietnamese populated city like San Jose, CA—or, the neighborhood of Little Saigon in Los Angeles. Then, I look out the window and see swarms of scooters on the road—not cars—and I realize again that I am actually in…living in Vietnam.