I've been reminded recently of an episode of the sitcom "Everybody Loves Raymond" which is one of those shows that has wound up so heavily in syndication that virtually every American who's ever turned on a TV set in the last decade has probably seen at least one episode, if not the entire series run. In this episode, an older woman shows up at the door of the Barone house. She speaks no English, but presents a letter, announcing herself as a family member from Italy, come for a visit. No one in the house was expecting such a visit, but they DO have family in Italy, so this must be a long lost relative who's managed to track them down. Despite the fact that they speak only a couple words of Italian, they manage to have one of the best weeks of their lives entertaining the sweet older woman, and getting along better with one another as a result. When Ray's parents manage to dig up a box of old family photos, however, the woman doesn't recognize anyone in the pictures, and the family realizes that their new favorite relative isn't actually a relative at all... she's just landed at the wrong house.
It's a plot that I feel has been done before, though I can't pinpoint which show it may have been; but what probably hasn't been done is to tell this story from the perspective of the unexpected guest who has arrived in a foreign country where she speaks not a bit of the local language, and accidentally finds herself at the wrong home. I can tell you from personal experience how that would probably go... sort of...
When I first planned this trip to Southeast Asia I knew that I had to include Vietnam in my itinerary. Not only is it meant to be a beautiful and unique country, but my cousin's wife is Vietnamese and she has family still in the country, so there was the possibility of having a local to show me around certain areas, and maybe even a place to stay. When I arrived in country, she put me in touch via Facebook with her aunt in Florida, who then put me in touch with a large networking group of friends and family scattered all around southern Vietnam. They were all super nice, and quick to dispense advice in the form of group messaging about where to go and what to see. When I got to Da Nang, I spent a lovely Sunday afternoon motorbiking all over the city with one of the group members who lived in town. She was a lovely host, and it was great to get to see the city from a local's perspective.
As I was approaching Nha Trang, group messages began to fly back and forth (some in English but mostly in Vietnamese) arranging for me to stay at my cousin's wife's family home while I was in town. I received instructions from the Aunt in Florida giving me an address and two names to ask for when I got there. Okay, sounds easy enough.
I arrived ridiculously early in the morning after a super uncomfortable night spent on a "sleeper bus". After killing a couple hours at a breakfast café I made my way to the address and presented the hostess of the café that rents the front of the building with the two names I was given. This woman spoke a few words of English, but not really enough to have any sort of meaningful conversation. She understood that I was looking to stay there for two nights, and then introduced me to another woman who spoke not a word of English, but who I interpreted to belong to one of the two names I had been given. She seemed to have absolutely no clue who I was or why I was there and I had not a clue who she was or how exactly she might be related to my cousin's wife. If you've never tried to explain through a language barrier that your cousin is married to.... someone in this family... and you were sent here by... someone else in this family... with nothing to help you along except a list of previously downloaded half English and half Vietnamese Facebook messages because your phone only works when connected to WiFi and the WiFi there isn't working... well, you're missing out.
Here's where my story differs from the sitcom plot. I KNOW that I am, in fact, at the right house. I had an address, and I was also provided with the name of the café that rents out the front of the house and that checked out. I know that this woman who's now hosting me is someone connected with my cousin's wife, but I have no way of figuring out how, or explaining who I am and how I came to be here... the WiFi STILL isn't working! Despite that knowledge, I can't help but feel like I know exactly what that confused old lady from Italy felt like during her week with her phony family in New Jersey. My hostess went on to prepare me a huge and delicious lunch, and we sat and smiled at one another as I enjoyed it, unable to do much more. I started to feel more than a bit bad that she was going to such trouble to put me up and make me food and she didn't seem to have a clue who I was, or maybe she did...I had no way of finding out. Finally, she picked up her cell phone and made a call. After a few minutes she handed the phone to me and a voice spoke to me in broken English... she'd found a translator! Hallelujah! The woman on the phone proceeded to tell me that my hostess was going to bring me down to the beach, where she rents an apartment in one of the nicer hotels on the strip, and I could spend the afternoon with her.
We got to the beach and I met my new friend, who spoke pretty decent English but was much more fluent in French, so whenever we hit a stumbling block in our English conversations I would make the jump over to French to clarify... quite the linguistic gymnastics routine after being out of practice in French for so many years, but we made it work. Plus, the hotel had WiFi! Finally I could pull up the Facebook photos of my cousin and his wife, and I had a translator to explain the convoluted connection I had to her. When my hostess nodded in understanding, I felt a million times better! Later that evening I got a message from my cousin's wife, explaining who my hostess was and her connection to the family. Turns out she is one of three children born to my cousin's wife's grandmother's maid and my cousin's wife's grandmother basically raised her and her two siblings after their mother died. I had made a lot of guesses as to how my hostess might have fit into the family, but "grandmother's maid's child" was definitely not one of them.
I spent the next day and a half scuttling back and forth between the beach (where I swam in the sea for the first time in years, based on repeated assurances in French that "il n'y a pas des requins" in these crystal blue waters) and my homestay, where I continued to experience incredible hospitality and was offered enough food to feed a small army. Despite the initial confusion, it turned out to be a really nice stop, and it couldn't have come at a better time. I had been growing a bit weary of the constant "hustling" that went on between Vietnamese locals and tourists. It was beginning to feel as though every nice or helpful gesture was nothing more than an opening to try and sell you something.. In Thailand, I actually had to learn to let my guard down a bit and accept that the bright smiles and offers of help from the locals were (at least sometimes) genuine. I felt bad on more than one occasion for initially dismissing or trying to ignore someone who turned out to be actually looking out for my best interest. In Vietnam, I learned quickly that I had to put the walls back up and I wasn't thrilled about it. I could feel myself becoming more and more jaded and defensive. My day in Da Nang and this experience in Nha Trang were great respites from the tour agencies and moto drivers and other various touts out to cash in on the American tourist. It was so nice to be able to let the walls down again and really get to know some locals and experience their way of life, and their incredible hospitality and kindness... even when a foreign stranger shows up at their door unannounced.
It's a plot that I feel has been done before, though I can't pinpoint which show it may have been; but what probably hasn't been done is to tell this story from the perspective of the unexpected guest who has arrived in a foreign country where she speaks not a bit of the local language, and accidentally finds herself at the wrong home. I can tell you from personal experience how that would probably go... sort of...
When I first planned this trip to Southeast Asia I knew that I had to include Vietnam in my itinerary. Not only is it meant to be a beautiful and unique country, but my cousin's wife is Vietnamese and she has family still in the country, so there was the possibility of having a local to show me around certain areas, and maybe even a place to stay. When I arrived in country, she put me in touch via Facebook with her aunt in Florida, who then put me in touch with a large networking group of friends and family scattered all around southern Vietnam. They were all super nice, and quick to dispense advice in the form of group messaging about where to go and what to see. When I got to Da Nang, I spent a lovely Sunday afternoon motorbiking all over the city with one of the group members who lived in town. She was a lovely host, and it was great to get to see the city from a local's perspective.
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| My lovely tour guide in Da Nang |
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| Da Nang's Dragon Bridge (it actually spits fire!) |
As I was approaching Nha Trang, group messages began to fly back and forth (some in English but mostly in Vietnamese) arranging for me to stay at my cousin's wife's family home while I was in town. I received instructions from the Aunt in Florida giving me an address and two names to ask for when I got there. Okay, sounds easy enough.
I arrived ridiculously early in the morning after a super uncomfortable night spent on a "sleeper bus". After killing a couple hours at a breakfast café I made my way to the address and presented the hostess of the café that rents the front of the building with the two names I was given. This woman spoke a few words of English, but not really enough to have any sort of meaningful conversation. She understood that I was looking to stay there for two nights, and then introduced me to another woman who spoke not a word of English, but who I interpreted to belong to one of the two names I had been given. She seemed to have absolutely no clue who I was or why I was there and I had not a clue who she was or how exactly she might be related to my cousin's wife. If you've never tried to explain through a language barrier that your cousin is married to.... someone in this family... and you were sent here by... someone else in this family... with nothing to help you along except a list of previously downloaded half English and half Vietnamese Facebook messages because your phone only works when connected to WiFi and the WiFi there isn't working... well, you're missing out.
Here's where my story differs from the sitcom plot. I KNOW that I am, in fact, at the right house. I had an address, and I was also provided with the name of the café that rents out the front of the house and that checked out. I know that this woman who's now hosting me is someone connected with my cousin's wife, but I have no way of figuring out how, or explaining who I am and how I came to be here... the WiFi STILL isn't working! Despite that knowledge, I can't help but feel like I know exactly what that confused old lady from Italy felt like during her week with her phony family in New Jersey. My hostess went on to prepare me a huge and delicious lunch, and we sat and smiled at one another as I enjoyed it, unable to do much more. I started to feel more than a bit bad that she was going to such trouble to put me up and make me food and she didn't seem to have a clue who I was, or maybe she did...I had no way of finding out. Finally, she picked up her cell phone and made a call. After a few minutes she handed the phone to me and a voice spoke to me in broken English... she'd found a translator! Hallelujah! The woman on the phone proceeded to tell me that my hostess was going to bring me down to the beach, where she rents an apartment in one of the nicer hotels on the strip, and I could spend the afternoon with her.
We got to the beach and I met my new friend, who spoke pretty decent English but was much more fluent in French, so whenever we hit a stumbling block in our English conversations I would make the jump over to French to clarify... quite the linguistic gymnastics routine after being out of practice in French for so many years, but we made it work. Plus, the hotel had WiFi! Finally I could pull up the Facebook photos of my cousin and his wife, and I had a translator to explain the convoluted connection I had to her. When my hostess nodded in understanding, I felt a million times better! Later that evening I got a message from my cousin's wife, explaining who my hostess was and her connection to the family. Turns out she is one of three children born to my cousin's wife's grandmother's maid and my cousin's wife's grandmother basically raised her and her two siblings after their mother died. I had made a lot of guesses as to how my hostess might have fit into the family, but "grandmother's maid's child" was definitely not one of them.
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| Al Fresco dining at my homestay |
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| Nha Trang beach |
I spent the next day and a half scuttling back and forth between the beach (where I swam in the sea for the first time in years, based on repeated assurances in French that "il n'y a pas des requins" in these crystal blue waters) and my homestay, where I continued to experience incredible hospitality and was offered enough food to feed a small army. Despite the initial confusion, it turned out to be a really nice stop, and it couldn't have come at a better time. I had been growing a bit weary of the constant "hustling" that went on between Vietnamese locals and tourists. It was beginning to feel as though every nice or helpful gesture was nothing more than an opening to try and sell you something.. In Thailand, I actually had to learn to let my guard down a bit and accept that the bright smiles and offers of help from the locals were (at least sometimes) genuine. I felt bad on more than one occasion for initially dismissing or trying to ignore someone who turned out to be actually looking out for my best interest. In Vietnam, I learned quickly that I had to put the walls back up and I wasn't thrilled about it. I could feel myself becoming more and more jaded and defensive. My day in Da Nang and this experience in Nha Trang were great respites from the tour agencies and moto drivers and other various touts out to cash in on the American tourist. It was so nice to be able to let the walls down again and really get to know some locals and experience their way of life, and their incredible hospitality and kindness... even when a foreign stranger shows up at their door unannounced.
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