ra vao đơng cưa

While sitting in this sweet restaurant, it occurs to us that the only writing we recognize are the numbers on the clock face.  We’ve been here in Truc Bach a week now.  (Yes, it feels longer.)  Our daily life rotates between the inside of our quiet, peaceful, little apartment and outside in what sometimes seems like a non-stop noisy frat party that’s spilled out onto the streets.  Doug likens it to being on acid out there.  (Ummmm…)  Our needs right now are simple.  How to go out and find the one thing we need for the day, how to ask for it, and how much to pay for it.  We’re gleeful when it works, and shrug it off when it doesn’t.   There’s always tomorrow.

For dinner tonight we decided to just walk in somewhere nearby and order without prepping ourselves.  Like the olden days in Seattle.  We must’ve retained some language this week, right?  We think we’ve found a place.  From the outside, it’s sometimes difficult to tell if we’ll be walking into a restaurant or into someone’s private living room.  Everything is intermingled.  From the outside there are signs (which we can’t decipher yet) and scooters parked everywhere.  Signage is common. Some are valid, some are old.  We figure if it’s someone’s living room they’ll yell at us and we’ll quickly and graciously back out, saying “rất xin lỗi.  So very sorry.

Our first hurdle is this sign on the door.  ra van đơng cưa.  Does it say “stay out, private party”  or “come on in” or “leave your pets outside” or “beth and doug don’t you dare come in here” ?   We walk in and stand there.  A big table of people turn to stare at us, and no one returns our smiles.  Not even the children.  They all go back to their loud family dinner. We smile at the woman in the kitchen sitting on a tiny red plastic stool washing the dishes in a plastic tub on the floor, hoping she’ll usher someone out to help us.  She doesn’t smile either.  A little panic starts to well up.  Is it a restaurant?  We think so.  There seem to be a lot of tables.  Then a petite teenager comes out with 2 menus.  Yay!  They’ll let us stay.  The sign must not say “private party”.

We look at the menu, and we look at the chalkboard, and the waiter looks at us.  (You can see where this is going.)   She asks us something and points at the chalkboard.  Uh…hai bia.  2 beers.  While she goes to get them, we confer and try to find a few words that are familiar.  Thịt bò.  Beef.  Rau.  Vegetable.  She delivers the beers and we point at 2 dishes.  She nods and waits.  It seems like enough but why isn’t she leaving?  “Enough?” I ask, then decide to be more clear.  “Good.”  Then  “cảm ơn”.  Thank you.

Whew.

In a very short time, she brings the 2 dishes we ordered.  Sautéed beef with morning glory, and vegetable soup with rice noodles.  Haha,  didn’t know we ordered soup.  Then steamed rice and a little fishy sauce.  Perfect.  And delicious.

We’ve learned that once seated, we can stay as long as we want.  No one will bring the check until called for.  Ever.  There’s no pressure to hurry whatsoever.  It’s becoming very comfortable.  I know that once we have a few more words, the beginning part of this story won’t be repeated quite so much.  In the meantime, we will continue to review the words on the chalkboard and hope to retain some of them for next time.  At home, we sorted out what some of it said:  Today.  Fried frog legs.  Stir-fried perch.  Beef and rice.  Crab hot pot.  Kohlrabi and something.  A spring roll of some sort.  Some of it remains undecipherable.  Blackberries and garlic.  What?  Arcade center?  Bargain?  Dad?

And finally, the sign on the door.  Close door when coming in or out.