[Tomahawk]

As Lan and I stopped briefly at the Front Desk to deposit our keys, I noticed that the staff manning the counter was actually the sweet girl that had been featured in the blog I mentioned in an earlier post. I pointed her out to Lan, who affirmed that it was indeed the person I had shown her on my laptop the day earlier. We had no problems getting a cab. I was looking forward to arriving at the familiar shophouse in Hai Ba Trung Street, where Lan lived, as I was keen to have a look at her living conditions. Instead we pulled over at a roadside fruit store. Lan was getting some fruits to bring home. I had to, of course, do my part in helping to carry the heavy bags and more importantly, to pay for the purchases. Not that I minded. However, thinking back, and due to what was going to transpire later that evening, I now know that Lan was trying to milk as much from me as she could, now that she knew my real status. Either that or it was simply plain normal in Vietnam for the guys to pay for everything.

We got back into the cab. Finally we arrived at 138 Hai Ba Trung Street. I had passed this unit more than once previously, owing to the need to send Lan home, however, this was the first time I was entering. Lan led me as we walked past the hardware shop on the ground floor. Men at work and men at rest looked on as this foreigner from some strange land followed a local girl up the stairs. The concrete steps were in a state of disrepair. One would have certainly noticed that many parts had been chipped away. We made a turn and arrived at the second level. Leaving my shoes on the common walkway, I walked gingerly along a narrow corridor. To my right were individual units housing, presumably, entire families. People turned to look as Lan announced that she had brought a friend home. As we walked on, a series of deafening noise engulfed us. It turned out that a barebodied man was doing some drilling to or otherwise fixing some structure in the common kitchen. Lan motioned me to sit on a stool adjacent to the last unit, just before the kitchen, and headed in. I could see her greeting the elders before proceeding to wash her face. Meanwhile, a woman about my age who was feeding some toddlers in that last unit made small talk with me.

She: Hello... *smile*
Me: Chao em.
She: Oh, you can speak Vietnamese!
Me: Mot it. *smile* Toi khong phai la nguoi Viet, nhung toi noi mot it tieng Viet!

I always felt proud of myself when I managed that long sentence. Tranlated, it means "I'm not Vietnamese, however, I can speak some Vietnamese."

She: Where do you come from?
Me: Singapore.
She: aaa bbb ccc ddd eee fff ggg hhh. (I couldn't make out what she was saying)
Me: Toi xin loi! Toi khong hieu!

See, I always made a fool of myself. I always aimed for a chance to practise (and show off) what little Vietnamese I knew, however, as the conversation got beyond tourist-level content, I found myself stuck. The woman smiled and continued feeding her children. I turned to my left. I could see that Lan was now playing with some small children hanging out in the kitchen. This communal area was huge. Cooking was done at the edges about five feet wide. This walkable area bordered a square, open area in which clothes were hung out to dry. At the far end, I could see that the next unit, adjacent to the end of the kitchen but which shared the huge laundry-drying area, was in a sorry state. The wall was half-demolished and bricks were jutting out everywhere. I wondered if anyone actually lived there. Lan came to me.

Lan: You wait here okay? I go up, change.
Me: Okay.

With that, the girl disappeared up the stairs. Lan's unit was on the third floor, not on the second as I had thought. I wanted to have a peek at Lan's place but restrained myself as I did not have permission to. I sat around for a while more, flashing that occassional smile to the nice lady with the toddlers. In five minutes Lan was back. She had exchanged her flashy, white and black dress with polka dots for a seemingly more comfortable purple T-shirt with the words Calvin Klein and jeans. We headed for the ground floor.

Me: So now, we go to your sisters' place?
Lan: Yes.
Me: Where is it?
Lan: There. *motioning in a general direction* Not far.

As I made my way out of the stairs and out to the pavement, the same men who had looked at me earlier looked again. I find that I generally do the same in Singapore whenever I see a foreigner, usually a Caucasian, walking on the streets, hand in hand with a local girl, especially if she was a SYT. Lan and I crossed the road and made our way into a waiting cab. Barely five minutes into the ride, the cab pulled up against the kerb again. I wondered if we had arrived at our destination that soon. No Lan wanted to buy something for her "sisters". She scurred across the busy road, leaving me to fend for myself and to jaga the cab as the meter ticked slowly but surely upwards. She had somehow honed this trick to perfection. Fortunately, Lan returned not long after, with a bag full of what looked like nuts, or the fruit of some plant.

Back together and continuing on our journey, our conversation somehow drifted to our relationship. I brought up the incident that happened on my first visit, during which she ran away with the young Caucasian.

Me: ... That time, we were in Bar Stop. You went away with that man, remember?
Lan: I no go with him! I go home sleep!
Me: No, remember the next day, before I went to the airport, we met at Highlands Coffee? Lien explained everything, remember? You went with that man to the hotel, because you needed money for your mother...
Lan: No! I no go hotel! I go home sleep!

This was strange. Just a couple of months back, Lan had herself admitted to being bedded by that guy as her mum was in hospital and needed money. Yet now, she was denying everything. Her words forever seemed to contradict themselves. This was too much for me to bear. I did not like it whenever Lan raised her voice and shut me up. Emotions once again got the better of me and tears slowly welled up in my eyes. I kept quiet. Our cab reached her sisters' apartment. I was expecting a run-down shophouse but no, this was some private estate. We made our way into the gated compound. By the time we reached the door to the apartment tears had filled my eyes completely. Lan came up to me. "Are you okay?" she asked. I only gave an indifferent "Okay." I was expecting some consolation from her but none was coming.

The door opened to reveal a posh apartment. As I bent down to undo my shoelaces one of the two ladies said something to Lan, who promptly made me hide behind a wall, amid some giggles and laughter. From my experience with Tingting of Shenzhen a few years before, I knew someone must have been undressed or changing her clothes within. When the coast was clear, I took a closer look at where I was. This was certainly no average income-earner's apartment. This place could easily be passed off as a luxury condominium in Singapore. The unit was very nicely furnished, with a nice sofa surrounding a coffee table in the living room. Ahead of me I could see two bedrooms, and on my right was an open concept kitchen. In the corner of the living room was a flat-screen TV beaming foreign channels. This apartment cost US$2,000 a month to rent, I was told. As I looked around, Sister Lan was preparing chicken spaghetti for her guests. The other sister, Judy, was busy in her room.

As I appreciatively gulped down the hearty lunch Sister Lan helped herself to the nuts that Lan had brought over. I noticed the younger Lan was picking up her pasta the wrong way. I showed her the correct Italian way to eat, slowly twirling the spaghetti around the fork, balanced on a spoon. She would have none of that, and proceeded to eat in her own comfortable way. I took the opportunity to ask Lan if her sisters were running some business, which might explain their being able to afford such a posh unit. Yes, Lan told me that indeed her sisters owned a hair salon. Still, I found it hard to believe that small business owners in Vietnam could own such luxury.

Soon I was back on the sofa. Sisters Lan and Judy tried to get to know me better. They asked me what I did for a living and how old I was. Sister
Lan told me about her French boyfriend, Marc, whom I had met at Apocalypse Now the night earlier. She fished out a foreign magazine with a picture of an oil rig. I have always admired these architectural wonders, these things that sit out remotely at sea and extract black gold from under the earth. "My boyfriend work here." Now I got it. Marc was an expatriate in the lucrative oil industry. That probably explained why the two sisters had access to such a posh apartment. Further questions confirmed that Marc had indeed rented that apartment for himself and the two sisters. The siblings were lucky to have met someone who loved them so much. Lan, my materialistic girl, probably envied them big time.

As I watched the French entertainment programme on cable TV, one attendant after another entered the apartment. One moment, it was a pail-bearing lady who had come to clean the bathrooms. The next moment, another lady appeared with neatly-pressed clothes, ready to be returned to the owners. Sisters Lan and Judy were really living the high life. Lan offered me some chocolate. Sister Judy had bought them from the US while on holiday. I had seen these Hershey's in Singapore but certainly did not mind having some mid-afternoon snack. I was getting bored.

Me: Lan, what time are we going to Ben Thanh Market?
Lan: Later. We go later, okay?