Last weekend I went with Dung to Bac Giang province, about 120 km from Hanoi. Dung comes from this tiny village in Bac Giang called Xom Thuong, and I had to go and meet his family. He said if I went to Bac Giang with him, I would "understand everything". I still understand very little, but it was eye-opening nonetheless.
Bac Giang is in the mountains and is really beautiful - I love the Vietnamese countryside - but almost everyone that lives there is a farmer, and it's really poor. Like, a whole different kind of poor to anyone in England. The way of life is so different to anything I'm used to, and I don't think I ever could get used to it. Vietnam is a pretty weird place at the best of times, and this is magnified when the toilet is a hole with two bricks to stand on, and the cooker is an open fire. The Aga and my ensuite in Kirdford were very far away.
The visit was also made more difficult by the vast significance imbued by me meeting his family i.e. they all see me as his future wife. I had to be super-polite to everyone I met, but as soon as I feel shy my Vietnamese jams up and I can't think of anything to say, and I also feel like one big walking cutural faux pas, being horrifically rude and not knowing it. His family is huge, and they're all so so friendly, but a constant stream of new people to drink green tea with is quite exhausting.
It turned into a running joke between Dung and me, because it seemed like everyone we met around the village, Dung would say "That's my uncle". I swear he has around 30 uncles. Because Vietnamese has different words for "uncle" depending on whether it's your mum's younger brother or your dad's older brother or your mum's sister's husband or whatever, I don't think Dung had ever noticed how many uncles he had until he had to translate them all into the same word. At the end of the weekend, he said "It's ok, we can go home now, no more uncles."
This is when it starts sounding like the moral of a crap film, but even though (and possibly because) they're poor, the extended family is really awesome and close-knit. There was always people around, coming and going, and they're all so friendly and supportive of one another. It makes me feel a bit bad for fucking off to the other side of the world, because although I don't really know my extended family, my parents and brother are rad, and I should be closer to them. It's a privilege of wealth that we're able to ditch our family and go and do our own thing, but maybe it's good to stay close anyway.
On Saturday night, possibly in honour of having guests, they butchered a cat for dinner. When I asked Dung what his cousin was hacking apart (with a saw, on the ground outside the front door), the conversation proceeded as follows:
"Dung oi, what's that he's cutting up? Is that beef?"
"No, it's a tiger. Con ho, you know?"
"Khong phai. Even Vietnamese don't eat tigers. I don't believe you."
"Phai! They live in the mountains in Bac Giang. Delicious."
"It's not a tiger, Dung. What is it?"
"Ok, it's not a tiger...it's a cat. Con meo. A cat from the mountains."
"Khong phai! You don't eat cat, do you? Is that really a cat? It's not a cat. Is it a cat?"
"Really it's a cat! It's true."
"...No. It's not a cat. You wouldn't eat a cat...would you?"
"Cat is delicious."
"But there's no meat on a cat. Cats are thin. So not delicious. What is he cutting up?"
"Ok, it's not a cat...It's a man."
(I storm off to find someone who talks sense)
Anyway, turns out it was a cat. I felt bad continually turning down the meat they offered me, since it was probably a big deal to have that much meat on offer - yet another faux pas from the big rude whitey. So, after continual offers of the cat meat...I ate a piece. I got away with the smallest piece possible and swallowed it whole so I didn't have to taste it. Embryonic quails are one thing, but I'm so not comfortable eating cat. Cats-are-friends-not-food is one indoctrination I'm happy to keep.
Overall the trip to Bac Giang was fun, and I met some very good people, but I was thankful to come back to Hanoi on Sunday afternoon.
