Some Inconvenient Realities of Living Abroad

Yesterday my friend had her bicycle stolen while she shopped for vegetables at a market. The incident was as predictable as most 'surprising' thefts - broad daylight, lots of bystanders, a momentary diversion of attention. Theft is horribly common in Vietnam; it seems that half the population are employed as security guards to keep the other half of the population from robbing the place blind.*

*Figures only slightly exaggerated.

My friend is an avid cyclist and, while I hate bicycles like a nudist hates pants, my heart went out to her. So did the hearts of numerous people on Facebook. When somebody posts a status involving personal loss, there are four typical responses: 1) straightforward condolences, 2) sympathetic personal anecdotes, 3) hopes for better luck in the future, and 4) self-righteous moralizing. The first three are mostly harmless.

The last subgenus, however, is a pain. It can be tempting to point out that shit happens everywhere and scumbaggery has no borders. Like mathematics and the English Premier League, shady morals are universal. But well-meaning ethicists, secure in their impression that every society is just super in its own way, often dismiss the subtle unpleasantries of daily life in a different country. From their ivory tower of cultural relativism they pellet the expat with bromides while encouraging her to ignore her eyes and ears and firsthand experiences. Which generally include some variation of the following...

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The people can be inhospitable.

Here is Lonely Planet's description of 'the Vietnamese experience':

Vietnam is a nation going places. Fast. Its people are energetic, direct, sharp in commerce and resilient by nature. This is an outrageously fun country to explore, the locals love a laugh (and a drink) and you’ll have plenty of opportunities to socialise with them and hear their tales.

To which the cynic might add:

For an authentic taste of Vietnamese cuisine, stop by a local market to sample the diverse array of fresh produce. Haggle for ten minutes over the price of a cantaloupe with a surly pajama-clad matron, finally paying an exorbitant markup so she'll stop shouting at you in Vietnamese. Then hop on a motorcycle taxi, or xe om, for an invigorating tour of notable landmarks such as the Notre Dame Cathedral, Reunification Palace, and Jade Emperor Pagoda. 

Make sure to allow plenty of time for this tour, as your driver is possibly drunk and likely has no idea where said landmarks are located. Expect to get at least one flat tire, at which point you'll have the chance to visit one of Vietnam's most hallowed institutions - the unscrupulous motorbike mechanic. Watch in awe as a chubby, shirtless man drinks coffee and chainsmokes while shouting at your xe om guide, who will reply by also shouting and jabbing his finger ominously in your direction. Eventually the mechanic will demand that you pay 500% of the proper rate, which you will (quickly) because both men are now yelling at you in Vietnamese. 

In the evening, your phone and wallet will probably be stolen no matter what you do.

For reasons of brevity, it's understandable why Lonely Planet's editors cut this bit.

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The weather is going to suck in some new and awful way.

Here is a weekly weather forecast from February in Saigon:

High 30's, for you Celsius folks.

And here is the forecast for this week:

High 20's, metric chumps.

There's nothing surprising about a week of clouds in a tropical environment. Even the most grizzled Nebraskan corn farmer has heard of 'rainy season', and there are certain necessary tradeoffs if you want to live in a place with palm trees and coconuts. However, this forecast hasn't changed since March. Which means we're now going on eight consecutive months of daily downpours. This is unlikely to end soon.

The rain has little regularity, except for the tendency to reach its maximum deluge at the precise moment you are leaving for work. Interestingly, the rain seems to have little impact on the behavior of the Vietnamese unless you count the massive uptick in poncho sales. The streets are still clogged with reckless motorists, who calmly ignore the laws of physics and continue to charge pell-mell into oncoming traffic with the same idiotic determination they display in perfect conditions. Crashes abound. Skid marks appear with alarming frequency. Despite overwhelming evidence that doing so would be a great idea, few people bother to slow down. And so every day while driving to work I find myself cursing Vietnam's shitty, shitty weather.

I imagine that a Vietnamese might express similar despair after four months of a bleak Minnesotan winter. And I'm not trying to argue that one particular form of weather-related misery is worse than another. The important thing to remember is that moving to another country with hopes of a better climate is like trading your bag of rocks for a bag of differently-shaped rocks.

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There will be a cultural quirk or habit that drives you utterly insane.

When I lived in Korea, there were a few talking points guaranteed to turn polite, open-minded foreigners into a pack of ravenous snarling hounds. For example, even the most accomodating waeguks were incensed by the tendency of old Korean men to loudly clear their throats and spit giant balls of phlegm in public. Once I was riding the subway with a Canadian friend of mine (whose patience had been worn especially thin by five years of loogies) when a drunk old man appeared to cough up most of his left lung onto the car's floor. My friend's face assumed the pained look of a PETA advocate who just watched a barrel of kittens being drowned, and I was legitimately afraid he was going to murder the wheezy geezer. Nobody else blinked an eye, of course.

In Vietnam, the social faux pas de choix is nosepickery. My personal feelings about this are the same as my feelings toward BDSM and spoken word poetry. Whatever kicks you get in the privacy of your own home are none of my business. Some things, however, do not belong in public.

Issues of hygiene and decorum aside, Vietnam's attitude toward nosepicking is remarkably egalitarian. On the streets of Saigon everybody from the wealthiest CEO to the scruffiest street urchin to the most stylish fashionista can be spotted knuckle-deep in nostril. Young and old alike dig relentlessly for nose-gold, regardless of setting (English class, for example) or company (English teacher, for example). There is no social stigma attached to public nasal exploration, so everybody feels free to indulge whenever the mood strikes. On the plus side, there is potential for a hilarious Morgan Freeman audio book here.

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I've spent the past three years overseas, and on the whole I have a positive impression of expatriate life. Willowy platitudes about 'self discovery' and 'seeing the world' aside, living abroad has allowed me to travel, pick up some neat hobbies, and make a reasonable amount of money without working too hard. I'd imagine the same is true for most people who decide to leave their home countries. 

As temporary residents of a foreign country, I do believe we should make an honest effort to adapt and adopt some local customs and practices. It also seems reasonable to resist blaming isolated inconveniences on some intrinsic failing of that country ('supermarket out of Honey Nut gahhhhh fuck this place afasjdahsdadam!').

At the same time, a place's different-ness should not endow it with sacred cow status. Expatriates should not be criticized for using their eyes and ears to observe their surroundings and occasionally arriving at uncomplimentary conclusions. Holding expats to some impossible standard of objectivity is both condescending and self-congratulatory. It also ignores the positive impact that a foreign perspective can have on local issues.

Sometimes it takes a real friend to say, 'Yo, dude - you stink.'