"Now you look me with your scorn//and you//eat up all my corn//we got to chase those crazy//oh chase those crazy//we got to chase those crazy bald-heads outta town." -Bob Marley

In Singapore, they call westerners "ang mo," which means "red-hair," or "red-beard." You can add the word "kui," to make it "red-haired devil," the word "kow" to make it "red-haired monkey." In Canton, we are "gweilo," roughly, "ghost man." In Thailand, they call us "falangset," which means guava, but only because the French brought them guavas. Originally, it was the Thai attempt to say français. In Vietnam, we are "taybalo," literally, "western backpack."

We are called different things in different places, but rarely is it meant kindly.

I thought I was tired of being laughed at, but let's face it, it's funny to see someone wildly out of context, not abiding local rules and customs that simply go without saying if you grew up there. More disquieting is that stare. The stare that tells you that you're not welcome, that you don't belong. That without question and without context, they simply don't like you. Because of who you are and what you stand for. It's deeper than appearance, although that's the tip-off, it's about an utter rejection of everything you believe. Of everything you do.



(Da Nang to Hanoi hard-sleep air-con train-ticket. Note that ours are "foreigner" tickets. I think they're more expensive.)

This isn't unique to Asia, but it's pretty fucking new to me. Sure, people are assholes in Chicago, people are exclusionary in San Francisco, like they're all stuck in goddamn high school - but this is something else entirely. It's not universal to Asia either. I've met some very warm people who actually want to know a sliver of your story, but even then there's a wall. A tall imposing barrier that blocks access to what they really are thinking when they see you. It's a stare so wrought with emotion it makes me want to jump the language barrier and see what it is that has made them so pissed at me. At us. To somehow chip away at that wall.




While sleeping on the train last night, I found myself dreaming again. We were riding a boat and Alfie got off. I shouted that we were leaving but he didn't react or just didn't hear me. When he realized, it was too late. He wasn't that concerned. I think he grabbed a water taxi and caught up with us. I woke up saying, "Hey, Alfie," out loud but unconscious. He thought it was funny, but said I sounded stressed. I think it ended pretty well.



(Ok, now lean against the wall and shit into this hole while rattling around on a forty year-old Vietnamese train. No worries.)

Hanoi is my favorite city so far. It's big but not too crazy, with a very strong presence of people on a similar journey. We're getting good tips. This should get very interesting soon. Or maybe it already has.

We got raided by the police twice tonight. First at the cafe where we were sipping dark coffee with sweet milk, then at the bar late at night. I guess you can't operate a business after midnight, especially if liquor is involved. It was very surreal. Our second escape found us squatting between a couple motorbikes with some self-professed pick-pockets, who pointed to the shirtless tattooed Chinese man eating noodles across the street and made a pantomime of shooting us for our money. Uh, whattup Vietnamese-Chinese mafia.

My first apology. Hopefully my last. Sorry Uncle David and Aunt George. I know you are devotees of this project and this might make you hate me. I love animals, I do. But I also eat them. I know you aren't supremacist vegans and I love that, but this gets a little rough. Stop reading unless you can't help yourselves.



(Second apology, sorry Grover...)

I'm not all that proud of this, but I ate dog tonight. It required full submission to the fact that the distinction between eating a pig and eating a dog is utterly cultural and situational. Pigs are more clever than dogs. They also share more genetics with humans. That's not the issue. They're not quite as adorable, but surely that's not it either. Cows are absolutely gorgeous. It's a fundamental but arbitrary line that we have drawn in the sand. This is for eating. This is your furry friend. It had already been killed and butchered and prepared and someone else ordered it, but after some goading, I took a big bite and ate it.

All this being said, it may have made me a vegetarian.

For anyone who isn't petrified, read on - drink with me of this slowly disappearing culinary experience. It was a little stringy, deep fried with a spicy soy dipping sauce. I didn't have my camera, but if I'd put a plate of it in front of you and said it was fried pork (and you liked fried pork...) you would have eaten it and asked why it was a little darker than it should have been. Ugh, I hate myself, it was delicious. Considering all the shady Chinese food I've eaten - let's face it - it was potentially not my first time around the block.

I also had some Szechuan tofu that was the best I've ever had. So, it like, balances out, right?

More adventures of a fucking taybalo blogger-photographer - next time on Birds & Thirds.

Location:Hanoi, Vietnam