Vietnam is a very different country compared to the rest of the SE Asia. It’s very busy, very chaotic, and very populated. I had just spent a month in Laos with my mother and it was such a culture shock to enter Vietnam. From the moment I crossed the border there was an immense difference. It’s funny how crossing a line between countries throws you into another world. I had no idea it what to expect and wanted desperately to get to my destination, Hoi An. Horns were honking, motor bikes were everywhere, and the traditional Vietnamese hats were worn by nearly everyone. I had heard that the Vietnamese people were very pushy and were clever with ripping you off. Well, I found this out immediately. Even after bargaining down half the price of a bus ticket, I still was ripped off. Finally, after traveling two and half days from Vietine, Laos, I made it to Hoi An.
Hoi An is a lovely little town nestled on the coast. It seems to be influenced by the Chinese, Japanese, and French. The town is predominately known for its tailors and artwork. Nearly 100 shops stretch the avenues trying to entice to you to come in and buy. I recall having two suits, two buttoned down shirts, and a corduroy jacket, all tailored, for $100. The art shops sell wonderful traditional Vietnamese paintings. While walking around the town everyday, I routinely entered this one particular shop. The owner was Viet and he spoke little English, but we somehow connected. We’d communicate through sign language and through my little Vietnamese/English book. He invited me to have lunch a few times and we played pool together. On my last day there I went to say bye, when he unexpectedly invited me to his friend’s wedding. Thinking to myself this would be a ridiculous opportunity to pass up; I immediately went to the bus station and changed my ticket. I’m glad it did.
We got on a motor bike and headed for the wedding. The ride there was so beautiful. There were massive green rice fields and I saw water buffalos walking on the road. When we got there I was obviously the only westerner there. For the first hour I felt bad because I was getting more attention then the bride and groom. Most of the guests weren’t involved in the tourist industry, which limited their contact with westerners. The groom came over to me and shook my hand like I was the President of the United States. He was so proud to have a western guest, especially from the great land of America. I made my rounds with everyone, shaking people’s hands and being the complete center of attention for awhile. Once the excitement of me being there died down, the festivities commenced. The booze came out and the toasting began.
There were about eight tables around the garden and every single table wanted me to have a beer with them. For awhile it was crazy. I would run over to a table and pound a glass full of beer there, then run to another table and have another glass there. That continued for about an hour and before I knew it was I was wasted. The locals wouldn’t let me get away with anything either; they would tap the bottom of the glass, implying that I should pound it all the way. Everyone continued through the evening eating and drinking. Then, as the evening was getting a little outrageous the organizer of the wedding came up to me and used the only English he knew, “What is your name?” he said. I told him my name and ten minutes later I hear my name over the speakers. Everyone starts yelling and cheering, pointing my way up to the front of garden. I went up to Viet and asked what they wanted, “They want you to sing, they think you look like Ricky Martin!” Well, in my drunken state, I headed up to the front and blushed like hell. I don’t know how to sing. The keyboardist starts to play the theme of the World Cup, “Do You Really Want It”, by Ricky Martin. A lucky choice because I had the chorus memorized from hearing it so often that year. And there I was, singing the song, swinging my arms in the air, getting the crowd wild. They were lovin’ it, all clapping their hands and cheering. I felt like I was at a damn concert. Pictures were being taken and autographs signed. It was ridiculous, but so much fun.
After the wedding we drove to a karaoke bar. I found out that there, the interpretation of a karaoke bar is a TV at someone’s house with a karaoke machine. We woke the poor guy up and lugged in a couple crates of beer. I sang a Bob Marley song and scored 95 out of 100; of course the locals went crazy. The guys jumped in together and attempted Eagles’ “Hotel California.” Vietnamese people love that song. None of them speak any English but they know every word of that song. It’s very strange: everywhere I went in Vietnam, “Hotel California” was playing. As we drove back in the middle of the night, it struck me how wild the night was. I was a wedding singer for a Vietnamese couple.
Stories like this only occur if you take the time to mingle with the local crowd. It doesn’t seem an uncommon gesture for Asians to invite Westerners to weddings. I’ve talked to other backpackers and some have experienced the same. The people are so friendly and genuine; they feel it’s a privilege that you are there with them.
If anybody needs a singer for a foreign wedding soon, I can be contacted at the Free Press. I can guarantee an unforgettable time.
Khaled Habash can be contacted at [email protected]