By DAVID GRINSFELDER | Contributing Writer
Being elbowed in the rib cage by a Vietnamese grandmother was not on my bucket list when I set off for the Land of the Ascending Dragon, but just 36 hours after departing from JFK, I was going toe-to-toe with a diminutive Hanoian lady as we jockeyed for position in the buffet line. What I initially took as a personal affront was the first of many lessons I would learn about Vietnamese culture that fascinated and intrigued me.
We were competing for the last two bach tuôc giòn (crispy octopus) that evening. That savory dish came with a side of anthropology: Vietnam is a high-contact, low personal space culture compared to Western norms.
In a nation with 100 million people and eight times the population density of the United States, crowds are the norm. Streets, shops, buses and buffet lines brim with bodies. Navigating them requires a kind of physical assertiveness that first feels aggressive, until you realize that everyone is doing it.
Moreover, older people—especially grandmothers (bà)—occupy a place of respect and seniority in Vietnamese life. It’s not unusual for them to confidently stake their space since their social status will usually shield them from younger challengers. No surprise that our confrontation at the buffet caught the ire of every Vietnamese person in the vicinity.
A brief aside: I traveled to Vietnam as a delegate with a New York-based foreign affairs organization called Network 20/20. Our mission through the Entrepreneurial Diplomacy Program was to conduct on-the-ground research to gain a holistic understanding of the country, where it stands in the comprehensive strategic relationship with the United States and how the country navigates its balancing act between China and the U.S.
We took four to five meetings per day, moved between cities frequently and did all of this while wearing suits in the interminable heat. Naturally, our need for daily morning stimulation went beyond just the jet lag we experienced upon arrival.
As fate would have it, I stumbled upon the optimal elixir: Vietnamese coffee. As the world’s second-largest coffee exporter (trailing only Brazil), the crown jewel of its coffee fleet is the Robusta bean—more earthy than arabica beans and almost twice as caffeinated.
I quickly realized that the national beverage, Cà phê sữa đá (iced coffee with condensed milk), is a guilty pleasure on the lips and a diuretic sledgehammer in the gastrointestinal tract. It’s so powerful that most cafes only serve it in cups that are three-quarters or half full. I’m not a consistent coffee drinker, but a few sips were enough to prove that Vietnamese coffee should not be underestimated.
The strength of the coffee paved the way for the next realization I had about Vietnam: Everyone—and I mean everyone—embodies an industriousness that Americans would recognize and applaud.
Thanks to its agrarian heritage, economic reforms and familiar obligations, the people of Vietnam today are regarded as some of the most hardworking of any society. Almost everyone with whom we spoke worked a full-time job and also found ways to make money on the side, such as fixing motorcycles or selling trinkets.
And the best part about their industriousness? You can see it. Although our research trip was complete with behind-the-scenes tours of traditional garment manufacturing and value-added manufacturing plants, what I found most interesting was watching the entrepreneurial spirit of average Vietnamese people on the street.
In the city of Can Tho, the heart of the Mekong Delta region (known as the “Rice Bowl” of Vietnam), I saw an older gentleman operating his makeshift barbershop—a plastic chair, a barber’s kit and mirror nailed to a tree on the sidewalk.
Kids in Da Nang earn pocket money guarding beach bags for tourists. In Ho Chi Minh City, freelance xe ôm (motorbike taxi drivers) operate in a quasi-legal gray area whisking people around the city, earning significantly more than they make at a traditional factory job.
I loved that in Vietnam, life truly happens on the street. The sidewalks are stuffed with street vendors selling banh mì (Vietnamese sandwiches), often contending with the omnipresent plastic stools supporting outdoor cafe patrons.
While street performers are not as prevalent as they might be in other countries, somebody has usually hooked up a microphone to a speaker for the ubiquitous karaoke that is a cornerstone of Vietnamese society. It’s an amalgamation of chaos and energy, but I think anyone would enjoy a stroll through the sea of people that is a Vietnamese sidewalk.
In just 10 days, the scenes of shared humanity I observed in Vietnam dismantled my assumptions, delighted my senses and forced me to adjust my pace physically and mentally. There’s a pulse to the country that’s hard to put into words. It’s observable, but almost more something you can feel.
The rhythm of life driven by grit and family creates a collective energy that transcends the individual, and an unspoken understanding that Vietnam is as a crossroads of immense opportunity.
David Grinsfelder is a graduate of Palisades Charter High School (2015) and UC Berkeley (2019). He currently lives in New York and is writing a series of travel stories for the Palisadian-Post. The Grinsfelders have been Highlands residents since 1989.
