It's pretty common for us to end up in conversation with strangers over a certain age -- war veterans or older. Usually it's when one of us is eating alone in a little shop where a tourist wouldn't typically be and end up seated next to one of these men alone. If I make eye contact and nod hello, they say hello in English and ask where I'm from. Ilene reports that the same thing happens to her.
These guys end up being enthusiastic conversationalists, interested to hear our perspective and to practice English that has been rusty for thirty-five years. Occasionally they are Viet Kieu -- that is, Vietnamese who have moved abroad -- and who came home for retirement or on a work assignment for the American or Canadian companies they now work for. Typically they worked with Americans in some way during the war, which usually means they had a hard time of it in the decade after. If they aren't themselves refugees who have returned, they almost always have children or other family living in the U.S. ("You know Louisiana? You know Maryland? Cali?") They often have complementary things to say about Americans. (The stereotypes here are often that we are "sincere" and that certain other nationalities I won't name are "not sincere" or "shallow.")
They're always curious why we're here. They're impressed that we're teachers. They're amazed with Ilene's Vietnamese. They're surprised to find us eating at a street stall and wonder if we always eat Vietnamese food. They run through the list of American celebrities that they like and don't like. (I'm sorry to say that the votes against Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson, Oprah and Tiger are so consistent that it looks like racial prejudice. Everyone likes Obama, though.)
They always try to pay my bill. That happened on the day we moved into the apartment when I went downstairs to find lunch. Yesterday, something like this was unfolding, and as soon as we got into conversation with the guy, I started waving for our bill so I could pay it before we had a chance to become friends and he offered to pay for us.
Ilene and I were together this time, and the guy was much older than usual -- maybe late 70's. He greeted us at first, somewhat hopefully, in French. His French is much better than his English, he explained, and whenever he had trouble thinking of or pronouncing a word in English, he tried it in French to see if we could understand him that way. He grew up in French colonial schools and spoke with a certain amount of regret for the educational system that has been lost. He's a retired educator himself and doesn't think much of kids these days or the schooling that they're getting.
He lives in the neighborhood, and before we left we exchanged phone numbers and agreed to get together soon.
