Crazy Buffalo - the landmark bar for Pham Ngu Lao expats seeking other expats
Last night, headed out into Pham Ngu Lao district to check it out. See that Man U is playing Liverpool (and getting their asses handed to them, to boot). Decide this would be a good way to meet English speakers and converse. Head into the Boston Sports Bar, where I see nary a remnant of anything Boston related whatsoever. British football flyers/decor everywhere - interesting take on Boston sports. Strike up a conversation with the men sitting next to me, who are speaking Vietnamese to the bartenders and English to one another. One is Australian, and a 7-year-veteran of Vietnam (yeah, that's not gonna get old) The other is a 10-year-vet, and from Morristown, New Jersey of all places. He is floored by our proximity of origin - never in ten years had he met someone in Vietnam from as close to his hometown as myself. These gentlemen are proud of my journey - and warn me that I may become them. Vietnam is a wonderful, and wonderfully cheap, place, they say, and I agree. Morristown, a history teacher (and a bad one, from the incoherence of his mini-lecture about HCMC being at the "forefront of history" or something hollow a bad history teacher might say to his disinterested class1), has work tomorrow and has to go. The aussie - a tall, out-of-work graphic designer, puts a burly arm around me and agrees to stay out for a few more beers - before driving home 20km on his bike.
Aussie begins lecturing me as we're leaving the bar. "Any girl round here out after midnight has an agenda. Not a bad one, or an illegal one, but an agenda," he says, pointing to girl after sleazy-looking girl. He nods to the bar across the street and says, "that'll fill up with hookers in about an hour," and chuckles. We walk to a nearby bar, Sevens, where a trio of hookers greet him warmly, and me warily, at the door. One pounds the table and scolds him in Vietnamese - I await the face slap and the "not sure what I did to deserve that," a la Jack Sparrow in Tortuga, but it never quite materializes. He mutters something back and we enter. We pound cheap Tiger beers and play pool against a New Zealand couple, as our hooker/waitress flirts with us (him) and tops off our beers at any available moment. The other girls make forays into our personal space, but are met with glares from hooker #1. "These girls'll treat ya roight," he whispers to me, "unless they're boys," as he points to a new arrival. "Whoa. Coulda fooled me," I think to myself, confusion and disgust levels approaching all-time highs. Aussie apologizes for his regular spot having an off night. "Let's go find you a girl, mate," and he pays for our beers as we walk out. I tell him I'm not in the market, which seems to disappoint him. We near our starting point, which is adjacent my hotel. "Alroight, I'm gonna go to my hooker bar. You sure you don't wanna join?" Thanks, aussie, but no thanks. "I'm sure I'll see you round," he calls as he enters his empire, an odd and pleasant Caligula. Here's to you, and not becoming you.
1 - "Nowhere during your rambling, incoherent response did you even come close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. You are awarded no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."
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