A Vietnamese Thanksgiving with Drunk Russian Men

We were waiting for a bus that never came when someone told us that a typhoon was on a path directly to the flooded streets of Hoi An, our next destination. Our bus driver had forgotten us, but sent an old army jeep with a torn leather roof and rusted-out floor to pick us up and carry us to another bus. 6 hours and one break-down later we were dropped off at a guest house in Nha Trang, a beach town about 12 hours south of Hoi An.

Donning our best holiday outfits, Sarah and I headed into the rain. Nearly two weeks had passed since I last drank red wine in LA with my uncles and I was eager for a good glass of a French red, a toast to Thanksgiving. Wine in Vietnam comes mostly from Dalat, in the cental highlands. Excited to try a local wine, when I first arrived in Saigon I had bought a small bottle for $2 at the market. With great anticipation, Sarah and I toasted a glass- to Vietnam, to traveling, to adventure- and I brought the glass to my lips, took a sip and spit it right back out.

As soon as we sat down at Truc Luc, a seafood restaurant near our guesthouse, I ordered a glass of red and pumpkin soup (it seemed thanksgiving-y). A few sips later and one of the Vietnemese waitresses giggled and whispered in my ear that another table wanted us to have more wine. Soon we had four full glasses of red wine on the table. The men who sent the wine turned out to be Russians, in fine form, on business in Vietnam for two weeks. We declined joining them for dinner and from our table watched one of them take a nap in his chair.

I was feeling like this was the start to a memorable Thanksgiving dinner when the entire restaurant started waving their arms and singing happy birthday to a man who was dining at the table next to ours. One of the waitresses played with my hair while another giggled and pointed at the drunk Russian men. Soon after I finished fresh grouper in lemongrass and chilli, the waitress brought us both baileys and coffee and I couldn't help but join the Russian men for a drink and good laugh. Calling themselves Mike 1 and Mike 2 they declared that Vietnemese vodka is almost as fine as Russian vodka- so I had to try. It was the restaurant's second birthday and the waitstaff was planning a party as soon as everyone left. They started singing karaoke and dancing around while we all enjoyed a shot or two of vodka and toasts to our respective countries.

When we returned to our hotel the phone rang three times and we ignored the calls. Then I heard a knock on the door. A man told us that we had visitors in the lobby. I asked if they were drunk and Russian. He confirmed. They must have followed us back in the rain. I said that we would be taking no visitors. Sarah and I played rumy instead.