I awoke from my jungle nap sometime around 4. I had, at this point, given up on keeping up with things as trivial as time. A handful of things were important here: was it day or night, was it time to eat, had an appropriate amount of time passed yet for a bath, and where was the coffee? That delicious, rich, sweet, nutty, robust glass of refreshing goodness. As I struggled to push the sleepy haze from my eyes I was seeking just that. It was quite easy to order as the Vietnamese simply adopted the French word for coffee as they had a lot of food and drink products no doubt introduced by their former guests. As I walked to the marbled table that sat in the front, I looked at Ba and simply said Cafe.
It took me a day to figure out that even in the village, there was a coffee house. It just so happened to be across the lane. Just my luck is close and convenient. I eventually got to the point where I would order it myself. All I had to do was walk up to the open garage, like opening on the house across the way, and ask for mot cafe sua xin. One coffee with sweetened milk, please. they would deliver it to me at the house. It was like having a Starbucks in your driveway. It was magnificent. I sat and talked to Ba for a while and drank my coffee. The sons of the house were in the back polishing the brass wares for the holidays, and I walked over to take a look. We would be leaving for dinner in a little while as there was a place in the actual town of An Lao they wanted me to try. It specialized in two things, and I would find out what they were soon enough. 
Before riding out, I walked to a neighbor who was calling me to come sit with him. We sat and had some Tea. We always had Tea. I’ve been looking for a good segue for Tea Time, and I guess this is as good as any. What can I say about tea? the light, slightly bitter refreshment served always. Sometimes hot, sometimes cold, never sweet. It’s so embedded in daily life that, at least here in the countryside, it shares the word for water. It’s always complimentary and usually hits the table right as you do. Water is a request here as all water is served in bottles and therefore an expense. It’s served in small glasses and over time becomes a part of your daily liquid consumption. I started looking for and expecting it as it was so available and very good. You could tell, at least I could, that it was green tea and it seemed to be fresh not fermented or processed. There were often times tea leaves floating in your cup, and it was quite refreshing. It helps with digestion and is full of antioxidants, among other benefits.
There is a culture around tea that is unparalleled in Asia. Yes, China and Japan have their teas and are known for their massive tea fields and exports. But in Vietnam, it’s different. First of all, they don’t do much exporting yet. They have their own breeds of green tea, lighter than the Chinese varietals yet stronger than the Japanese stock. It is suggested through archaeological evidence that Vietnam may have the oldest continual tea cultivation in the world. It definitely has the oldest trees. Near the ancient village of Ruong in South Central Vietnam in the Lamdong Highlands sits the oldest tee tree forests in the world, which boast trees that have been in production for over 1,000 years. An ecotourism sub-economy has grown out of this as the Vietnam tea initiative is striving to introduce Vietnam’s tea to global markets and build tourism in its ancient forests.
As I concluded my tea-drinking conversation with the neighbors I was being hailed, It was time to go to dinner. We climbed on the motorbikes, I was relegated to the strongest of the family members as Diem had a difficult time negotiating the previous night’s excursion to the coffee house, I am a big boy, especially for here. I would have preferred to ride on my own, but bikes are expensive here and in limited supply. Every bike always had two passengers. We headed out of the village and then turned left out of the village and headed toward An Lao. It was only a 10-minute ride up and down the narrow jungle road, veering right then left, up and down until we crossed the narrow bridge over the An Lao River and into the town, which bears its name.
Night had already all but fallen, It gets both dark and daylight here early. The village looked ancient with its lichen-covered curbs and grass-grown sidewalks. We passed a man on the side of the road with a microphone and a speaker giving a speech, which given the holiday and festivities, gave the whole thing a kind of propaganda scene. we turned left down a side street and came to a halt in front of a blue, dimly lit house slash restaurant. It had a typical pattern of low tables and tiny wooden stools. a counter further displaying beverage options and a long hallway down the left side where they cooked, and at the end, the father of the house sat and watched T.V. while he ate. The server brought us tea and a couple of beers. I split my beer with Diem’s cousin and poured myself a glass of water. The waitress came back with two plates piled high with black snails in a liquid with chili and lemongrass, nuoc mum with chili, and two small plates of fresh herbs and apple slices. everyone looked at me then we all dug in. Basically, you picked up the snail and sucked the contents out. they had all been “popped” on the opposite side of the opening to make a small hole. This caused the snail to pop out into your mouth without suction or pressure holding it in. I slurped on my fair share as the geckos, high on the walls, darted around looking for airborne snacks. As I sat in the dimly lit restaurant and watched the last sliver of daylight disappear over the mountains, a bowl of eggs hit the table.
I’d seen the eggs in Hanoi before, but they were basic boiled eggs and not what I was after. I was looking for Balut, A fertilized duck egg harvested and boiled only a few days before hatching. It was a delicacy here and one I was itching to try. Tina grabbed one and sat it on its little porcelain cup to hold it in place and hit the top with the tiny demi spoons they were served with. when she peeled the shell away, there it was a baby duck, eyes still unopened, winged feathers tucked at its side, ready to be eaten. There was a Vietnamese chili and lime salt mixture on the table, and Tina sprinkled it on, stuck her spoon in, and popped it in her mouth. I watched in amazement before grabbing my own and devouring it with all speed. Delicious rich, and reminiscent of duck confit and a really rich egg combined into one. the bones and feathers were still so soft and undeveloped that they were unnoticeable. 
Finishing up the offerings on the table, the leftovers were bagged up to be taken home, and we headed to the open-air coffee shop down the street. They pretty much all looked the same. lit with bright purple and blue strings of Christmas lights. Aired and dimly lit, they had the feel more of clubs back home than coffee houses. Tropical plants were everywhere in the coffee shops, and there was always a fish pond and a fountain. They were like little oases in the densely packed jungle. A place to get out of the heat in the day or have coffee with friends in the evening. Tea and seeds, usually sunflower, were always served, and we usually just sat back and chatted. Most of the time, I just listened. There is something almost liberating in living life without the need for forced small talk. I only had to communicate when it was necessary and, for the most part, just sat and tried to take it all in, Oh and eat, yeah a lot of eating and a lot of drinking coffee.
We eventually headed back to the house, and the men were sitting around the table waiting for me. We sat with yet another table of food and a lot of beer. I accepted a glass and nursed it ever so specifically. I wasn’t sure how things worked here, but in Latin America, you drink with your hosts till someone passes out, and it was usually the new guy. This was the first time since I’d been in Vietnam that it seemed like one of those machismo settings where all the men prepare for battle to see who survives the night. It happens a lot in developing nations, where alcoholism is rampant, and abuse and aggression are sometimes public and unchecked. I did see younger Vietnamese back in the cities getting a little wild, but that was in tourist places, and the bars were filled with patrons from all over the world. I saw none of that here, I had my glass of beer, equivalent to half a beer at home, Ba had his glass, and we enjoyed them while we ate. More rice, more chunks of things, more greens and broths. All delicious, satisfying, and nutritious. As I was learning, this was a very self-respecting and respectful of others kind of culture. They did things the right way here; nothing was ever to excess except eating, but I’ll talk more about that later. I finished up and had to go to bed, It was almost midnight and way past my bedtime.
