faculty sabbatical program
Minh, Little Red Book clutched in his right hand, his left arm raised as if giving an approving papal blessing to the Westerners pumping Vietnamese dong into his utopian, Socialist dream. Then there’s the neon-lit streets and the footbridge, as muted as everything else is, this is the definition of flamboyant. You read what I wrote earlier about Vegas and Miami … these cities pale in comparison … Can Tho’s lights at night are the homecoming and prom queen all rolled into one. The belle of the ball, every other city would be battling to ask her out or too shy to walk by her table in the high school cafeteria. All of this said, the wet market is where the true colors of Can Tho explode and come alive, leaping off the canvas. Say what you will about Van Gogh, he’s got nothing in his oil color arsenal that can touch the depth of expression here. First let me explain. Forget “Alice’s Restaurant.” The wet market is where you can get anything you want … … ANYTHING … Fruits, fish, frogs, fashion? It’s here. Shrimp chips flavored like New York steak? It’s here. Ginger root carved into the shape of a dragon and soaking in a clear alcohol that resembles lighter fluid in look, taste, and texture? It’s here. Oh — it’s here, and it only costs 5.000 Vietnamese dong or 20 American cents. FDR’s profile on two tiny silver coins can set off an apocalyptic chain of events. Side note: When writing numbers, the Vietnamese don’t use commas; they use decimal points. It can be confusing at first. But the colors! Yellow flowers for good luck heading into Tet. The pink carp swimming in the shallow stainless silver pans of water on the sidewalk. The red of the dried shrimp meets the earth tones of the eels gasping on the sidewalk. Piles of pale gray root vegetables I’ve never scene before most likely harvested on the moon. The red Tony Hillfiger shirt on the boy driving his scooter down the rutted-out, one-lane road. I’ve come to the conclusion that Tony is Tommy’s cousin who set up shop
adding the background to scenes of healing. I realize now that we’re reclaiming the imagery. There’s a new soundtrack to a new movie. There are two videographers following us with their cameras, making a new movie, writing a new narrative. The songs, like the patients, are being reclaimed … made whole … healed.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 6, 2024
“No quiet browns or grays, I’ll take my days instead, And fill them ‘till they overflow, with rose and cherry red.” — Michael Stewart Barnum, Lyricist Every place has its color. Santa Fe — khaki brown and red dirt orange, the palette of the Southwest desert. San Francisco — the purples and reds and periwinkles vibrating off Victorian houses. The garish pinks and turquoises of Miami. Las Vegas, the land where God coughed up neon. The deep greens rolling over every rolling hill of the Appalachian Mountains in the summertime before they surrender to the reds and yellows of autumn. But Vietnam? You ask of Can Tho? It’s hard to pinpoint. The sky is the proletariat gray often associated with films depicting East Germany, circa 1972. There are the muted tones on the socialist murals. Flat reds, yellows, oranges, blues, and greens, depicting images of people — doctors, construction workers, teachers, soldiers, some arm in arm; others hands raised; all smiling white smiles — stretching across a concrete wall in two dimensions with an SUV parked in front. The river — the illegitimate son of green and brown. To call it ‘olive’ would insult martinis around the world. But this is the land of dissonance. What can only be described as a purple ‘house’ boat, Thuyen nha, sits on the water. High- end floating restaurants reminiscent of Show Boat or some other Hollywood whitewashing of the 1800s American South are moored along the docks; a golden 40-foot statue of Ho Chi
26 | cathedral school for boys
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