Dr. Livingstone, um, I presume...?

Ever notice something out of place, like an elephant in a duck pond, or a kazoo in a symphonic orchestra? Yesterday in the bustling urban landscape here we saw a character from some cartoon jungle expedition brought to life. The three of us were settling in to a streetside snack of cool, sweet chè from a sidewalk vendor, when this crazy guy walked by us. Bespectacled and mustachioed, he wore a pith helmet--that's right, a pith freaking jungle-stomping helmet--and sported a thick wood cane to accompany his three piece khaki suit and spats. It was marvelous. He could have been Rudyard Kipling. I fumbled for the camera, but he ducked into a tailor, removed his helmet, and hung his cane on a table. I was disappointed to see the image in all its displaced and anachronistic glory was gone.

We contemplated how bizarre an image he was as we sat there on plastic stools and spooned mouthfuls of deliciously sweet soup en route to our digestive tracts, meanwhile hoping to catch a another glimpse (and perhaps a photo) of our real-life Dr. Livingstone if and when he would reemerge from his tailor, when a bus pulled up to the vendor. The driver asked the lady for two cups, which she prepared for him straight away. For some reason, this seemed perfectly natural to me; but Mike observed a clever juxtaposition. "Could you imagine if that ever happened back in the states? The bus driver taking the bus through drive-thru?" Actually, that would be awesome.

We were still chatting about this, that, or the other, and almost missed our brave explorer, pith helmet and all as he slipped out of the tailor's shop and into the back seat of a brand-new, sporty SUV, which seems to be the vehicle of choice for brave explorers on safari. The SUV sped off into the streets of the city, presumably in quest of greater glory and more suitable tailors.

That night, Mike kicked some unidentified thing onto the ground behind my back. I turned around, not to look at what it was, but to look at him, and saw he had one of those come-play-with-me puppy dog faces on. He picked up the thing, and it looked like the feathered part of an arrow rammed into a stack of pogs (How's my metaphoring?). So we went outside and kicked it around. The owner of the house came outside and joined us. He was funny, cause every time he kicked it, he made a hooting shout like the one Super Mario makes when he jumps. The game was fun, with each of us trying, and failing, to kick the shuttlecock (now now) to the others.

You tend to keep your eyes in the air with that game, and looking up between the rooftops above, I saw an epic fleet of swifts--an enormous number relative to what I see in the mornings--as they flew about catching insects in the early evening, with a purple-grey sky threatening to unload a torrent any minute. The birds looked erratic, like they were frantic to eat as much as they could before the rain hit. That's when I realized they weren't birds. I quit the game, ran inside and up the seven flights of corian steps and up the ladder and was standing in the midst of a bat feeding frenzy. They were so close, I could hear their wings flip-flap and they tumbled and tossed in the heavy air, and the squeaking of their echolocation. I recognized at least 2 different species of insectivorous bats. Then another sound, like static, coming from the park to the northwest, and turning to look, I saw a downpour that was headed my way. I scrambled down the ladder and hit the patio deck under the overhang just as the rain reached the house. We spent the rest of the evening inside, dry, and quite content.


Provender
- breakfast: bánh cuốn and cà phê sữa đá
- lunch: gỏi cuốn and sâm bổ lượng
- dinner: home cookin' -- omelette, homemade pickled veggies, sautéed green beans and bean curd, and sliced tomatoes and cucumbers.