Phạm Tuân born 14 February 1947) is a retired Vietnam Air Force aviator and cosmonaut. He became the first Vietnamese citizen and the first person from an Asian country in space when he flew aboard the Soyuz 37 mission as an Interkosmos Research Cosmonaut. He was awarded the title Hero of the Soviet Union.
He also downed the only B-52 the be downed in aerial combat. He was a really cool pilot.
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I keep imagining a movie scene that I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist.
A small crowd surrounds a bonfire. Many of them have backpacks or travel bags by their side. Some are sitting. Some are standing. Most are drinking. A few stare at the fire while the routine of this setting continues around them.
There are several musicians entertaining everyone. It seems that people hop in and out at their leisure. There’s a pair of hippie women with small hand drums. There’s a pothead whose features are obscured by their drug rug and the inconsistent light of the flame. From the sound and position of their hands, they seem to be ad-libbing on harmonica. Plenty of folks sing with varying degrees of success and enthusiasm, but one man sits with his eyes closed playing guitar and leading the jam. He does this often. He carries himself as such.
A new man approaches the fire and greets a friend, but his eyes are locked contemplatively on the jam leader. The newcomer has never attended this particular ritual before and doesn’t seem to know anyone beyond the person he’s sat next to.
After taking a second to assess the situation, the song ends to scattered applause and cheers. The performer opens his eyes and gives a satisfied grin, followed quickly by quiet attentiveness when he realizes he’s being stared at. Newbie remembers himself and quickly reaches around his bag to unstrap a black case about the size of his forearm, which was admittedly long. With a couple small thuds, the case is open to reveal a beautiful fiddle and bow. Newbie looks back up at the guitarist who is pleasantly surprised, raising his eyebrows and nodding in encouragement.
Tuning the fiddle and rosining the bow is quick and practiced, but still not quick enough to get the jump on the start of the next song. By the second chord, the fiddler has recognized the song and is smirking, shaking his head in mock disbelief. After the first progression, it repeats and the melody soars out of the strings above the accompaniment where a voice would normally go. Their eyes are irreparably locked now as many people gather around to join in singing a tune they all knew. To everyone else, this is a merry chorus. To the two men, the rhythm and the lead, there is no one else but them. They have not spoken a word to each other. They both hear the other escalating the intensity of the music as the makeshift choir rises in a drunken refrain. Still their eyes grow increasingly knowing.
And then smash cut to the two of them furiously making out in the woods.