Since our internships allow, Molly, Kendra and I are starting to make breakfast together a fairly regular thing. This morning we decided to go to my favorite side street to get fruit. We finally decided on pineapple but we couldn't understand what the saleswoman said originally so we decided to suggest a price using what Vietnamese we knew. We suggested 2,000 dong for one but she came back with the offer of 5,000 for two. Since we only wanted one, we stood there for what felt like a pretty long time debating how to proceed. All the while, the vendor was casually leaning on her cart chatting with another saleswoman. For simplicity's sake, we settled on two. The next task was to find a knife to cut it and we thought we could borrow one from our cafe near the guesthouse. We first stopped at the bookstore on the way and found an English-Vietnamese dictionary and looked up the word for knife. When we got to the cafe, they understood us perfectly and brought us the knife, but then we weren't sure what to do with it. We didn't know where to cut because the tables were glass so I ended up crouching on the ground with the pineapple on a bag and cut into it (a rather embarrassing display yes, but we had to do something). Now, I learned to cut pineapple into sections and then cut along the peel to create a little boat of fruit, but within moments of my first slice, one of the waitresses swept the pineapple away from me to a nearby table and proceeded to cut it "properly." I still hold that my method would have worked, though her version was certainly more artistic and beautiful. The waitress was very kind to us, so we tried to tip her but she hastily backed away from our outstretched money. We thought about hiding the tip for her to find later, but decided to simplify matters by just buying something more expensive tomorrow.
Later, Van Anh and I worked on our survey and brochure to give to tourists, and everything's coming along beautifully. In the afternoon, Van Anh's roommate from school came to visit. Trang is a friendly girl and we get along great. WE talked about her internship and her own experiences with CET and American roommates she had when she was working with the program. Then Van Anh, Trang, and Khang took me to a snail and clam place a little distance away in an area close to their university. I keep finding more and more that different parts of Saigon are very different in both appearance and population. This area is a little less ritzy than around our guesthouse and people are packed in. It's still a wonderful spot, with third and fourth floor apartment buildings utilizing understated but beautiful architecture, residents' clothes hanging on lines stretched along patios. In this neighborhood, there's an enormous market selling fruits, vegetables, live bluecrabs and prawns in fish tanks, river fish flopping around (only half alive) in a small, shallow dish of water. The restaurant is a low-key place known almost only to locals, a very bare-bones structure (exactly the kind I like). The tiny restaurant had three brick walls enclosing a cutting and cooking station with no roof. The food was then brought to the back under a tin roof where we sat at tiny tables on the customary miniature plastic kiddie-stools. (Interestingly, a painting of Mary and the baby Jesus watched over our meal...I still find it surprising to find so many Christians in a country dominated by Buddhists, though the Christians certainly do thier best to make themselves known. Every Buddhist home and business has a small beautiful shrine (just a little bigger than a shoe box) with incense and offerings of food and flowers. In contrast, one apartment I saw had a large-than-life painted statue of Jesus, his outstretched arms extending beyond the space of the patio, blessing the city. And now back to snails.)
The first dish of quail egg and clams came out, beautifully arranged on the steaming chrome dish it had no doubt been cooked in, but before we dug in, Van Anh asked me if I wanted to try duck embryo. That's the type of egg (popular in Vietnam) with a partially-developed baby duck inside. This is one speciality that I'd always said I probably wouldn't try while I was here. But now that I am here, I've developed (and rightly so) a no-rejection policy - I will try everything once. When your egg comes out, you place it upright in a tiny porcelain bowl that just barely holds the egg steady while you whack the top of the egg with a tiny spoon (weakling that I am, I needed a little help getting it started). Once you've pealed away an opening, you're supposed to drink the water out as if the egg were a shot glass. The water is something of a putrid brown color and it tasted about how it looked. I would say it didn't taste so much of egg as some unknown rotten concoction. To be fair to this favored dish, the rest of the egg didn't taste half-bad once I dipped it in the salt, pepper, and chili mixture. Admittedly, I let out a little squeal when I pulled the very identifiable baby duck out by what was clearly its little foot. But hey, at least it didn't crunch with bones and beak like I expected. So, final verdict on the duck embryo: I have no objection to the meat inside as long as I have a good sauce alongside, but I can't see myself jumping at the chance to drink that liquid again. All during my first duck embryo experience, our table was filled with laughter (as much coming from me as anyone else). It was a great comfort to have friends with me during such a culturally-jarring experience. Frankly, I was just grateful they weren't insulted that I didn't care for the egg.
The snails, on the other hand, I cared for a great deal. We had three different types of snail (only one of which I can identify as a moon snail), including one that none of us had ever tried. The snails were glorious. This is not boring escargo cooked only in butter, but exotic Vietnamese snails cooked in spices, herbs, and oils I've never known. I would never wish to demean the mangificence of the snail, but I'm certain a large part of why the experience was so special for me was the company. Sharing a meal can be the best way to bond with people and that certainly proved true in this case. Van Anh and I have been getting closer every day, but going out with her and her friends to a favorite spot of theirs made me feel like part of her life. They even gave me a Vietnamese nickname! It's Oc tieu, which means something along the lines of "little snail," which I think is hilarious and love because it will always remind me of this great day when I felt at home in Vietnam.
On the way back to the guesthouse, I rode on Trang's motorbike. We stopped for a moment and I hopped off but my leg touched the hot exhaust pipe. It wasn't a bad burn but it still hurt so Trang went inside the shop next to us and the woman inside gave me a spoonful of oil made from python fat to rub on the spot. It's a local remedy that works something like aloe and is quite effective (I just have to hope and pray they got it via humane methods). So, word to the wise - watch your limbs when getting off unfamiliar motorbikes. After a dinner of goat curry very different from any I've had in the United States, the whole group went to see a water-puppet show. Water puppets are a form of entertainment developed in Northern Vietnam that could still be performed during the rainy season. Now there are theaters all over Vietnam becuase it's so popular with tourists. The stage is a pool and the puppeteers stand behind a bamboo screen waist-deep in water. The water-proof wooden puppets representing average farmers and fishermen, historical figures, and sacred animal symbols of Vietnam emerge from behind the screen in different scenes. The story is told and sung by musicians sitting to the side of the water. The puppets are intensly colorful and move so fast that at times the front row of the audience gets splashed. The whole show is beautiful and still funny even without knowing the language. I think my favorite scene was when two phoenix did a beautiful dance together, which you soon discover was actually a mating ritual when a puppet egg pops up. The egg is replaced by a small baby phoenix and all three dance before disappearing behind the screen. (By the way, I forgot to mention that my roommate is a rockstar...she got the playhouse to open up on an off-night by telling them she had a bunch of American friends who were leaving the next day and wanted to see the show. We thought about bringing luggage to keep up the act, but decided it would be overdoing it a little.) That night back at the guest house, we all gathered in one room and had a fruit party. Loan and Khoi played the guitar and sang both Vietnamese and Western songs (Hieu singing harmony all the while). They all sounded so beautiful. I think we may have kept the neighbors up, but we had a great time.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Vietnam Day 7 (6/14/09)
As much as I love and miss my new friends in Ninh Thuan, it was really nice to see my friends at the guest house again. I haven't stopped jabbering on in English since I got back, it's just such a relief to be understood by everyone I'm talking to. That's why I kind of appreciated that it was just the Americans venturing off on our own today. Our first task was to find food for Alex and Molly. We ended up in the really touristy part of town where everything was written in English (always a bad sign). They got food at a California coffee place and we high-tailed it out of there. They ate in the tiny park in front of the Notre Dame Cathedral, which was full of tourists like us taking pictures with the pigeons in front of the church. Our companion during these escapades was a street girl (who was most pushy [literally] towards Ming) who knew very useful bits of English for her line of work: "buy a flower?," "why not?," "bad man," and my favorite, "number one bad man." It's becoming increasingly difficult to just ignore all these kids and I'm not sure exactly what to do in that kind of situation.
After the girls were done eating, we went into the cathedral. We were greeted at the door by two Vietnamese nuns wearing stunning ao dais (traditional Vietnamese dresses with slits in the sides and trousers of the same material worn underneath) made from beautiful white silk. Inside, you could clearly see it was modeled after Notre Dame in Paris, with lofty ceilings and the stations of the cross in little alcoves off to the sides of the aisles. Molly noted how odd it was that many of the saints represented here were made of plastic, some even accompanied by there names in neon lights. There wasn't much stained glass, but what was there was beautiful. I did however notice that the Virgin Mary was more frequently represented than images of Christ. (It reminded me a little of the controversy involving the Catholic Church in certain parts of South America, where some believe Mary is worshipped as more important than Jesus, clearly a hot-button issue.) Nevertheless, the whole church was truly beautiful and I did feel a rather strong sense of belonging, being Catholic. Catholicism is a part of me and my upbringing and it was nice to find a piece of that here in Vietnam. It was comforting and made me feel even more at home here.
For dinner, we went to a fabulous place in district three where we had a small rice pancake (resembling a disk about the size of my fist) with toppings including shrimp, pork, quail egg, chicken eggk, and squid. The food was incredible and the whole group had a lot of fun (thoguh I think the highlight was when Kendra accidentally dropped a bit of fish sauce in her tea and continued to drink it anyway...I tasted it our of twisted curiosity and it really wasn't too strong). Later that evening we went with a couple of our Vietnamese roommates to a park facing a side of the cathedral. There's a very efficient system in place there - you pick a spot where an employee of a coffee shop across the street gives you a sheet of newspaper so you can sit on the ground then takes your drink order and brings it to your patch of sidewalk. I had a very nice conversation with My and Hanh while drinking my cafe sua da and just enjoyed watching the city at night.
After the girls were done eating, we went into the cathedral. We were greeted at the door by two Vietnamese nuns wearing stunning ao dais (traditional Vietnamese dresses with slits in the sides and trousers of the same material worn underneath) made from beautiful white silk. Inside, you could clearly see it was modeled after Notre Dame in Paris, with lofty ceilings and the stations of the cross in little alcoves off to the sides of the aisles. Molly noted how odd it was that many of the saints represented here were made of plastic, some even accompanied by there names in neon lights. There wasn't much stained glass, but what was there was beautiful. I did however notice that the Virgin Mary was more frequently represented than images of Christ. (It reminded me a little of the controversy involving the Catholic Church in certain parts of South America, where some believe Mary is worshipped as more important than Jesus, clearly a hot-button issue.) Nevertheless, the whole church was truly beautiful and I did feel a rather strong sense of belonging, being Catholic. Catholicism is a part of me and my upbringing and it was nice to find a piece of that here in Vietnam. It was comforting and made me feel even more at home here.
For dinner, we went to a fabulous place in district three where we had a small rice pancake (resembling a disk about the size of my fist) with toppings including shrimp, pork, quail egg, chicken eggk, and squid. The food was incredible and the whole group had a lot of fun (thoguh I think the highlight was when Kendra accidentally dropped a bit of fish sauce in her tea and continued to drink it anyway...I tasted it our of twisted curiosity and it really wasn't too strong). Later that evening we went with a couple of our Vietnamese roommates to a park facing a side of the cathedral. There's a very efficient system in place there - you pick a spot where an employee of a coffee shop across the street gives you a sheet of newspaper so you can sit on the ground then takes your drink order and brings it to your patch of sidewalk. I had a very nice conversation with My and Hanh while drinking my cafe sua da and just enjoyed watching the city at night.
Vietnam Day 6 (6/13/09)
(I'm back on the bus and just wanted to point out the amusing Vietnamese music videos I'm watching. One is actually in English with Vietnamese singers dressed up as blond and black (yes I do believe they're in blackface) American kids in 80's getup. For some strange reason, in the other videos all of the male singers are wearing crosses as bling (which makes me wonder whether most of them are actually Christian or if it's a popular fashion statement). Oh yeah, and another less glamorous part of travel; there's a bathroom on this bus that doesn't close properly...I'll spare you any further details.)
I felt sooo much better this morning. Everything looks better in the daylight (at least when you're not sick and fatiqued). We went for breakfast with some of the staff at a very nice three-star resort down on the beach. Part of me still wanted to eat pho (part of me always does), but I figured this would be one of my only chances to get Western food and given my culture shock incident the night before, I thought a bit of the familiar might be nice. So I ordered bread with butter and jam and eggs sunny-side up, along with my usual cafe sua da (Vietnamese iced coffee). Now, being American, I was expecting toast, but when the food came out the bread ended up being a miniature baguette, which I found vastly amusing. The food was good enough, though certainly not as exciting as Vietnamese food, but frankly I was just happy to have such small portions for once (particularly after last nights feast). The breakfast conversation went much as it did last night, spoken almost entirely in Vietnamese, but I handled it much better this morning. It wasn't nearly as frustrating because I knew what to expect and already had a system for coping with it. Plus, Mr. Vinh and I had some very interesting conversations about different types of government and American vs. Vietnamese education systems. After breakfast, we got down to business and finalized the survey we plan to take in order to guage foreign interest in the ecotourism program and find ways to improve it.
Then Van Anh and I had about ten minutes to change before going to the traditional Buddhist wedding we'd been so generously invited to. I was out of my mind with excitement, but the problem was that we hadn't been told in advance that we'd be attending a formal event, so we had to wear the cloths we'd brought for hiking. I ended up going to a wedding wearing a jungle pants and hiking boots. I felt somewhat awkward, but then I suppose the reason people were staring was probably not my clothes. We ended up arriving too late for the ceremony itself, which was devastating, but we still got to attend the reception. I think the main differences between American and Vietnamese receptions are that a proper gift is "lucky money" (an accepted minimum of 100,000 dong dropped into a fancy basket on your way in) and I didn't see any dancing. Yet, this party still managed to be just as ruckus as any American wedding. As it was explained to me, parties like this are a chance for friends to chill out and drink together. I got a beer like nearly everyone else, but then Van Anh declined in favor of Pepsi, which made me realize that perhaps she knew something I didn't. Sure enough, almost as soon as I sat down, some eager wedding guests came over to toast with us. Toasting is very common here, as one person says "mot, hai, ba" and everyone else joins in with a loud "YO." Now it's considered polite to drink 50% or 100% (which most of the men are very good at) and if you make it to 100% you shake your glass to clink the ice. I quickly realized that I'd have to take some creative measures to stay sober. That's how I discovered the secret to surviving a Vietnamese wedding - put lots of icein your drink (and often) to water it down. By the end of the party I was essentially drinking beer-colored water.
The wedding couple made the rounds, toasting with each table but will small glasses of red wine (which I imagine is even more conducive to staing sober than my system). The bride and groom were absolutely gorgeous, the bride in a floor length pale yellow gown (apparently the dress can be any number of colors although it's traditional to wear white or red). I said a traditional good luck blessing and told the bride "dep qua," attempting in my poor accent to tell her how beautiful she looked. The groom actually spoke English quite well, something of a surprise given the amount of English I've heard in these parts.
A very kind older gentlman a our table asked me some questions (through Mr. Vinh) and I was expected to ask something in return so I had him explain to me how the wedding ceremony woks. Apparently, a matchmaker gives a blessing as the groom's family brings the bride's family a box of gifts (brought to her house) consisting of food, jewels, and the wedding dress. Then there's a reception with the groom's friends and the next day (still part of the wedding), th process is reversed. It's all fascinating. Then another older gentleman, who I've affectionately dubbed "the drunk matchmaker" joined our table. He told me (again through Mr. Vinh) that I was "comprehensively beautiful" and that Mr. Diep (our guide) was a lucky man to be sitting next to me. Mr. Diep is 33 and still single, which to this man naturally meant that he needed help finding a wife. Initially, I was the main target of these intentions, as he kept gesturing that Mr. Diep and I should be together, while I was gesturing just as avidly to wave him off the idea. I was certainly embarassed by some of this attention (and I suspected Mr. Diep was too), so I tried even harder to explain that Mr. Diep and I were just friends. I lucked out and got off the hook when the bride's older sister (just as striking as her sister) joined us. After she arrived, the drunken matchmaker made the same hand gestures (perhaps even more frequently if that's possible), this time pointing to Mr. Diep and this woman, all the while trying to coax a thumbs-up out of me (which I declined to give for the sake of Mr. Diep and the woman). The two appeared to be making polite conversation (perhaps to humor the other men), but seemed uncomfortable whenever someone laughed or made a joke about them. Later, when we had moved inside to continue the party with more relatives of the bride and groom (all men except for me, Van Anh, and the bride's sister, and all rather tipsy), the men continued to "affectionately" harass the poor girl. A few times, I saw a look on her face that made me quite sad - she was clearly annoyed with the implications of the drunk matchmaker and her relatives, but she appeared accustomed to it and accepted it as part of her position as an unmarried woman. Thankfully, Van Anh soon maneuvered us out of there.
We joined the rest of the staff at karaoke, which was hilarious. All of the tunes are turned into techno and there's a meter at the end of the song that scores how well you sang. There was a large English selection but, while I knew a lot of the artists, the songs listed were not ones that had been hits in the United States. However, I tried to sing "Don't Stand So Close to Me" by The Police, only to find that most of the lyrics weren't correct. It was as if someone who didn't speak a whole lot of Enlgish had just listened to the song and transcribed what he heard. That's when I remembered seeing Bob Marley's "Funky Reggae Party" listed in the book as "Punky Reggae Party" and realized this was probably a common problem. However, one man I didn't know kept chosing English songs at random (none of which I knew) and handing me the microphone, which only served to amplify my snickers since I knew a lot of these lyrics had to be wrong. He did at one point sing one of them with me in which he helped me with the chorus that went something like, "boys, boys, boys, are you ready for my love?" He sang with such fervor that I ended up laughing my way through most of that song too. I also got roped into singing "Bingo Was His Name-O" when they tried to pick an American folk song that I might actually know. Massive entertainment.
That night we had a farewell dinner of fish, squid, soup made from a bitter melon, and fish cake (which sounds a little gross in concept but is actually phenomenally good). As our last venture together, we went to a parking lot full of tables, people, motorbikes, and vendors. Here I had my first sweetsoup, a dessert drink with some kind of berries, ice, and an edible gum, all of which was pretty tasty. At the end of the night, we took a lot of pictures with the staff, which eventually evolved into all of the girls crossing the busy street to the park for our own personal photo shoot. We took all kinds of silly pictures toegether, then hugged and said our goodbyes. At some point during all of this, I realized that I just managed to make friends without speaking the same language. I've got to be the luckiest little Dukie in the world.
I felt sooo much better this morning. Everything looks better in the daylight (at least when you're not sick and fatiqued). We went for breakfast with some of the staff at a very nice three-star resort down on the beach. Part of me still wanted to eat pho (part of me always does), but I figured this would be one of my only chances to get Western food and given my culture shock incident the night before, I thought a bit of the familiar might be nice. So I ordered bread with butter and jam and eggs sunny-side up, along with my usual cafe sua da (Vietnamese iced coffee). Now, being American, I was expecting toast, but when the food came out the bread ended up being a miniature baguette, which I found vastly amusing. The food was good enough, though certainly not as exciting as Vietnamese food, but frankly I was just happy to have such small portions for once (particularly after last nights feast). The breakfast conversation went much as it did last night, spoken almost entirely in Vietnamese, but I handled it much better this morning. It wasn't nearly as frustrating because I knew what to expect and already had a system for coping with it. Plus, Mr. Vinh and I had some very interesting conversations about different types of government and American vs. Vietnamese education systems. After breakfast, we got down to business and finalized the survey we plan to take in order to guage foreign interest in the ecotourism program and find ways to improve it.
Then Van Anh and I had about ten minutes to change before going to the traditional Buddhist wedding we'd been so generously invited to. I was out of my mind with excitement, but the problem was that we hadn't been told in advance that we'd be attending a formal event, so we had to wear the cloths we'd brought for hiking. I ended up going to a wedding wearing a jungle pants and hiking boots. I felt somewhat awkward, but then I suppose the reason people were staring was probably not my clothes. We ended up arriving too late for the ceremony itself, which was devastating, but we still got to attend the reception. I think the main differences between American and Vietnamese receptions are that a proper gift is "lucky money" (an accepted minimum of 100,000 dong dropped into a fancy basket on your way in) and I didn't see any dancing. Yet, this party still managed to be just as ruckus as any American wedding. As it was explained to me, parties like this are a chance for friends to chill out and drink together. I got a beer like nearly everyone else, but then Van Anh declined in favor of Pepsi, which made me realize that perhaps she knew something I didn't. Sure enough, almost as soon as I sat down, some eager wedding guests came over to toast with us. Toasting is very common here, as one person says "mot, hai, ba" and everyone else joins in with a loud "YO." Now it's considered polite to drink 50% or 100% (which most of the men are very good at) and if you make it to 100% you shake your glass to clink the ice. I quickly realized that I'd have to take some creative measures to stay sober. That's how I discovered the secret to surviving a Vietnamese wedding - put lots of icein your drink (and often) to water it down. By the end of the party I was essentially drinking beer-colored water.
The wedding couple made the rounds, toasting with each table but will small glasses of red wine (which I imagine is even more conducive to staing sober than my system). The bride and groom were absolutely gorgeous, the bride in a floor length pale yellow gown (apparently the dress can be any number of colors although it's traditional to wear white or red). I said a traditional good luck blessing and told the bride "dep qua," attempting in my poor accent to tell her how beautiful she looked. The groom actually spoke English quite well, something of a surprise given the amount of English I've heard in these parts.
A very kind older gentlman a our table asked me some questions (through Mr. Vinh) and I was expected to ask something in return so I had him explain to me how the wedding ceremony woks. Apparently, a matchmaker gives a blessing as the groom's family brings the bride's family a box of gifts (brought to her house) consisting of food, jewels, and the wedding dress. Then there's a reception with the groom's friends and the next day (still part of the wedding), th process is reversed. It's all fascinating. Then another older gentleman, who I've affectionately dubbed "the drunk matchmaker" joined our table. He told me (again through Mr. Vinh) that I was "comprehensively beautiful" and that Mr. Diep (our guide) was a lucky man to be sitting next to me. Mr. Diep is 33 and still single, which to this man naturally meant that he needed help finding a wife. Initially, I was the main target of these intentions, as he kept gesturing that Mr. Diep and I should be together, while I was gesturing just as avidly to wave him off the idea. I was certainly embarassed by some of this attention (and I suspected Mr. Diep was too), so I tried even harder to explain that Mr. Diep and I were just friends. I lucked out and got off the hook when the bride's older sister (just as striking as her sister) joined us. After she arrived, the drunken matchmaker made the same hand gestures (perhaps even more frequently if that's possible), this time pointing to Mr. Diep and this woman, all the while trying to coax a thumbs-up out of me (which I declined to give for the sake of Mr. Diep and the woman). The two appeared to be making polite conversation (perhaps to humor the other men), but seemed uncomfortable whenever someone laughed or made a joke about them. Later, when we had moved inside to continue the party with more relatives of the bride and groom (all men except for me, Van Anh, and the bride's sister, and all rather tipsy), the men continued to "affectionately" harass the poor girl. A few times, I saw a look on her face that made me quite sad - she was clearly annoyed with the implications of the drunk matchmaker and her relatives, but she appeared accustomed to it and accepted it as part of her position as an unmarried woman. Thankfully, Van Anh soon maneuvered us out of there.
We joined the rest of the staff at karaoke, which was hilarious. All of the tunes are turned into techno and there's a meter at the end of the song that scores how well you sang. There was a large English selection but, while I knew a lot of the artists, the songs listed were not ones that had been hits in the United States. However, I tried to sing "Don't Stand So Close to Me" by The Police, only to find that most of the lyrics weren't correct. It was as if someone who didn't speak a whole lot of Enlgish had just listened to the song and transcribed what he heard. That's when I remembered seeing Bob Marley's "Funky Reggae Party" listed in the book as "Punky Reggae Party" and realized this was probably a common problem. However, one man I didn't know kept chosing English songs at random (none of which I knew) and handing me the microphone, which only served to amplify my snickers since I knew a lot of these lyrics had to be wrong. He did at one point sing one of them with me in which he helped me with the chorus that went something like, "boys, boys, boys, are you ready for my love?" He sang with such fervor that I ended up laughing my way through most of that song too. I also got roped into singing "Bingo Was His Name-O" when they tried to pick an American folk song that I might actually know. Massive entertainment.
That night we had a farewell dinner of fish, squid, soup made from a bitter melon, and fish cake (which sounds a little gross in concept but is actually phenomenally good). As our last venture together, we went to a parking lot full of tables, people, motorbikes, and vendors. Here I had my first sweetsoup, a dessert drink with some kind of berries, ice, and an edible gum, all of which was pretty tasty. At the end of the night, we took a lot of pictures with the staff, which eventually evolved into all of the girls crossing the busy street to the park for our own personal photo shoot. We took all kinds of silly pictures toegether, then hugged and said our goodbyes. At some point during all of this, I realized that I just managed to make friends without speaking the same language. I've got to be the luckiest little Dukie in the world.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Vietnam Day 5 (6/12/09)
I woke up this morning to a sight so beautiful it nearly brought me to tears. Outside my window on the bus were the mountains and fields of herbs and salt just outside Ninh Thuan. I'd seen pictures of this type of scene before and had always known it would be beautiful, but I never expected it to hit me like this when I finally saw it in person. I felt a sudden surge of emotion, it was both exhilerating and peaceful. My entire body was pressed up against the window, trying to take it all in. I was enraptured. When we arrived, we were picked up by a couple of thestaff members at the Institute for Tropical Biology and we all went to breakfast at a local pho place. Their English skills ranged from limited speaking ability to nothing at all. Between that and my list of Vietnamese words squarely set at fifteen, I wasn't really part of the conversation. Van Anh translated for me but in general, I just let her talk with them and sat quietly eating.
Afterwards we drove though the city to the Institute and I had a great chance to observe the people from these little dirt roads. I did see some squalor, but in general I just observed people making a modest living in much the same way their ancestors did, farming and fishing. Everywhere around me I see the traditional image of the faceless Vietnamese farmer, bent over with a conical straw hat on. Van Anh told me of an old proverb that's a tribute to the hardest workers in Vietnam - "the farmer sells his back to the sky and his face to the ground." I know everyone is attracted to the money and development, but I think most put too much emphasis on it. I'm sure these people do have a lot to gain through development, but I wonder if they know what they have to lose. If Vietnamese loses the ancient ways entirely, it loses something very precious. Plenty of people in America have money but aren't happy, so there must be more important things. Well, perhaps Vietnam's communist ideals of equality and cooperation will keep it from becoming as cut-throat about business as America.
We reach the Institute and meet Mr. Vinh, director of this project. I have been skeptical about tis program because of our inability to get straight, consistent answers in the city so I had a lot of questions for him. Mr. Vinh, however, dispelled most of my qualms without me asking a single one. NOt only is he an exceptionally warm and generous man, but we share many of the same ideals when it comes to the environment. At one point, he took me over to a map and showed me where there had been a lot of development down by the beach and he expressed his disagreement with such construction. This conversation convinced me that he would go to great lengths to make sure the company that buys this program will uphold our goals and the system in place. After settling into our hotel, we set out on our tour of the Nui Chua National Park. The preserve has six different types of semi-arid forest, complete with langurs and pythons (neither of which we saw sadly), and a long stretch of beach that's the only place in Vietnam (to my knowledge) where sea turtles nest. There's also an indigenous tribe called the Raglay people that still live off the forest's resources (much as th Amazonian tribes do).
Our guide through the national park is Mr. Diep, who used to work for the army doing something in the forest (I didn't quite catch the details), so now he's a real outdoorsman and knows his way around the forest. Also taking our tour with us is Nhu Ngoc Tran, a a student from Central Vietnam (said to have some of the most gifted, hard-working students in the country) who's staying with the Institute's staff for part of her summer. I have to say, I truly love this girl - she's one of the most adorable, fun-loving people I've ever met. We start our tour in the short forest, full of bonsai and other short trees (surprise, surprise) growing in soil made up mostly of sand. We're surrounded by huge boulders precariously balanced on one another, as well as livestock like cows and goats. THere's one dark bull with lopsided horns who doesn't seem to like us. He always looks ready to charge, I'm not sure if that's because he's guarding the calf behind him or because Nhu's wearing red (we'd like to think it's the latter).
We walk down an incredibly steep hillside through the trees down to one of the most incredible ocean views in the world. We scramble up onto some rocks to take in the sight. The beach below us is the small nesting site for olive ridley, green, and hawksbill sea turtles, one of if not the only nesting sites in Vietnam. Van Anh translated Mr. Diep's story about a local fisherman who hunted and ate sea turtles his whole life, but near the end of his life he felt remorse and got his family and the whole community involved in protecting the turtles. Apparently, somewhere in the area there's some sort of cabinet with the inscription "who is the number one enemy of the sea?," and inside is a mirror. More of my fears about a tourism company running rampant in Ninh Thuan disappear. This is a community that is concerned about the environment and will take care of its own. By the way, Van Anh is becoming an even better friend and ally. She doesn't seem burdened by translating for me (which is quite a relief) and we're becoming closer through this profound experience we're sharing. I'm discovering it's the little details that make Ninh Thuan so beautiful. While we were sitting on the rocks, we found these pretty little stones that were once part of the shell of a moon snail and have a perfect amber spiral design on them.
On the way back, we saw a type of iguana with a brilliant royal blue head. Next to it was one with a brown head since apparently it changes color (how cool is that!). To get to the big rainforest, we hopped the local bus, which is the bumpiest, wildest ride I've been on since Space Mountain. The driver goes full speed ahead, beeping the whole way for people ahead to move, since he'll stop for no one...except for a herd of cows (one of many herds of livestock on these roads). We then used a sort of motorbike taxi service which takes us across Broken Bridge (which thankfully does'nt live up to its name) to a family-run restaurant owned by Di Hai (which means Aunt Hai). After a meal of pineapple, special fish, and fried egg, Van Anh and I interviewed her about the ecotourism situation. This is an amazing woman. She started her own business, this restaurant that feeds relatives and neighbors, along with the occassional traveler. She's very passionate about protecting her forest home. She gave up some of her own land to the government to build a trail heading up into the mountains and also pays 30,000 dong out of her pocket each week to hire the Raglay people to clean up the litter down by the stream. (By the way, that's about $2 U.S. and remember folks, the average income is Vietnam is only $2-3 a day on average.) All Di Hai wants is to help and interact with travelers and new people and to provide for the future of her family. This conversation clinched the deal for me. If Di Hai supports it, so do I. This project has all the right people involved to keep it going in the right direction after I leave. I trust them.
Afterwards, the four of us headed to the stream, climbing to the base of the waterfall. I venture a little further on my own, scrambling over and hopping in between rocks, even crossing to the other side of the stream. It was so peaceful there. Everything else in the world disappears except for the next rock in front of you; all of your senses are channeled into the sensation of running water between your fingers. When I finally rejoined the group, we took naps in hammocks next to the water. Ok, so the less glamorous part of this experience was the fact that I had a headache throughout most of it (probably from lack of sleep on the night bus). However, I've had a worse illness than that in the middle of a jungle before (oh Guatemala, good times), so I knew how to battle my way through this one and still enjoy myself thoroughly. We came back down the mountain and hopped on a glass bottom boat and set off to see the coral reef. The small harbor was a sight to see. Blue wooden fishing boats with Vietnamese flags flying were scattered throughout the water, flags flying were scattered throughout the water, accompanied by small floating baskets that are traditional fishing boats (I later saw one of these fishing for squid at night, luring the creatures to a lure by shining a flashlight in the water). The backdrop for all of this was a range of forrested mountains. Out on the water, the glass-bottom portion of the trip sadly made me and Van Anh a little sick, but fortunately I was more interested in looking around the boat. Crystal blue waves sent us on anther bumpy ride right alongside cliffaces with vegetatoin growing on them (like smaller versions of the ones in Hanoi).
Alright, here's where the magical portion of the tour takes an unpleasant turn. That night we had a dinner party on this beautiful beach at a local seafood restaurant. It was a perfect night, cool breezes, calm black waters, sand between my toes, twinkling stars above, and en eirily beautiful burnt orange moon just above the horizon. The food was delicious, strange considering it was seafood and snails, not some of my traditional favorites. The people were all so kind and happy to have us there. The problem was that only about three people at the table spoke conversatoinal English. This was my first bout of culture shock. Mr. Vinh did his best to talk to me part of the time, but it only lasted so long and I spent most of the night somewhere between confusion and boredom. I split my time between trying to look interested in a conversation I didn't understand and trying to amuse myself by looking around at the beautiful scenery withough being impolite. To add to my discomfort, I was completely stuffed from so much food (albeit wonderful food). It's always rude to deny food and everyone was so generous that they kept piling it into my bowl. So I kept eating and when I felt I'd had my fill, Mr. Vinh announced that there were four more courses coming. I made it through this night by pulling myself back from the brink numerous times with the notion that I was only freaking out becuase I was dead tired and culture shock is a real and unavoidable psychological experience. I did however find a way to be part of the party in some small way without understanding what people were saying. I find it very interesting to listen to the language itself. With so many different tones, each sentence becomes a unique song. Listening to this enchanting song, I didn't feel quite so lost in this foreign language.
Afterwards we drove though the city to the Institute and I had a great chance to observe the people from these little dirt roads. I did see some squalor, but in general I just observed people making a modest living in much the same way their ancestors did, farming and fishing. Everywhere around me I see the traditional image of the faceless Vietnamese farmer, bent over with a conical straw hat on. Van Anh told me of an old proverb that's a tribute to the hardest workers in Vietnam - "the farmer sells his back to the sky and his face to the ground." I know everyone is attracted to the money and development, but I think most put too much emphasis on it. I'm sure these people do have a lot to gain through development, but I wonder if they know what they have to lose. If Vietnamese loses the ancient ways entirely, it loses something very precious. Plenty of people in America have money but aren't happy, so there must be more important things. Well, perhaps Vietnam's communist ideals of equality and cooperation will keep it from becoming as cut-throat about business as America.
We reach the Institute and meet Mr. Vinh, director of this project. I have been skeptical about tis program because of our inability to get straight, consistent answers in the city so I had a lot of questions for him. Mr. Vinh, however, dispelled most of my qualms without me asking a single one. NOt only is he an exceptionally warm and generous man, but we share many of the same ideals when it comes to the environment. At one point, he took me over to a map and showed me where there had been a lot of development down by the beach and he expressed his disagreement with such construction. This conversation convinced me that he would go to great lengths to make sure the company that buys this program will uphold our goals and the system in place. After settling into our hotel, we set out on our tour of the Nui Chua National Park. The preserve has six different types of semi-arid forest, complete with langurs and pythons (neither of which we saw sadly), and a long stretch of beach that's the only place in Vietnam (to my knowledge) where sea turtles nest. There's also an indigenous tribe called the Raglay people that still live off the forest's resources (much as th Amazonian tribes do).
Our guide through the national park is Mr. Diep, who used to work for the army doing something in the forest (I didn't quite catch the details), so now he's a real outdoorsman and knows his way around the forest. Also taking our tour with us is Nhu Ngoc Tran, a a student from Central Vietnam (said to have some of the most gifted, hard-working students in the country) who's staying with the Institute's staff for part of her summer. I have to say, I truly love this girl - she's one of the most adorable, fun-loving people I've ever met. We start our tour in the short forest, full of bonsai and other short trees (surprise, surprise) growing in soil made up mostly of sand. We're surrounded by huge boulders precariously balanced on one another, as well as livestock like cows and goats. THere's one dark bull with lopsided horns who doesn't seem to like us. He always looks ready to charge, I'm not sure if that's because he's guarding the calf behind him or because Nhu's wearing red (we'd like to think it's the latter).
We walk down an incredibly steep hillside through the trees down to one of the most incredible ocean views in the world. We scramble up onto some rocks to take in the sight. The beach below us is the small nesting site for olive ridley, green, and hawksbill sea turtles, one of if not the only nesting sites in Vietnam. Van Anh translated Mr. Diep's story about a local fisherman who hunted and ate sea turtles his whole life, but near the end of his life he felt remorse and got his family and the whole community involved in protecting the turtles. Apparently, somewhere in the area there's some sort of cabinet with the inscription "who is the number one enemy of the sea?," and inside is a mirror. More of my fears about a tourism company running rampant in Ninh Thuan disappear. This is a community that is concerned about the environment and will take care of its own. By the way, Van Anh is becoming an even better friend and ally. She doesn't seem burdened by translating for me (which is quite a relief) and we're becoming closer through this profound experience we're sharing. I'm discovering it's the little details that make Ninh Thuan so beautiful. While we were sitting on the rocks, we found these pretty little stones that were once part of the shell of a moon snail and have a perfect amber spiral design on them.
On the way back, we saw a type of iguana with a brilliant royal blue head. Next to it was one with a brown head since apparently it changes color (how cool is that!). To get to the big rainforest, we hopped the local bus, which is the bumpiest, wildest ride I've been on since Space Mountain. The driver goes full speed ahead, beeping the whole way for people ahead to move, since he'll stop for no one...except for a herd of cows (one of many herds of livestock on these roads). We then used a sort of motorbike taxi service which takes us across Broken Bridge (which thankfully does'nt live up to its name) to a family-run restaurant owned by Di Hai (which means Aunt Hai). After a meal of pineapple, special fish, and fried egg, Van Anh and I interviewed her about the ecotourism situation. This is an amazing woman. She started her own business, this restaurant that feeds relatives and neighbors, along with the occassional traveler. She's very passionate about protecting her forest home. She gave up some of her own land to the government to build a trail heading up into the mountains and also pays 30,000 dong out of her pocket each week to hire the Raglay people to clean up the litter down by the stream. (By the way, that's about $2 U.S. and remember folks, the average income is Vietnam is only $2-3 a day on average.) All Di Hai wants is to help and interact with travelers and new people and to provide for the future of her family. This conversation clinched the deal for me. If Di Hai supports it, so do I. This project has all the right people involved to keep it going in the right direction after I leave. I trust them.
Afterwards, the four of us headed to the stream, climbing to the base of the waterfall. I venture a little further on my own, scrambling over and hopping in between rocks, even crossing to the other side of the stream. It was so peaceful there. Everything else in the world disappears except for the next rock in front of you; all of your senses are channeled into the sensation of running water between your fingers. When I finally rejoined the group, we took naps in hammocks next to the water. Ok, so the less glamorous part of this experience was the fact that I had a headache throughout most of it (probably from lack of sleep on the night bus). However, I've had a worse illness than that in the middle of a jungle before (oh Guatemala, good times), so I knew how to battle my way through this one and still enjoy myself thoroughly. We came back down the mountain and hopped on a glass bottom boat and set off to see the coral reef. The small harbor was a sight to see. Blue wooden fishing boats with Vietnamese flags flying were scattered throughout the water, flags flying were scattered throughout the water, accompanied by small floating baskets that are traditional fishing boats (I later saw one of these fishing for squid at night, luring the creatures to a lure by shining a flashlight in the water). The backdrop for all of this was a range of forrested mountains. Out on the water, the glass-bottom portion of the trip sadly made me and Van Anh a little sick, but fortunately I was more interested in looking around the boat. Crystal blue waves sent us on anther bumpy ride right alongside cliffaces with vegetatoin growing on them (like smaller versions of the ones in Hanoi).
Alright, here's where the magical portion of the tour takes an unpleasant turn. That night we had a dinner party on this beautiful beach at a local seafood restaurant. It was a perfect night, cool breezes, calm black waters, sand between my toes, twinkling stars above, and en eirily beautiful burnt orange moon just above the horizon. The food was delicious, strange considering it was seafood and snails, not some of my traditional favorites. The people were all so kind and happy to have us there. The problem was that only about three people at the table spoke conversatoinal English. This was my first bout of culture shock. Mr. Vinh did his best to talk to me part of the time, but it only lasted so long and I spent most of the night somewhere between confusion and boredom. I split my time between trying to look interested in a conversation I didn't understand and trying to amuse myself by looking around at the beautiful scenery withough being impolite. To add to my discomfort, I was completely stuffed from so much food (albeit wonderful food). It's always rude to deny food and everyone was so generous that they kept piling it into my bowl. So I kept eating and when I felt I'd had my fill, Mr. Vinh announced that there were four more courses coming. I made it through this night by pulling myself back from the brink numerous times with the notion that I was only freaking out becuase I was dead tired and culture shock is a real and unavoidable psychological experience. I did however find a way to be part of the party in some small way without understanding what people were saying. I find it very interesting to listen to the language itself. With so many different tones, each sentence becomes a unique song. Listening to this enchanting song, I didn't feel quite so lost in this foreign language.
...day 4 continued
Well, I'm currently failing at sleeping so I thought I'd return to you and more fully describe the bus (since I've made quite a study of it). The seats are bunkbed style though it appears some people couldn't afford a seat at all and are sleeping on mats on the ground (at my feet in fact...I'll have to be careful getting up in the morning). When you board the bus, you check your bag below and then take off your shoes before getting on. This is the point in the story where twenty pairs of eyes suddenly shifted, alerted to my presence. An usher of sorts guided me to my seat, in perfect view of the TV showing Vietnamese comedy. The show fascinated me because I feel like voice inflection is so important in Western comedy, but tone is such a big part of simple pronunciation of a word in Vietnamese that I can't figure out how inflection plays into it (if at all). But I have little time to contemplate it since, as we start moving, the TV and lights go out, leaving me with only soothing little blue lights on the ceiling and traditional Vietnamese music playing quietly in the background. Hopefully this lovely blue glow and the soft yipping of the puppy I only just discovered is on the bus will lull me to sleep at last.
Vietnam Day 4 (6/11/09)
I feel I must apologize in advance if this is written in even worse form than my usual postings. You see, I'm currently writing from a rather uncomfortable reclining seat on a night bus (but more on that later).
This morning we got up and since I was the only one who was hungry, we just went to the indoor cafe (called the Canteen) next to the guest house, which we'd never tried before. Our first big problem came early in the program - there were no menus, excluding our favored system of ordering by pointing at our selections and smiling (occassionally throwing in our limited Vietnamese vocabulary by indicating a number or saying thank you). Everone else just wanted cafe sua da (which I can't spell but can pronounce reasonably well), but of course I had to complicate things by demanding a hot drip coffee which none of us knew how to say. Van sometimes has trouble communicating with people here because he speaks the northern dialect of Vietnamese, but he did his best and after a few almost mishaps, everything worked out perfectly and we all got exactly what we ordered. Despite Van's triumph, it came at some expense to his blood pressure, so we decided to stick with our much beloved outdoor cafe from now on.
After coffee, we headed to Vietnamese language survival class. It turned out to be vastly entertaining, though I'm glad I at least learned basic numbers before leaving the states. Our instructor taught us the process for saying all the numbers up through the millions. He went around the room making us translate bigger and bigger numbers, finally reaching 555,175,682 which at this point in time takes us about fifteen minutes to say (forgive the hyperbole, but it really did take a long time for just a number). I'm getting a little better at the pronunciation though I still need some more work. At the very least the classes are providing the ladies at the desk (who give us our room keys every day) with some extra entertainment as we practice our numbers by telling them which room we're each in. For lunch we went to Pho 24, a chain listed in the guide books as the best pho in the city. It was bland and disappointing to say the least. We soon came to the conclusion that the writers of the guide books only said that because it's too hard to bick the best little street pho (my favorite so far is the little place down the side-street near the guest house where we ate with Rylan the first day). Afterwards we went to the Ben Thanh Market, one of the biggest and most famous in the city, but also the most touristy and expensive. It was completely overwhelming. It was essentially an open-air market but with a roof topped with a large clock tower. There were tiny corridors lined with booths seperated by fabric partitions. Each one has multiple tables packed with little artistic pieces, jewelry, or electronics, racks lined with cloths ranging from soccer jerseys to sequined dresses, not to mention the glass cases filled with tiaras and headbands. In the middle of the mass was the food, with fruit vendors on the floor with their baskets surrounding an eating bar serving pho and other soups. The vendors didn't speak much English, but the words I heard most often were "beautiful" and "buy." One of the women was especially pushy, tapping each of us on the arm with her paper fan as we passed, beckoning us to her stand. We'd planned not to buy anything at this market because it was so touristy, but I needed a good backpack for hiking in Africa next fall and they were just so much cheaper than they are in the U.S. that I couldn't pass it up. At the first stand we tried, the woman said the price was fixed, despite our best efforts to bargain. Our next strategy was to pretend to walk away in the hope that she would call us back and agree to deal. However, we found ourselves walking on to the next stand without protest. There we were able to bargain for a very nice Northface bag (which I think might actually be real, but is in good shape either way) down from 260,000 dong to 250,000 dong (that's about $12 U.S. for a pack that would normally cost over $100). Our Vietnamese roommates were rather disappointed with me for paying so much, but I don't think anyone was ever going to give foreigners a better deal. We walked out fo the main market to some truly open-air booths on side streets. Here we found the most persistent sailsmen in the world - the vendors selling sunglasses. Their product is so mobile that they can literally follow you down the street with racks of sunglasses hanging from their necks. We tried everything to wave them off until finally giving up and accepting them as our new Vietnamese walking buddies. By this time, the girls had their cameras out and the boys were up ahead, trying to avoid looking touristy by association. I found it hard to take out my camera for very long. I didn't want to be so busy recording memories that I didn't make any. However, I love pictures and still want to take a lot, but I have trouble determining waht and who it's appropriate to photograph. I guess that judgement will come with time. After we were done with the market, we decided to find an ice cream parlor called Fanny's. After some precarious street crossings, our map reading skills prevailed and led us to a rather Westernized little bistro. It had pink light fixtures, Parisian style patio chairs inside, a bookcase full of French police thrillers for patrons to read, waitresses wearing pink 60's-like sodashop dresses as uniforms, and U2 was playing in the background. Among these Western items however, we found some unique ice cream flavors: ginger, rice, coconut, and of course durian. Now, I still haven't tried real durian, but this ice cream was a step in the right direction. I really did like it. I didn't love it, but I liked it, which is more than I can say for anyone else. Kendra, as we already knew, loves it, but everyone else tried in in succession, the reactions getting progressively worse. Everone except me nearly gagged on it (while I amused myself by photographing their disgust). On the way out, we saw a Hindu temple across the street and I wanted to go in but some people felt uncomfortable with it, so Molly and I made plans to go back later. It was fascinating to look at - the roof had statues of Hindu gods while cow statues and intensely colorful strings of lights adorned the inside.
Tonight, Van Anh and I left for Ninh Thuan by overnight bus. The bus is something of a sleeper-car with reclining seats and a headrest elevated by the little cubby hole mean for the feet of the passenger behind you. I've only just discovered that this could be problematic since I may be too tal to fit the "bed" - now I know how my 6'4'' Dad feels all the time (I have no idea what he'd do here). I've never been gawked at so much in my life as I have on this bus. I don't think tourists ride this bus because people keep turning around to see what I'm doing. The guy in front of me blatantly turned around in his seat and did nothing but stare at me for ten to fifteen minutes. Seriously, he hardly took his eyes off me. If everone on the bus wasn't too tired to stay awake any longer, I'd probably still be in the fishbowl.
This morning we got up and since I was the only one who was hungry, we just went to the indoor cafe (called the Canteen) next to the guest house, which we'd never tried before. Our first big problem came early in the program - there were no menus, excluding our favored system of ordering by pointing at our selections and smiling (occassionally throwing in our limited Vietnamese vocabulary by indicating a number or saying thank you). Everone else just wanted cafe sua da (which I can't spell but can pronounce reasonably well), but of course I had to complicate things by demanding a hot drip coffee which none of us knew how to say. Van sometimes has trouble communicating with people here because he speaks the northern dialect of Vietnamese, but he did his best and after a few almost mishaps, everything worked out perfectly and we all got exactly what we ordered. Despite Van's triumph, it came at some expense to his blood pressure, so we decided to stick with our much beloved outdoor cafe from now on.
After coffee, we headed to Vietnamese language survival class. It turned out to be vastly entertaining, though I'm glad I at least learned basic numbers before leaving the states. Our instructor taught us the process for saying all the numbers up through the millions. He went around the room making us translate bigger and bigger numbers, finally reaching 555,175,682 which at this point in time takes us about fifteen minutes to say (forgive the hyperbole, but it really did take a long time for just a number). I'm getting a little better at the pronunciation though I still need some more work. At the very least the classes are providing the ladies at the desk (who give us our room keys every day) with some extra entertainment as we practice our numbers by telling them which room we're each in. For lunch we went to Pho 24, a chain listed in the guide books as the best pho in the city. It was bland and disappointing to say the least. We soon came to the conclusion that the writers of the guide books only said that because it's too hard to bick the best little street pho (my favorite so far is the little place down the side-street near the guest house where we ate with Rylan the first day). Afterwards we went to the Ben Thanh Market, one of the biggest and most famous in the city, but also the most touristy and expensive. It was completely overwhelming. It was essentially an open-air market but with a roof topped with a large clock tower. There were tiny corridors lined with booths seperated by fabric partitions. Each one has multiple tables packed with little artistic pieces, jewelry, or electronics, racks lined with cloths ranging from soccer jerseys to sequined dresses, not to mention the glass cases filled with tiaras and headbands. In the middle of the mass was the food, with fruit vendors on the floor with their baskets surrounding an eating bar serving pho and other soups. The vendors didn't speak much English, but the words I heard most often were "beautiful" and "buy." One of the women was especially pushy, tapping each of us on the arm with her paper fan as we passed, beckoning us to her stand. We'd planned not to buy anything at this market because it was so touristy, but I needed a good backpack for hiking in Africa next fall and they were just so much cheaper than they are in the U.S. that I couldn't pass it up. At the first stand we tried, the woman said the price was fixed, despite our best efforts to bargain. Our next strategy was to pretend to walk away in the hope that she would call us back and agree to deal. However, we found ourselves walking on to the next stand without protest. There we were able to bargain for a very nice Northface bag (which I think might actually be real, but is in good shape either way) down from 260,000 dong to 250,000 dong (that's about $12 U.S. for a pack that would normally cost over $100). Our Vietnamese roommates were rather disappointed with me for paying so much, but I don't think anyone was ever going to give foreigners a better deal. We walked out fo the main market to some truly open-air booths on side streets. Here we found the most persistent sailsmen in the world - the vendors selling sunglasses. Their product is so mobile that they can literally follow you down the street with racks of sunglasses hanging from their necks. We tried everything to wave them off until finally giving up and accepting them as our new Vietnamese walking buddies. By this time, the girls had their cameras out and the boys were up ahead, trying to avoid looking touristy by association. I found it hard to take out my camera for very long. I didn't want to be so busy recording memories that I didn't make any. However, I love pictures and still want to take a lot, but I have trouble determining waht and who it's appropriate to photograph. I guess that judgement will come with time. After we were done with the market, we decided to find an ice cream parlor called Fanny's. After some precarious street crossings, our map reading skills prevailed and led us to a rather Westernized little bistro. It had pink light fixtures, Parisian style patio chairs inside, a bookcase full of French police thrillers for patrons to read, waitresses wearing pink 60's-like sodashop dresses as uniforms, and U2 was playing in the background. Among these Western items however, we found some unique ice cream flavors: ginger, rice, coconut, and of course durian. Now, I still haven't tried real durian, but this ice cream was a step in the right direction. I really did like it. I didn't love it, but I liked it, which is more than I can say for anyone else. Kendra, as we already knew, loves it, but everyone else tried in in succession, the reactions getting progressively worse. Everone except me nearly gagged on it (while I amused myself by photographing their disgust). On the way out, we saw a Hindu temple across the street and I wanted to go in but some people felt uncomfortable with it, so Molly and I made plans to go back later. It was fascinating to look at - the roof had statues of Hindu gods while cow statues and intensely colorful strings of lights adorned the inside.
Tonight, Van Anh and I left for Ninh Thuan by overnight bus. The bus is something of a sleeper-car with reclining seats and a headrest elevated by the little cubby hole mean for the feet of the passenger behind you. I've only just discovered that this could be problematic since I may be too tal to fit the "bed" - now I know how my 6'4'' Dad feels all the time (I have no idea what he'd do here). I've never been gawked at so much in my life as I have on this bus. I don't think tourists ride this bus because people keep turning around to see what I'm doing. The guy in front of me blatantly turned around in his seat and did nothing but stare at me for ten to fifteen minutes. Seriously, he hardly took his eyes off me. If everone on the bus wasn't too tired to stay awake any longer, I'd probably still be in the fishbowl.
Vietnam Day 3 (6/10/09)
I woke up today to a knock at my door. Kendra and Molly were going to breakfast with their roommates My and Loan. We wnet back down what is currently my favorite little street in Vietnam, just a couple of doorways down from the pho shop we ate at yesterday. Here I had another breakfast fit for an American lunch, noodle soup with pork and crab. It was incredible and the broth was some of the best I've had yet, although I had a little trouble physically eating it. The noodles in this dish were much thicker than the usual flat noodles and very slippery. Evey time I got a good bunch of noodles I was overcome with a sense of triumph, only to watch my success slip through my chopsticks along with ninety percent of my noodles. As we walk out, I turn to the woman stirring a giant vat of unidentifiable but delicious smelling stew and say camon to thank her. She looks at me with a mixture of amusement and gratitude. It's a look I'm becoming all to familiar with and find quite amusing myself. The way I see it, as long as people respect my attempts to learn the language, they can laugh at my accent all they want along the way.
After breakfast, Kendra, Molly, and I went to the school across the street to try to read for our discussion with Rylan. I must say, I'm getting a little better at crossing the street. Well, at least I'm getting bolder, but hopefully smarter too. The school however was absolutely packed with students studying for exams. And by packed, I mean every inch of space outside and inside (by which I'm referring to the building with no doors that was basically outside anyway) was occupied by a student or laptop. So we went back across the street to read at the little outdoor cafe next to the guest house. (Incidentally, one of the papers Rylan gave me was by my TA and friend Catherine Workman and was one of the things that first interested me in Vietnam. I guess it really is a small world after all.) The funny thing about three new friends sitting down to read in a foreign country is that reading hardly enters into it. We started talking about everything around us, our experiences, our stomachs, the stray cat circling the cafe tables. Molly proceeded to simultaneously entertain and frighten us with facts from the class she took at Duke about bacteria. I'm not sure if any of us will be able to look at soup again without thinking about thermophiles (love ya Molly). Afterwards, Van Anh an I had our meeting with Rylan to discuss our project. The Institute wants us to go visit the province to make the survey, so Rylan suggested we go so we can make a more informed decision (sound advice in my opinion). So we went back down to the office and we're now scheduled to leave on a bus to the Ninh Thuan province at 10:30 pm (it's going to be an eight hour bus ride, fun fun...pray I'll be able to sleep).
The drive back must have been rush hour or something because there were a lot more bikes than I've ever ridden amongst before and going through traffic circles is something else. Even on normal roads people pull out from nowhere, turn against the lights, and drive on the wrong side fo the street in order to enter traffic. Traffic circles are even worse. Cars, buses, motorbikes all moving in at least eight different directions - I have no idea how Van Anh got out of there without incident, but I have to say I trust her even more now. Nevertheless, it's still a bit unnerving to be driving alongside a bus, so close I could touch my cheek to it. Oh, and I saw my first accident today. Across the way from us at an intersection, a man was on the ground, but the accident was very minor and he didn't appear to be hurt. For one solitary and utterly unique moment, traffic in Saigon stoppeed. But that didn't last longas motorbikes soon edged their way around the man before he had even stood up. Then it was back to business as usual...until it started to rain. It was just sprinkling but it was still my first time riding a motorbike in the rain. I didn't have a raincoat but I didn't mind getting a little wet. I'm in Vietnam, I expect to get wet...in fact, I might go so far as to say I'd be disappointed if I didn't. All this was on the way to Rylan's apartment to pick up a cell phone to use while we were in Ninh Thuan. The apartment building didn't look like much from the outside and the lift was broken so I wasn't expecting the apartment to be anything special. But when we reached the apartment (after climbing six flights of stairs) it blew me away. First thing in the door, I met Rylan's wife Hao, who's gorgeous and so sweet and welcoming. I didn't pay much attention to the rest of the apartment at that point because the next thing I saw was the view. The apartment had a long balcony seperated from the Saigon River but nothing more than a small street. That has to be one of the most magnificent views in District 1. On our side of the water was a small grassy patch along the dock where people were lounging on benches. On the water were old wooden barges moving down the river towards a landscape of cranes and a newly constructed steel bridge. There was a lot of new construction springing up in that area, but somehow it never took away from the calming effect of the steadily flowing river.
Today, Van Anh and I had lunch on a make-shift table in the middle of our floor. We had chicken and sticky rice cooked in coconut milk, topped with scallions, pork (cooked like bacon), cucumbers, carrots, papaya, and something I can only assume was fish sauce (which incidentally tastes amazing). We finished off our feast with huge sticks of sugar cane. It's traditional after a meal to take a hunk of sugar cane and bite off long strips and gnaw on them to get all of the sweet water out. Once one strip is done it's on to the next, and you continue this process until you've wittled the cane down as far as you can. I've also been trying a lot of different local fruits. I've had tiny green Vietnamese apples, a fuzzy red fruit called rambutin (you'll have to forgive the spelling on some of these), leechies, and mangosteen (possibly my new favorite fruit). I've yet to taste durian, although I've smelled it on the street and to my great surprise (based on what I've heard of other people's repulsion), I like the smell. It's very strong (and I've heard it described as something like overripened or rotting fruit, though I don't completely agree), but very sweet and totally unique. I've been dying to try it, but have been unsuccessful thus far. Perhaps tomorow will be the day.
After breakfast, Kendra, Molly, and I went to the school across the street to try to read for our discussion with Rylan. I must say, I'm getting a little better at crossing the street. Well, at least I'm getting bolder, but hopefully smarter too. The school however was absolutely packed with students studying for exams. And by packed, I mean every inch of space outside and inside (by which I'm referring to the building with no doors that was basically outside anyway) was occupied by a student or laptop. So we went back across the street to read at the little outdoor cafe next to the guest house. (Incidentally, one of the papers Rylan gave me was by my TA and friend Catherine Workman and was one of the things that first interested me in Vietnam. I guess it really is a small world after all.) The funny thing about three new friends sitting down to read in a foreign country is that reading hardly enters into it. We started talking about everything around us, our experiences, our stomachs, the stray cat circling the cafe tables. Molly proceeded to simultaneously entertain and frighten us with facts from the class she took at Duke about bacteria. I'm not sure if any of us will be able to look at soup again without thinking about thermophiles (love ya Molly). Afterwards, Van Anh an I had our meeting with Rylan to discuss our project. The Institute wants us to go visit the province to make the survey, so Rylan suggested we go so we can make a more informed decision (sound advice in my opinion). So we went back down to the office and we're now scheduled to leave on a bus to the Ninh Thuan province at 10:30 pm (it's going to be an eight hour bus ride, fun fun...pray I'll be able to sleep).
The drive back must have been rush hour or something because there were a lot more bikes than I've ever ridden amongst before and going through traffic circles is something else. Even on normal roads people pull out from nowhere, turn against the lights, and drive on the wrong side fo the street in order to enter traffic. Traffic circles are even worse. Cars, buses, motorbikes all moving in at least eight different directions - I have no idea how Van Anh got out of there without incident, but I have to say I trust her even more now. Nevertheless, it's still a bit unnerving to be driving alongside a bus, so close I could touch my cheek to it. Oh, and I saw my first accident today. Across the way from us at an intersection, a man was on the ground, but the accident was very minor and he didn't appear to be hurt. For one solitary and utterly unique moment, traffic in Saigon stoppeed. But that didn't last longas motorbikes soon edged their way around the man before he had even stood up. Then it was back to business as usual...until it started to rain. It was just sprinkling but it was still my first time riding a motorbike in the rain. I didn't have a raincoat but I didn't mind getting a little wet. I'm in Vietnam, I expect to get wet...in fact, I might go so far as to say I'd be disappointed if I didn't. All this was on the way to Rylan's apartment to pick up a cell phone to use while we were in Ninh Thuan. The apartment building didn't look like much from the outside and the lift was broken so I wasn't expecting the apartment to be anything special. But when we reached the apartment (after climbing six flights of stairs) it blew me away. First thing in the door, I met Rylan's wife Hao, who's gorgeous and so sweet and welcoming. I didn't pay much attention to the rest of the apartment at that point because the next thing I saw was the view. The apartment had a long balcony seperated from the Saigon River but nothing more than a small street. That has to be one of the most magnificent views in District 1. On our side of the water was a small grassy patch along the dock where people were lounging on benches. On the water were old wooden barges moving down the river towards a landscape of cranes and a newly constructed steel bridge. There was a lot of new construction springing up in that area, but somehow it never took away from the calming effect of the steadily flowing river.
Today, Van Anh and I had lunch on a make-shift table in the middle of our floor. We had chicken and sticky rice cooked in coconut milk, topped with scallions, pork (cooked like bacon), cucumbers, carrots, papaya, and something I can only assume was fish sauce (which incidentally tastes amazing). We finished off our feast with huge sticks of sugar cane. It's traditional after a meal to take a hunk of sugar cane and bite off long strips and gnaw on them to get all of the sweet water out. Once one strip is done it's on to the next, and you continue this process until you've wittled the cane down as far as you can. I've also been trying a lot of different local fruits. I've had tiny green Vietnamese apples, a fuzzy red fruit called rambutin (you'll have to forgive the spelling on some of these), leechies, and mangosteen (possibly my new favorite fruit). I've yet to taste durian, although I've smelled it on the street and to my great surprise (based on what I've heard of other people's repulsion), I like the smell. It's very strong (and I've heard it described as something like overripened or rotting fruit, though I don't completely agree), but very sweet and totally unique. I've been dying to try it, but have been unsuccessful thus far. Perhaps tomorow will be the day.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Vietnam Day 2 (6/9/09)
When we wake up, eight of us Westerners walk ten paces to the CET office to meet Rylan, our program director. He strikes me as the kind of guy who was born with a backpack and hiking boots on. I may be grossly stereotyping, but at any rate he seems to have an excellent handle on living in Vietnam. He takes us around the same corner from the night before to a different pho place for breakfast. As I sat in the garage-like open-air eatery with my pho and drip coffee, I looked out onto the small impromtu produce market on the adjacent street and felt like I truly belonged. Perhaps this inexplicable feeling is just novelty, but I couldn't care less. Right now, I'm happy with everything around me.
After orientation, our group uses our spare time to explore the city. Naturally we drew stares everywhere but along with a lot of those stares came friendly smiles. There are people everywhere, in shops, eating at miniature tables on the sidewalk, perched above our heads on ladders, and of course on motorbikes. These drivers are absolutely incredible. They can balance anything while driving - fresh produce, dogs, children, flat-screen TVs, you name it. And I'm sure there must be traffic laws but it's unclear whether people are following them or not. What scares me the most is that I think they are. I'm still working on the art of crossing the street. It seems the trick is to wait until there are no motorbikes coming directly at you and then walk at a consistent pace, letting turning motorbikes maneuver around you. Of course, every time I think I've got this system down, I'm quickly reminded that cars are not as agile as motorbikes. Fortunately, I'm more agile than both of them. I don't know much Vietnamese but my numbers and "cam on" (or thank you) seem to be tiding me over. At lunch we get a bunch of dishes to share and even though I'm not hungry (again), I have to try everything. The best part of lunch though was Rylan's call, telling me that I get to meet a well known primatologist from Boulder who'll be in the area and that I get to spend time working at the Wildlife Rescue Center which houses primates! After lunch Van Anh drives us to our meeting with the community partner to discuss our internship. It was my first time on a motorbike and it was really quite fun. It felt pretty safe (surprising given the proximity of some other vehicles) and Van Anh is a very good driver. She'd equipped me with a helmet and a cloth surgical mask (common here for the exhaust fumes) that was pink with sparkly flowers, quite the fahsion statement if I do say so myself. The motorbike turned out to be the perfect way to view the city and I can't wait to go on again (yes Mom and Dad, I will be riding on motorbikes consistently, get used to it).
We went with our community partners to an internet cafe so we can skype the director of the program they're trying to set up in the Ninh Thuan province. Essentially what they want us to do is survey tourists (backpackers and resort-goers alike) in Saigon to guage interest in an ecotourism project in Ninh Thuan. I asked a lot of questions and got some pretty confusing answers, but Van Anh asked a lot too in Vietnamese to compensate. The project seemed like a decent enough idea; people in the community would provide homestays for tourists who would tour the local rainforest and sea turtle nesting beaches. True, surveying isn't terribly glamorous, but it can be very important. Plus, they're sending us to the regions for a few days to give us an idea of what's there, so it sounds pretty fun. However, back at the house, Van Anh and I compare notes and start to develop some concerns. Apparently I lost a lot of information with the language barrier. Turns out the project is intended to be sold to a tourism company, so I'm a little concerned that whatever company comes in might exploit the community and environment there. I'm sort af an NGO kind of gal so when I heard the word "profit" a red flag went up. But, perhaps I'm overreacting and this is all just a big misunderstanding, but I have a meeting with Rylan in the morning to discuss how Van Anh and I should progress with this.
After orientation, our group uses our spare time to explore the city. Naturally we drew stares everywhere but along with a lot of those stares came friendly smiles. There are people everywhere, in shops, eating at miniature tables on the sidewalk, perched above our heads on ladders, and of course on motorbikes. These drivers are absolutely incredible. They can balance anything while driving - fresh produce, dogs, children, flat-screen TVs, you name it. And I'm sure there must be traffic laws but it's unclear whether people are following them or not. What scares me the most is that I think they are. I'm still working on the art of crossing the street. It seems the trick is to wait until there are no motorbikes coming directly at you and then walk at a consistent pace, letting turning motorbikes maneuver around you. Of course, every time I think I've got this system down, I'm quickly reminded that cars are not as agile as motorbikes. Fortunately, I'm more agile than both of them. I don't know much Vietnamese but my numbers and "cam on" (or thank you) seem to be tiding me over. At lunch we get a bunch of dishes to share and even though I'm not hungry (again), I have to try everything. The best part of lunch though was Rylan's call, telling me that I get to meet a well known primatologist from Boulder who'll be in the area and that I get to spend time working at the Wildlife Rescue Center which houses primates! After lunch Van Anh drives us to our meeting with the community partner to discuss our internship. It was my first time on a motorbike and it was really quite fun. It felt pretty safe (surprising given the proximity of some other vehicles) and Van Anh is a very good driver. She'd equipped me with a helmet and a cloth surgical mask (common here for the exhaust fumes) that was pink with sparkly flowers, quite the fahsion statement if I do say so myself. The motorbike turned out to be the perfect way to view the city and I can't wait to go on again (yes Mom and Dad, I will be riding on motorbikes consistently, get used to it).
We went with our community partners to an internet cafe so we can skype the director of the program they're trying to set up in the Ninh Thuan province. Essentially what they want us to do is survey tourists (backpackers and resort-goers alike) in Saigon to guage interest in an ecotourism project in Ninh Thuan. I asked a lot of questions and got some pretty confusing answers, but Van Anh asked a lot too in Vietnamese to compensate. The project seemed like a decent enough idea; people in the community would provide homestays for tourists who would tour the local rainforest and sea turtle nesting beaches. True, surveying isn't terribly glamorous, but it can be very important. Plus, they're sending us to the regions for a few days to give us an idea of what's there, so it sounds pretty fun. However, back at the house, Van Anh and I compare notes and start to develop some concerns. Apparently I lost a lot of information with the language barrier. Turns out the project is intended to be sold to a tourism company, so I'm a little concerned that whatever company comes in might exploit the community and environment there. I'm sort af an NGO kind of gal so when I heard the word "profit" a red flag went up. But, perhaps I'm overreacting and this is all just a big misunderstanding, but I have a meeting with Rylan in the morning to discuss how Van Anh and I should progress with this.
...still day 1
The three Durhamites met the rest of the DukeEngage group (Kendra, Molly, Wen, Ming, and Phil) in the Hong Kong airport to fly to Saigon. Our group is simply wonderful. There's not one person I don't get along with or love talking to. We're all so chill and open to anything that I can't help but love them. When we got on the plane we had to fill out multiple forms for customs to approve, giving all of our identification information and specific details about where we we'd be and what we'd be doing. It was my first real reminder of the kind of government I'd be living in for the next nine weeks. Customs itself was relatively painless - just a quick look-see from a government official in an olive green uniform flourished with red and gold (oh, and can't forget to mention his surgical mask, but that's not exactly an uncommon sight in this part of the world... probably not unwarrented either). Somehow all of our bags came through without a hitch (though there were a couple of tense moments waiting for Kendra's and Phil's bags).
Before leaving the airport, we decided to exchange some money and were immediately confronted with half-a-dozen bank stands. Each one had a smiling employee, ushering us over with a wave of the hand as we stood there trying to calculate the exchange rate so we could get the best deal (and let me tell you, it took some time...always nice to see that Duke education hard at work). Then, "magically" the electronic chart with the exchange rate changed to a better price and we flocked to the stand. Naturally we were lured in intentionally (and we knew it), but hey we're no suckers - that's the best deal you'll find anywhere else in the city.
When we walked outside, we found crowds of people waiting behind the ropes and were hopelessly lost in the sea of faces for about three seconds until a group of students holding a sign that read "CET" (our host organization in Vietnam) started clapping and calling us over. Every one of them was smiling and eager to get our names. I found myself smiling profusely back at them - their enthusiasm was so infectous I couldn't help myself. The language barrier however was pretty evident from the start. Oh, not on their side, they had their English greetings down pat. We were the ones who couldn't pronounce their names (though to be fair to us, they'd had time to learn our names before we arrived, so I think we did pretty well under the circumstances). I did however get one of the compliments of my life when one girl asked if I knew any Vietnamese because I pronounced her name so well. (I'm afraid that's not much credit to me though, it was only one syllable). When I said my name, Van Anh stepped up and introduced herself as my roommate. We sat together on the bus and the conversation started out much as any first interaction between perfect strangers. We talked about school, family, home, and what we wanted to do with our lives. Her English is impeccable (she majored in it in high school) and even catches all of my slang. She's one fo the best English-speakers out of all the Vietnamese roommates, so I consider myself pretty lucky (she's even helping me with my Vietnamese...what little I have). She's very much an adult (at least she seems more mature than I probably come off), but still has a wonderful sense of humor - the perfect combo.
When we reach our new home at the guest-house, I open my door to a frigid air-conditioning breeze, possibly my favorite thing about this room. A couple interesting details about the bathroom though: there's no shower stall (just a detatchable showerhead that I try to keep as close to the drain as possible so the entire floor doesn't end up wet...a somewhat futile effort) and there's a big red bucket against a wall which I can only assume is part of the bathing/showering process but I can't for the life of me figure out how (hopefully more details on that later).
As we start to settle in for bed, a knock comes at the door. Apparently we're going out for pho. I'm not hungry in the least but there's no way I was going to pass up my first authentic Vietnamese pho. We all walk just around the corner to a little place that's about the only thing open at 11:00 pm, a very open-air family run pho shop. As I sat there on that little plastic stool reaching once again for the bottle of Vietnamese hot sauce, I truly fell in love with pho. I learned how to properly slurp my noodles as the surprisingly pleasant tropical weather enveloped me. Every bite tasted better, every deep-sea exploration into my bowl turned up new ingredients. Essentially, I felt the magic. We walked back to the house, Van Anh valiantly rescuing me from a near-death experience with the traffic (ok, perhaps a bit dramatic). But I hardly noticed. I remained in a state of blissful contentment until I fell asleep).
Before leaving the airport, we decided to exchange some money and were immediately confronted with half-a-dozen bank stands. Each one had a smiling employee, ushering us over with a wave of the hand as we stood there trying to calculate the exchange rate so we could get the best deal (and let me tell you, it took some time...always nice to see that Duke education hard at work). Then, "magically" the electronic chart with the exchange rate changed to a better price and we flocked to the stand. Naturally we were lured in intentionally (and we knew it), but hey we're no suckers - that's the best deal you'll find anywhere else in the city.
When we walked outside, we found crowds of people waiting behind the ropes and were hopelessly lost in the sea of faces for about three seconds until a group of students holding a sign that read "CET" (our host organization in Vietnam) started clapping and calling us over. Every one of them was smiling and eager to get our names. I found myself smiling profusely back at them - their enthusiasm was so infectous I couldn't help myself. The language barrier however was pretty evident from the start. Oh, not on their side, they had their English greetings down pat. We were the ones who couldn't pronounce their names (though to be fair to us, they'd had time to learn our names before we arrived, so I think we did pretty well under the circumstances). I did however get one of the compliments of my life when one girl asked if I knew any Vietnamese because I pronounced her name so well. (I'm afraid that's not much credit to me though, it was only one syllable). When I said my name, Van Anh stepped up and introduced herself as my roommate. We sat together on the bus and the conversation started out much as any first interaction between perfect strangers. We talked about school, family, home, and what we wanted to do with our lives. Her English is impeccable (she majored in it in high school) and even catches all of my slang. She's one fo the best English-speakers out of all the Vietnamese roommates, so I consider myself pretty lucky (she's even helping me with my Vietnamese...what little I have). She's very much an adult (at least she seems more mature than I probably come off), but still has a wonderful sense of humor - the perfect combo.
When we reach our new home at the guest-house, I open my door to a frigid air-conditioning breeze, possibly my favorite thing about this room. A couple interesting details about the bathroom though: there's no shower stall (just a detatchable showerhead that I try to keep as close to the drain as possible so the entire floor doesn't end up wet...a somewhat futile effort) and there's a big red bucket against a wall which I can only assume is part of the bathing/showering process but I can't for the life of me figure out how (hopefully more details on that later).
As we start to settle in for bed, a knock comes at the door. Apparently we're going out for pho. I'm not hungry in the least but there's no way I was going to pass up my first authentic Vietnamese pho. We all walk just around the corner to a little place that's about the only thing open at 11:00 pm, a very open-air family run pho shop. As I sat there on that little plastic stool reaching once again for the bottle of Vietnamese hot sauce, I truly fell in love with pho. I learned how to properly slurp my noodles as the surprisingly pleasant tropical weather enveloped me. Every bite tasted better, every deep-sea exploration into my bowl turned up new ingredients. Essentially, I felt the magic. We walked back to the house, Van Anh valiantly rescuing me from a near-death experience with the traffic (ok, perhaps a bit dramatic). But I hardly noticed. I remained in a state of blissful contentment until I fell asleep).
The arrival - Vietnam Day 1 (6/8/09)
Ok, so not technically in Vietnam yet. Alex, Van, and I are sitting in the Hong Kong airport waiting for our connecting flight to Saigon. We all seem to be in something of a coma after our 15-hour flight from Chicago. I'm doing a little better than I thought I would quite frankly (although for all my fretting about street food in Vietnam making me sick, the plane food upset my stomach more than anything...terrific). Despite the daze of time zones and stiff muscles, you can't help but think this place is cool. When the plane landed, we looked out the window to find mountains enveloped in fog. Atop one of the mountains was an enormous sculpture of Buddha, completely isolated (at least it appeared that way from our distance).
The airport itself is pretty much what I expected. Colorful advertisements on the walls, Gucci and Burberry outlets, and posh bars we didn't dare enter. It's all very modern and cosmopolitan. The only unexpected part is how empty it is. I thought Hong Kong was supposed to be bustling but there are relatively few people here for all the international flights coming in and out. There are other Americans here but we stick out like sore thumbs nonetheless. Me with my giant Duke bag, Alex and Van wearing Duke gear, we scream "American students." As we walk through the corridors side by side, I can hear Sean Connery in the back of my mind saying, "we must give these Americans a wide berth." There's a quiet humm to the place. Even the intercom announcements of flight information are quieter...but then so are we. It's rainy and dark clouds and fog nearly hide the mountains now. I wonder, is it the weather or are things always quieter and calmer here?
The airport itself is pretty much what I expected. Colorful advertisements on the walls, Gucci and Burberry outlets, and posh bars we didn't dare enter. It's all very modern and cosmopolitan. The only unexpected part is how empty it is. I thought Hong Kong was supposed to be bustling but there are relatively few people here for all the international flights coming in and out. There are other Americans here but we stick out like sore thumbs nonetheless. Me with my giant Duke bag, Alex and Van wearing Duke gear, we scream "American students." As we walk through the corridors side by side, I can hear Sean Connery in the back of my mind saying, "we must give these Americans a wide berth." There's a quiet humm to the place. Even the intercom announcements of flight information are quieter...but then so are we. It's rainy and dark clouds and fog nearly hide the mountains now. I wonder, is it the weather or are things always quieter and calmer here?
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