My room was like grand central station this morning. Before my alarm even went off, I’d received three calls and two texts. I’d given my number to one of the girls from skating last night and she wanted to invite me out again, and I think to practice her English. I might try to go again but I think it would be better to try on beginner’s night.
I wasn’t feeling too well today. I don’t know if it was the yogurt I ate last night or the crushed ice in all of my drinks in Cu Chi but I was a little queasy the whole day. It wasn’t a big deal though because I had a lax schedule today. We’ve been unable to get any of the hotels to let us interview the guests, so Van Anh and I are spending the day analyzing the data we have so far. After we finished, some of us went to a kooky t-shirt shop that Hieu recommended. A few of the shirts were normal but most of them were too crazy for me to pull off, many of them punk and others with vulgar messages on them. It felt as though they were trying to copy western styles but got a little too outlandish with them. Hieu pulls this kind of clothing off like a pro but I don’t think it would work as well in the U.S.
We walked out of the store and realized we were in a much less touristy part of town. I’m sure it was still pretty safe, but we were the only foreigners around so we held onto our bags a little tighter. Still, we were curious so we wandered around for a bit. The most fascinating thing we found was a church with architecture like a pagoda (in fact we thought it was a pagoda until we got a little closer and saw the crosses on top). It just goes to show, there are interesting things everywhere, even on the “wrong side of town.”
When we got back, the others had just gotten back from going to dinner without us so we gave them a hard time and went out for banh mi. The four DukeEngage girls ate ours at the cafe and tried fresh coconut milk (for the first time in my case). It comes in the coconut itself, which is shaved and has the top cut off so you can stick a straw in it. It surprised me how little it tasted like coconut. I guess I’ve always just had dry coconut, but this was like sweet water and very good (again a surprise because I don’t like coconut the way I know it). After dinner and a desert of heavenly banana pancake (made like a crepe with big chunks of banana in it and chocolate sauce on the side) I started getting sick. I don’t think it was from anything I just ate – I’d been feeling sick all day and it was finally coming up. My money’s still on the yogurt from last night, but whatever the cause, it was a pretty rough night for me.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Vietnam Day 21 (6/28/09)
I woke up excited to work, though not especially well rested. I helped feed the animals, clean, and do the usual manual labor involved in animal husbandry. In every spare second, I went around to visit the animals and enjoy my last moments with them since I was leaving in the afternoon. When Matt got there, he set me to work giving tours again. It meant a lot to me because it meant he thought I did a decent job with the visitors yesterday.
As my official sendoff, we were going down to the river to release a small bird of prey (a gorgeous white and grey bird about the size of a falcon with blood-red eyes) that had been kept at the center for recovery. I had the honor of carrying the bird in a kennel on the motorbike. It did of course make me a little less stable as we drove over the rural dirt roads, passing through potholes and almost getting stuck in the mud at one point. Nevertheless, this rocky ride didn’t stop me from enjoying the scenery along the way. There were miles of rice fields on both sides with farmers staring as we went by. We edged our way through a herd of water buffalo that were so big and awesome they made my jaw drop, though they seemed unfazed by my presence (they just kept munching away without even turning their heads in our direction). When we reached the river, we opened the kennel for the bird but despite our best efforts to help, it couldn’t fly far enough to be released. We put the bird back in the kennel to take back to the center for more recuperation. Getting onto the motorbike however, I was a little off-balance and got another exhaust pipe burn on my leg, just a few centimeters down from my last burn. You’d think a girl would learn – at least I have an excuse this time, I was carrying an endangered bird when it happened.
This has definitely been one of the highlights of my trip. Everything I did was a new experience and all of it worthwhile (even last night’s adventure with the bugs and rain). If I have time to come back again while I’m here I’ll definitely jump at the chance to come back and play with the animals again. Still, I had to go back so I packed my things and departed Cu Chi for the most harrowing bus ride of my life. The first leg of the trip wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, just extraordinarily bumpy because the torrential rain last night left the road (and its potholes) in even worse condition than when I came. I got off at the right stop, but then I spent a few confused minutes trying to figure out where to go from there. I thought my connecting bus was number four but a student who spoke English told me that I actually wanted number twenty seven (which seems like a big difference to me). Since she was headed to the same place, I took her advice and boarded the bus.
Unfortunately, the person I was sitting next to got off at an early stop and the man who took the empty seat was a creepy middle-aged Nigerian. He spoke decent English, so we started talking about our respective work in Vietnam and how much we loved traveling. Then the conversation took an uncomfortable turn. He mentioned that one of the reasons he travels is to find his “angel” who will take care of him when he’s sick and who he can provide for. I suspected where that train of thought was headed and he confirmed it within minutes. He said someday he’d travel to America and, just maybe, we’d meet in the airport and he’d take me to a five-star hotel and I could show him the country. When he grabbed my wrist in a “friendly” way (with obvious disregard for my personal space), I knew for sure I was supposed to be his angel, which naturally scared me to death. To my great relief, he got off at a stop before mine, so I was finally rid of him after nearly an hour.
When I got off at my stop, I was still freaked out so I was especially jumpy when anyone came up to me to gawk or offer motorbike services. I was overly afraid of getting mugged at this point so I just kept moving, looking for a cab to make my escape. Unfortunately, I chose to walk down a sketchier street where there were no cabs. I must have been quite a sight with my huge pack, hiking boots, and khaki hat that read “WAR” (standing for Wildlife At Risk). I felt like a huge target so I hastened my way to the next intersection and grabbed the first cab I saw. Of course the cab driver got confused again and drove right past the guest house. I noticed just in time to jump out not far away so I just walked the rest.
I arrived feeling tired and disgusting, but I put my bag down and went straight out to dinner. When I got back, I was ready to relax when we encountered a large group in the hallway who were leaving to go roller skating right that minute. I’d been looking forward to going for a while now so I picked myself up again and went with them. The skating rink was insane. It reminded me of Saigon traffic only crazier. Everyone was going so fast and doing tricks, forming huge human chains as they sped around the rink. People kept crashing into us and pushing us lightly when we got in their way. We were all frightened of dying so we sat down on a bench on the backside of the rink. That was dangerous too though since right in front of us was what I would call the fast lane. Every time we leaned over to talk to each other, a chain of skaters would whiz past, nearly taking our heads with them. One skater was particularly frightening – he was racing around with a cigarette (putting us at risk of being singed), doing tricks that placed his skates as high as our noses.
I couldn’t just sit there any longer so I struck out onto the floor. Mind you, I can’t actually skate but I have a system of pushing off and gliding (more like a skateboard) that works quite well – I managed to keep up my speed and got into surprisingly few crashes (none of them my fault). At one point, a random Vietnamese girl grabbed my and we skated around together. Then her friend joined us and we formed a mini human chain. They were obviously much better skaters than I am, but I kept up and it was really fun. Sadly, I lost my rings in the process. Our palms were sweaty and when we were crashed into, our hands separated and my rings got pulled off. I was really sad about losing the moonsnail ring I got from Ninh Thuan, but we searched the entire rink and couldn’t find it. It’s alright though – they’re just things and skating at a Vietnamese roller disco is certainly an experience I can take back with me instead.
As my official sendoff, we were going down to the river to release a small bird of prey (a gorgeous white and grey bird about the size of a falcon with blood-red eyes) that had been kept at the center for recovery. I had the honor of carrying the bird in a kennel on the motorbike. It did of course make me a little less stable as we drove over the rural dirt roads, passing through potholes and almost getting stuck in the mud at one point. Nevertheless, this rocky ride didn’t stop me from enjoying the scenery along the way. There were miles of rice fields on both sides with farmers staring as we went by. We edged our way through a herd of water buffalo that were so big and awesome they made my jaw drop, though they seemed unfazed by my presence (they just kept munching away without even turning their heads in our direction). When we reached the river, we opened the kennel for the bird but despite our best efforts to help, it couldn’t fly far enough to be released. We put the bird back in the kennel to take back to the center for more recuperation. Getting onto the motorbike however, I was a little off-balance and got another exhaust pipe burn on my leg, just a few centimeters down from my last burn. You’d think a girl would learn – at least I have an excuse this time, I was carrying an endangered bird when it happened.
This has definitely been one of the highlights of my trip. Everything I did was a new experience and all of it worthwhile (even last night’s adventure with the bugs and rain). If I have time to come back again while I’m here I’ll definitely jump at the chance to come back and play with the animals again. Still, I had to go back so I packed my things and departed Cu Chi for the most harrowing bus ride of my life. The first leg of the trip wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, just extraordinarily bumpy because the torrential rain last night left the road (and its potholes) in even worse condition than when I came. I got off at the right stop, but then I spent a few confused minutes trying to figure out where to go from there. I thought my connecting bus was number four but a student who spoke English told me that I actually wanted number twenty seven (which seems like a big difference to me). Since she was headed to the same place, I took her advice and boarded the bus.
Unfortunately, the person I was sitting next to got off at an early stop and the man who took the empty seat was a creepy middle-aged Nigerian. He spoke decent English, so we started talking about our respective work in Vietnam and how much we loved traveling. Then the conversation took an uncomfortable turn. He mentioned that one of the reasons he travels is to find his “angel” who will take care of him when he’s sick and who he can provide for. I suspected where that train of thought was headed and he confirmed it within minutes. He said someday he’d travel to America and, just maybe, we’d meet in the airport and he’d take me to a five-star hotel and I could show him the country. When he grabbed my wrist in a “friendly” way (with obvious disregard for my personal space), I knew for sure I was supposed to be his angel, which naturally scared me to death. To my great relief, he got off at a stop before mine, so I was finally rid of him after nearly an hour.
When I got off at my stop, I was still freaked out so I was especially jumpy when anyone came up to me to gawk or offer motorbike services. I was overly afraid of getting mugged at this point so I just kept moving, looking for a cab to make my escape. Unfortunately, I chose to walk down a sketchier street where there were no cabs. I must have been quite a sight with my huge pack, hiking boots, and khaki hat that read “WAR” (standing for Wildlife At Risk). I felt like a huge target so I hastened my way to the next intersection and grabbed the first cab I saw. Of course the cab driver got confused again and drove right past the guest house. I noticed just in time to jump out not far away so I just walked the rest.
I arrived feeling tired and disgusting, but I put my bag down and went straight out to dinner. When I got back, I was ready to relax when we encountered a large group in the hallway who were leaving to go roller skating right that minute. I’d been looking forward to going for a while now so I picked myself up again and went with them. The skating rink was insane. It reminded me of Saigon traffic only crazier. Everyone was going so fast and doing tricks, forming huge human chains as they sped around the rink. People kept crashing into us and pushing us lightly when we got in their way. We were all frightened of dying so we sat down on a bench on the backside of the rink. That was dangerous too though since right in front of us was what I would call the fast lane. Every time we leaned over to talk to each other, a chain of skaters would whiz past, nearly taking our heads with them. One skater was particularly frightening – he was racing around with a cigarette (putting us at risk of being singed), doing tricks that placed his skates as high as our noses.
I couldn’t just sit there any longer so I struck out onto the floor. Mind you, I can’t actually skate but I have a system of pushing off and gliding (more like a skateboard) that works quite well – I managed to keep up my speed and got into surprisingly few crashes (none of them my fault). At one point, a random Vietnamese girl grabbed my and we skated around together. Then her friend joined us and we formed a mini human chain. They were obviously much better skaters than I am, but I kept up and it was really fun. Sadly, I lost my rings in the process. Our palms were sweaty and when we were crashed into, our hands separated and my rings got pulled off. I was really sad about losing the moonsnail ring I got from Ninh Thuan, but we searched the entire rink and couldn’t find it. It’s alright though – they’re just things and skating at a Vietnamese roller disco is certainly an experience I can take back with me instead.
Vietnam Day 20 (6/27/09)
This morning the troops from Saigon were filing in – my troops that is. The Dukies and Vietnamese roommates were traveling to Cu Chi today and picked me up to go to the Cu Chi Tunnels with them (after getting lost for half an hour on the way here of course). Cu Chi was a hotbed for Vietnamese guerrillas during the Vietnamese-American War. Both guerrillas and villagers hid in elaborate underground tunnel systems and held out against U.S. military forces. We walked past huge craters (now overgrown with vegetation) made by American B52s. It was very moving and disturbing to think about all of the pain that had been experienced here on both sides of the conflict.
When we walked along a little further however, I realized we’d fallen into a tourist trap. In front of us were wax life-sized figures of Vietnamese soldiers dressed in camo. Here the tour guide paused so people could take pictures with the models. Some of our roommates did (which only seems natural since that’s what the figures were there for), but most of the Americans (myself included) decided against it. I feel like it would have been somewhat irreverent for us to do so while standing on ground where so many had died, especially in a conflict that the United States is consistently blamed for. We were then taken to watch a video about the history of the tunnels, but it turned out to be a propaganda tape. It glorified the Cu Chi guerrillas and demonized Americans, which makes perfect sense in this setting – I just wish the narrator hadn’t said “kill Americans” quite so many times (it was just a tad uncomfortable).
We then moved on to the tunnels themselves, walking down dirt steps into the narrow underground passageways. One might say they were too narrow, since even I had to squeeze at times and I’m much smaller than some of the people in our group (I do believe Wen almost got stuck). The next tunnels were even smaller and we had to move through them in a squatting position, our shoulders brushing the walls the whole way. The coolest part about it for me was the presence of lots of little bats (presumably vampire bats) in the tunnels with us. They buzzed past our heads and I even found a little room off to the side where I got to observe them hanging from the ceiling. No one was quite as enthused as I was but then, as Kendra pointed out, I was the only one who’d gotten a rabies vaccination.
After emerging from the last tunnel, we passed by the giftshop full of tchotchkes (like mustard yellow bobble-head dogs), none of which had anything to do with the Cu Chi Tunnels. It suddenly hit me just how touristy the whole thing had been. The tunnels were more like rides at Disney World and with all of the bats and forest around us, I’d personally been treating the experience more like a nature hike. When going through the tunnels, I wasn’t thinking about the tragedy of war or what a hard life this must have been for the Cu Chi people living underground under constant threat of bombings. I’d been sucked in like a gullible tourist and forgotten why I’d come there. I was ashamed of myself for not being mindful of my surroundings and getting as much out of the experience as I could have.
After the tunnels, the group went for a tour of the rescue center where I’m working. AS much as I love watching animals, I also enjoy observing people as they watch animals – I’m always curious to see if anyone’s as interested or inspired as I am when I’m in a place like this (though I do set the bar pretty high there). I was happy to see that people were indeed excited and having fun (especially with the otters, who are always a big hit). After they left however, I felt like there wasn’t a whole lot for me to do. The keepers seemed to have a well-honed routine and at times I felt like I was just holding them up. Still, I did what I could and I felt most useful when I was giving tours. I was the only person there at the time besides Matt who spoke enough English to give the tours and he was busy so I ended up taking a few groups around the center. The tours ended up being very successful and I was able to remember a lot for having been there such a short time. So at least I know I contributed something.
That evening, after everyone had kicked off, I stayed at the center to take pictures of the animals. Just before leaving, the keepers had let the leopard out into the enclosure. She darted out so fast I couldn’t even get a picture, grabbing her enrichment, which were huge slabs of meat. She completely demolished every bit of it (including the bone) and then lounged around, calmly watching me with her milky blue eyes. Unfortunately, my little photo shoot had convinced the security guard to do the same with his camera phone. The leopard didn’t like him at all and kept trying to attack him through the fence. At one point he grabbed a large stick to bait her, but I put a stop to that before he had a chance. All I wanted was for him to go away and leave me and the animals in peace together.
Back in my room, I made a late night snack of the bananas and mangosteen I’d bought in the market. I threw a peel into the trashcan in the room only to discover that there was some kind of sugar ant hideout underneath. As soon as the trashcan moved, they swarmed out. They spread to every part of the room (including my bed since they’re small enough to get through the mosquito netting). It was absolutely disgusting - I couldn’t take a step without discovering a new batch of them. Each step also landed me in a puddle of rain water. At first I thought the rain was just blowing through the window but I found an additional source in the leaky ceiling – more specifically the section of ceiling directly over my bed. The trail of water dripping from the ceiling progressed further and further along the width of my bed, finally moving me to erect a make-shift tent by stretching an extra sheet across the poles that held up the mosquito net. This countermeasure worked to some extent, but enough water soaked through that sheet barrier to make the night very uncomfortable. I ended up crouched in a corner, one of the few dry spots of mattress left, trying to get whatever sleep I could over the deafening sound of wind and rain. All part of living in the tropics I suppose.
When we walked along a little further however, I realized we’d fallen into a tourist trap. In front of us were wax life-sized figures of Vietnamese soldiers dressed in camo. Here the tour guide paused so people could take pictures with the models. Some of our roommates did (which only seems natural since that’s what the figures were there for), but most of the Americans (myself included) decided against it. I feel like it would have been somewhat irreverent for us to do so while standing on ground where so many had died, especially in a conflict that the United States is consistently blamed for. We were then taken to watch a video about the history of the tunnels, but it turned out to be a propaganda tape. It glorified the Cu Chi guerrillas and demonized Americans, which makes perfect sense in this setting – I just wish the narrator hadn’t said “kill Americans” quite so many times (it was just a tad uncomfortable).
We then moved on to the tunnels themselves, walking down dirt steps into the narrow underground passageways. One might say they were too narrow, since even I had to squeeze at times and I’m much smaller than some of the people in our group (I do believe Wen almost got stuck). The next tunnels were even smaller and we had to move through them in a squatting position, our shoulders brushing the walls the whole way. The coolest part about it for me was the presence of lots of little bats (presumably vampire bats) in the tunnels with us. They buzzed past our heads and I even found a little room off to the side where I got to observe them hanging from the ceiling. No one was quite as enthused as I was but then, as Kendra pointed out, I was the only one who’d gotten a rabies vaccination.
After emerging from the last tunnel, we passed by the giftshop full of tchotchkes (like mustard yellow bobble-head dogs), none of which had anything to do with the Cu Chi Tunnels. It suddenly hit me just how touristy the whole thing had been. The tunnels were more like rides at Disney World and with all of the bats and forest around us, I’d personally been treating the experience more like a nature hike. When going through the tunnels, I wasn’t thinking about the tragedy of war or what a hard life this must have been for the Cu Chi people living underground under constant threat of bombings. I’d been sucked in like a gullible tourist and forgotten why I’d come there. I was ashamed of myself for not being mindful of my surroundings and getting as much out of the experience as I could have.
After the tunnels, the group went for a tour of the rescue center where I’m working. AS much as I love watching animals, I also enjoy observing people as they watch animals – I’m always curious to see if anyone’s as interested or inspired as I am when I’m in a place like this (though I do set the bar pretty high there). I was happy to see that people were indeed excited and having fun (especially with the otters, who are always a big hit). After they left however, I felt like there wasn’t a whole lot for me to do. The keepers seemed to have a well-honed routine and at times I felt like I was just holding them up. Still, I did what I could and I felt most useful when I was giving tours. I was the only person there at the time besides Matt who spoke enough English to give the tours and he was busy so I ended up taking a few groups around the center. The tours ended up being very successful and I was able to remember a lot for having been there such a short time. So at least I know I contributed something.
That evening, after everyone had kicked off, I stayed at the center to take pictures of the animals. Just before leaving, the keepers had let the leopard out into the enclosure. She darted out so fast I couldn’t even get a picture, grabbing her enrichment, which were huge slabs of meat. She completely demolished every bit of it (including the bone) and then lounged around, calmly watching me with her milky blue eyes. Unfortunately, my little photo shoot had convinced the security guard to do the same with his camera phone. The leopard didn’t like him at all and kept trying to attack him through the fence. At one point he grabbed a large stick to bait her, but I put a stop to that before he had a chance. All I wanted was for him to go away and leave me and the animals in peace together.
Back in my room, I made a late night snack of the bananas and mangosteen I’d bought in the market. I threw a peel into the trashcan in the room only to discover that there was some kind of sugar ant hideout underneath. As soon as the trashcan moved, they swarmed out. They spread to every part of the room (including my bed since they’re small enough to get through the mosquito netting). It was absolutely disgusting - I couldn’t take a step without discovering a new batch of them. Each step also landed me in a puddle of rain water. At first I thought the rain was just blowing through the window but I found an additional source in the leaky ceiling – more specifically the section of ceiling directly over my bed. The trail of water dripping from the ceiling progressed further and further along the width of my bed, finally moving me to erect a make-shift tent by stretching an extra sheet across the poles that held up the mosquito net. This countermeasure worked to some extent, but enough water soaked through that sheet barrier to make the night very uncomfortable. I ended up crouched in a corner, one of the few dry spots of mattress left, trying to get whatever sleep I could over the deafening sound of wind and rain. All part of living in the tropics I suppose.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Vietnam Day 19 (6/26/09)
I had coffee with Rylan before leaving this morning and it's a damn good thing I did. He gave me directions to get to the Wildlife at Risk center in Cu Chi, telling me to take bus 2 rather than bus 13 like I'd been planning (apparently the Cu Chi bus doesn't actually go to the center in Cu Chi...go figure). I was going alone, but Van Anh drove me to the Ben Thanh Bus Station and before leaving, she talked to the bus driver, telling him where I was going so I wouldn't miss my stop (I don't think any of the roommates had any faith that I'd make it there without incident). I paid the ticket attendant dressed in a fusia uniform the ridiculously cheap price of a thousand dong for my ticket then sat back to look out the window.
Riding next to our bus was an elderly Vietnamese man on a low-rider motorbike with a helmet resembling an American general's helmet. We also passed a number of other sights that caught my attention: an electric parkinglot gate adorned with a dragon statue, a sports equipment store that looked as if it had never sold a single treadmill, identical colorful sparkly motorbikes sold at two shops only one door down from each other, a bustling market down an alley leading to a church, "Superkids Preschool" decorated with large stills from Disney movies (located next to a BMW dealership, naturally), and a pagoda with plastic figures of Buddha on the roof and a dingy tailor shop on the floor below.
When we reached the stop where I needed to catch a connecting bus, the very nice man in fusia helped me off the bus and pointed out my next bus. I had to literally catch it since it was already rolling. It was nearly onto the road when I ran alongside and hopped on. Naturally, everyone on the bus stared at the crazy foreigner but I'd like to point out that the locals do exactly the same thing. Now back to the random observations from the bus window. A fisherman traversed the narrow murky canals by pushing his bamboo raft through the reeds with a long stick (like a gondola). In one town, huts with thatch roofs stood next to gated communities containing everything from tennis courts to private churches. We passed roadside stalls selling food and drinks that made me want to jump off the bus. At one point, we were stopped in traffic next to an outdoor billiard hall unter a thatch cover. This time, it was the guys playing pool that tried to get me to jump off, waving me over after spotting me in the window. I decided against it for whatever reason. Near the end of my journey, two little girls about seven years old boarded the bus by themselves. They were giggly girls dressed in pale pink and yellow, smiling shyly up at me whenever I looked up.
When I got off the bus, I still had to walk a short distance to get to the center. I didn't exactly know where it was, but I knew the general direction so I just started walking. I knew I was close when I heard the gibbon calls. I was greeted by Matt (the manager of the center) in true Aussie style, with a friendly "Gooday." We started with a tour of the small but beautifully designed center. We first went to the indoor holding facility for the bears. There are sun bears with sleek black fur accented with golden fur on their faces and chests and in the next cage over are moon bears, stalkier bushier black bears with white patches on their chests in the shape of crecent moons. In the same area was the most beautiful big cat I've ever seen. She's a gorgeous leopard with light blue eyes that are incredibly focused. She usually snarls and growls at all of the male keepers but she's really calm around me. She doesn't get to see many women so I think she's more comfortable with me. The gibbons are the complete opposite. The females get really agitated and start screaming when women are walking around. The leading theory is that one gibbon was abused by her former owner (presumably a woman) and the others learned the behavior from her.
All of the animals at the center were rescued from the illegal animal trade where they were being sold as either food or pets. One of the bears for instance was locked in a tiny cage and stoned by its former owner. A lot of these animals have been abused for a long time before coming here. Some however, were rescued as infants and hand raised. One such example is a juvenile gibbon (who I call Penelope for whatever reason, even though Matt calls her Thumbsucker for obvious reasons) who's the only remale gibbon not disturbed by my presence. She sticks her leg out when people walk by, trying to get them to scratch it (of course I was always happy to ablige). The other animals that love to play with people are the two little short-clawed river otters that were raised by humans. Every time I walk by, they stick their slippery little heads out of the cage as far as they can and reach out for my hand with their silky wet fingers. Sometimes they attempt to nibble on my hand but it's only in play and still so adorable. Th other animals at the center include an Asiatic brush-tailed porquipine, a seven kilo king cobra, a monitor lizard, hornbills, more otters in another enclosure, pingolas (a species of anteater that's native to Vietnam), lorises, and half a dozen species of river turtle.
In the afternoon, I got to help prepare and give out food and enrichment (work I'm plenty used to after the Lemur Center). Fortunately, one of the keepers speaks English so I still have more than one person to talk to - then again, who really needs to talk to people when you have animals around. For dinner, Matt took me to a local pho place, which turned out to be amazing. Matt told me about the long process of conservation in Vietnam and how challenging it can be to run a rescue center here. He doesn't even have room to take more animals at the center, so any animals that aren't endangered have to be euthanized as soon as they're brought there. We saw one such less endangered animal here in town, a baby macaque in a tiny bird cage outside someone's home - that poor monkey will probably never be saved.
That same day we went to the local market where I bought way too much fruit and spent a lot of my time fiercly clutching my bag, trying to avoid the little boys with slippery fingers who were following us around. There was also a sweet little girl whose mother kept pushing her towards me to practice English and a cranky old woman who screamed at Matt for not buying chicken from her. The guest house I'm staying in has a beautiful courtyard and is floored with dark green tiles, its walls decorated with frescos of Vietnamese life. There are however a few obstacles to living here. There are ridiculous numbers of bugs here and I'm the only person they seem to bite. There's a definite possibility I'll go back to Saigon nothing more than a giant welt. Fortunately, I found a Duke-blue mosquito net for the bed. I set it up with little difficulty and fixed the holes with hair clips. As soon as I got under the net, I realized what a good decision it was to put it up - three mosquitos sat sulking on the outside of the netting, foiled in their plans to prey on my flesh.
Now, because of these same bugs I had gotten some bus spray from Matt earlier in the day. After my skin started to experience a burning sensation, I asked what was in it and he informed me that this type of repellent isn't sold in the United States. As a result, I was in desperate need of a shower. It turned out to be the worst shower of my life. The bathroom seemed relatively normal by Vietnamese standards, containing only a toilet and a removable showerhead dispensing cold water with no pressure. All that's fine, but what I had trouble with were the holes in the walls. These openings sent every mosquito in town into the shower with me, an acutely unpleasant experience. After finishing my rushed, painful shower, I towled off entirely using nothing more than a washcloth since I couldn't find the towels (if there even were any). This was another slow process that exposed me to further bug bites. Mosquitos have no shame.
The other issue was that I was quite alone. There were other people staying in the house, but I didn't know who and I didn't feel like playing charades just to communicate basic ideas. Instead, I had to find ways to entertain myself, which ended up being pretty successful. I wrote, read and listened to music and, as pathetic as it may sound, played solitaire. It may not sound like much, but it was actually really nice to have some alone time.
Riding next to our bus was an elderly Vietnamese man on a low-rider motorbike with a helmet resembling an American general's helmet. We also passed a number of other sights that caught my attention: an electric parkinglot gate adorned with a dragon statue, a sports equipment store that looked as if it had never sold a single treadmill, identical colorful sparkly motorbikes sold at two shops only one door down from each other, a bustling market down an alley leading to a church, "Superkids Preschool" decorated with large stills from Disney movies (located next to a BMW dealership, naturally), and a pagoda with plastic figures of Buddha on the roof and a dingy tailor shop on the floor below.
When we reached the stop where I needed to catch a connecting bus, the very nice man in fusia helped me off the bus and pointed out my next bus. I had to literally catch it since it was already rolling. It was nearly onto the road when I ran alongside and hopped on. Naturally, everyone on the bus stared at the crazy foreigner but I'd like to point out that the locals do exactly the same thing. Now back to the random observations from the bus window. A fisherman traversed the narrow murky canals by pushing his bamboo raft through the reeds with a long stick (like a gondola). In one town, huts with thatch roofs stood next to gated communities containing everything from tennis courts to private churches. We passed roadside stalls selling food and drinks that made me want to jump off the bus. At one point, we were stopped in traffic next to an outdoor billiard hall unter a thatch cover. This time, it was the guys playing pool that tried to get me to jump off, waving me over after spotting me in the window. I decided against it for whatever reason. Near the end of my journey, two little girls about seven years old boarded the bus by themselves. They were giggly girls dressed in pale pink and yellow, smiling shyly up at me whenever I looked up.
When I got off the bus, I still had to walk a short distance to get to the center. I didn't exactly know where it was, but I knew the general direction so I just started walking. I knew I was close when I heard the gibbon calls. I was greeted by Matt (the manager of the center) in true Aussie style, with a friendly "Gooday." We started with a tour of the small but beautifully designed center. We first went to the indoor holding facility for the bears. There are sun bears with sleek black fur accented with golden fur on their faces and chests and in the next cage over are moon bears, stalkier bushier black bears with white patches on their chests in the shape of crecent moons. In the same area was the most beautiful big cat I've ever seen. She's a gorgeous leopard with light blue eyes that are incredibly focused. She usually snarls and growls at all of the male keepers but she's really calm around me. She doesn't get to see many women so I think she's more comfortable with me. The gibbons are the complete opposite. The females get really agitated and start screaming when women are walking around. The leading theory is that one gibbon was abused by her former owner (presumably a woman) and the others learned the behavior from her.
All of the animals at the center were rescued from the illegal animal trade where they were being sold as either food or pets. One of the bears for instance was locked in a tiny cage and stoned by its former owner. A lot of these animals have been abused for a long time before coming here. Some however, were rescued as infants and hand raised. One such example is a juvenile gibbon (who I call Penelope for whatever reason, even though Matt calls her Thumbsucker for obvious reasons) who's the only remale gibbon not disturbed by my presence. She sticks her leg out when people walk by, trying to get them to scratch it (of course I was always happy to ablige). The other animals that love to play with people are the two little short-clawed river otters that were raised by humans. Every time I walk by, they stick their slippery little heads out of the cage as far as they can and reach out for my hand with their silky wet fingers. Sometimes they attempt to nibble on my hand but it's only in play and still so adorable. Th other animals at the center include an Asiatic brush-tailed porquipine, a seven kilo king cobra, a monitor lizard, hornbills, more otters in another enclosure, pingolas (a species of anteater that's native to Vietnam), lorises, and half a dozen species of river turtle.
In the afternoon, I got to help prepare and give out food and enrichment (work I'm plenty used to after the Lemur Center). Fortunately, one of the keepers speaks English so I still have more than one person to talk to - then again, who really needs to talk to people when you have animals around. For dinner, Matt took me to a local pho place, which turned out to be amazing. Matt told me about the long process of conservation in Vietnam and how challenging it can be to run a rescue center here. He doesn't even have room to take more animals at the center, so any animals that aren't endangered have to be euthanized as soon as they're brought there. We saw one such less endangered animal here in town, a baby macaque in a tiny bird cage outside someone's home - that poor monkey will probably never be saved.
That same day we went to the local market where I bought way too much fruit and spent a lot of my time fiercly clutching my bag, trying to avoid the little boys with slippery fingers who were following us around. There was also a sweet little girl whose mother kept pushing her towards me to practice English and a cranky old woman who screamed at Matt for not buying chicken from her. The guest house I'm staying in has a beautiful courtyard and is floored with dark green tiles, its walls decorated with frescos of Vietnamese life. There are however a few obstacles to living here. There are ridiculous numbers of bugs here and I'm the only person they seem to bite. There's a definite possibility I'll go back to Saigon nothing more than a giant welt. Fortunately, I found a Duke-blue mosquito net for the bed. I set it up with little difficulty and fixed the holes with hair clips. As soon as I got under the net, I realized what a good decision it was to put it up - three mosquitos sat sulking on the outside of the netting, foiled in their plans to prey on my flesh.
Now, because of these same bugs I had gotten some bus spray from Matt earlier in the day. After my skin started to experience a burning sensation, I asked what was in it and he informed me that this type of repellent isn't sold in the United States. As a result, I was in desperate need of a shower. It turned out to be the worst shower of my life. The bathroom seemed relatively normal by Vietnamese standards, containing only a toilet and a removable showerhead dispensing cold water with no pressure. All that's fine, but what I had trouble with were the holes in the walls. These openings sent every mosquito in town into the shower with me, an acutely unpleasant experience. After finishing my rushed, painful shower, I towled off entirely using nothing more than a washcloth since I couldn't find the towels (if there even were any). This was another slow process that exposed me to further bug bites. Mosquitos have no shame.
The other issue was that I was quite alone. There were other people staying in the house, but I didn't know who and I didn't feel like playing charades just to communicate basic ideas. Instead, I had to find ways to entertain myself, which ended up being pretty successful. I wrote, read and listened to music and, as pathetic as it may sound, played solitaire. It may not sound like much, but it was actually really nice to have some alone time.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Vietnam Day 18 (6/25/09)
A small dragonfly with a lime-green head and amber-colored tail landed delicately on the spoon of my cafe sua da. I sat motionless, examining every feature and movement it made. I looked up to find the Vietnamese man who'd joined my solitary table watching me in much the same way. We exchanged polite smiles and I went back to my writing. I've almost completely adjusted to people staring at me all the time (just as many are doing on the bus I'm writing from). Their motives aren't malice or suspicion, it's simple curiosity. Since that's what drives me in life, I'm certainly not going to denigrate it in other people. In fact, I feel a certain connection with anyone driven by curiosity.
My adventurous spirit was put to the test today as I set out into the city on my own for the first time. Van Anh had her internship so I was going to Cafe Zoom by myself to conduct surveys. I hailed my very first solo cab like a pro. Sadly, I had poor luck in cab drivers. I was pretty sure he'd overcharged me but of course had no way of confirming or communicating this so I accepted it. The bigger problem was that he took me to a semi-deserted alley at the end of the street. It was the right street so I got out to see if I could find it but I saw nothing remotely touristy. I asked in a travel agency and I was pointed down the street but the addresses weren't adding up. Some guys sitting on the curb across the street started calling out to me in a disconserting way so I hastily made my way to the main road, deciding that was a safer place to wander around like a lost tourist. That turned out to be the best decision of the day, because after looking around, I soon found the cafe just across the main raod. They were expecting me in the cafe so I just took a seat and took out my clipboards.
At this time of day however, there was only one Westerner in the joint. He was an older man with snow white hair and large glasses. Sitting next to him, listening to his story with vague disinterest was a young beautiful Vietnamese woman. This is exactly the kind of Westerner I've been trying to avoid since I started, the one who comes to Vientnam to find a woman at a reasonable price. I heard his American accent and suddenly felt ashamed. I know I shouldn't judge like that, but when I saw him leaning in with his arm gradually moving further around her backside, my gag reflex kicked in. I'm still curious about how other Vietnamese feel when they see a couple like this, but regardless, my Western eyes see a woman being taken advantage of by a slimeball that I don't want to be associated with in any way. Despite my repulsion, I had a job to do and this guy was definitely a tourist so I went over to give him the survey. After some coaxing, he agreed to take the survey, but was quick to point out that his companion didn't know English. This information made his earlier attempts at inane conversation with her that much more objectionable. Though I suppose I should be grateful that he took time out from his "business" to answer my questions at all.
After him, I only got a few more surveys, but I still enjoyed sitting in the cafe in the meantime. It was a Western restaurant serving pancakes and burgers while playing popular American music and Western television shows including boxing and the Pink Panther cartoon. I spent a good deal of my time looking out at the street, observing the people. Many of them were looking back at me, particularly the children, who laughed and hid their faces when I smiled at them. One passenger on a motorbike couldn't look back at me because he was fast asleep, a dangerous plan if you ask me. Among the motorbikes was a government truck that read "tourist security" but held no soldiers or security of any kind. It might have been unusual circumstances but it does make me wonder if the government is really concerned for tourists safety (although I would imagine they'd have to be).
Before grabbing a cab back to the gurest house, I decided to walk around a bit. Being in the city by yourself is very different than with a group. I was completely focused on observing what was around me, noticing different shops and smellsI didn't know were there though I've walked down that street before. Eventually I grabbed a cab, again successfully (it took a decent amount of effort to get his attention this time). Unfortuanately, all my success with cabs lasts only until I enter the car. This time, I showed the driver the CET card with the guest house address, but the card turned out to be outdated since we soon arrrived a tthe former guest house. It was an easy fix though and, after laughing at me for a while, the cabdriver got me safely to the correct place. Even after this whole fiasco, the cab fare still ended up being half the cost of the ride to the cafe, confirming (too late of course) that I had been ripped off earlier in the day. It's alright though, I'm going to choose to focus on the good parts of my day. I enjoyed the ability to walk around a new city iwth confidence, even putting other foreigners next to me to shame with my skill in crossing the street. I think I could survive pretty well here if I decide to come back.
My adventurous spirit was put to the test today as I set out into the city on my own for the first time. Van Anh had her internship so I was going to Cafe Zoom by myself to conduct surveys. I hailed my very first solo cab like a pro. Sadly, I had poor luck in cab drivers. I was pretty sure he'd overcharged me but of course had no way of confirming or communicating this so I accepted it. The bigger problem was that he took me to a semi-deserted alley at the end of the street. It was the right street so I got out to see if I could find it but I saw nothing remotely touristy. I asked in a travel agency and I was pointed down the street but the addresses weren't adding up. Some guys sitting on the curb across the street started calling out to me in a disconserting way so I hastily made my way to the main road, deciding that was a safer place to wander around like a lost tourist. That turned out to be the best decision of the day, because after looking around, I soon found the cafe just across the main raod. They were expecting me in the cafe so I just took a seat and took out my clipboards.
At this time of day however, there was only one Westerner in the joint. He was an older man with snow white hair and large glasses. Sitting next to him, listening to his story with vague disinterest was a young beautiful Vietnamese woman. This is exactly the kind of Westerner I've been trying to avoid since I started, the one who comes to Vientnam to find a woman at a reasonable price. I heard his American accent and suddenly felt ashamed. I know I shouldn't judge like that, but when I saw him leaning in with his arm gradually moving further around her backside, my gag reflex kicked in. I'm still curious about how other Vietnamese feel when they see a couple like this, but regardless, my Western eyes see a woman being taken advantage of by a slimeball that I don't want to be associated with in any way. Despite my repulsion, I had a job to do and this guy was definitely a tourist so I went over to give him the survey. After some coaxing, he agreed to take the survey, but was quick to point out that his companion didn't know English. This information made his earlier attempts at inane conversation with her that much more objectionable. Though I suppose I should be grateful that he took time out from his "business" to answer my questions at all.
After him, I only got a few more surveys, but I still enjoyed sitting in the cafe in the meantime. It was a Western restaurant serving pancakes and burgers while playing popular American music and Western television shows including boxing and the Pink Panther cartoon. I spent a good deal of my time looking out at the street, observing the people. Many of them were looking back at me, particularly the children, who laughed and hid their faces when I smiled at them. One passenger on a motorbike couldn't look back at me because he was fast asleep, a dangerous plan if you ask me. Among the motorbikes was a government truck that read "tourist security" but held no soldiers or security of any kind. It might have been unusual circumstances but it does make me wonder if the government is really concerned for tourists safety (although I would imagine they'd have to be).
Before grabbing a cab back to the gurest house, I decided to walk around a bit. Being in the city by yourself is very different than with a group. I was completely focused on observing what was around me, noticing different shops and smellsI didn't know were there though I've walked down that street before. Eventually I grabbed a cab, again successfully (it took a decent amount of effort to get his attention this time). Unfortuanately, all my success with cabs lasts only until I enter the car. This time, I showed the driver the CET card with the guest house address, but the card turned out to be outdated since we soon arrrived a tthe former guest house. It was an easy fix though and, after laughing at me for a while, the cabdriver got me safely to the correct place. Even after this whole fiasco, the cab fare still ended up being half the cost of the ride to the cafe, confirming (too late of course) that I had been ripped off earlier in the day. It's alright though, I'm going to choose to focus on the good parts of my day. I enjoyed the ability to walk around a new city iwth confidence, even putting other foreigners next to me to shame with my skill in crossing the street. I think I could survive pretty well here if I decide to come back.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Vietnam Day 17 (6/24/09)
Van Anh and I got up a little earlier today to try and catch tourists having their morning coffee. We hit a minor snag however, seeing not one foreigner after walking around for nearly an hour. I guess tourists like to sleep late, or maybe they just stick to continental breakfasts in the hotel. Just as we were about to give up, we decided to try one last trick and walked into the post office. We took a seat on the bench inside and, for a few moments, were very discouraged. Then we spotted our prey (we've become quite the tourist hunters...I'm thinking about buying some camo gear and carrying around my binoculars). We interviewed a couple of families that came there with Vietnamese tour guides that spoke better English than I do (hopefully an exaggeration, but I'm not sure). The most interesting person I talked to was a man from Wales carrying only a backpack and his camera. I sat down with him for some time and he told me his story, about how his sons grew up and left home, motivating him to go out and travel the world before he was left with nowhere to go but a nursing home. Now he travels around Asia, working as an amateur photographer sending his pictures back to an agent in Europe so he can keep funding his travels. He's exactly the kind of person I want to be, one who never loses that sense of adventure and openness to everything and everyone. (I only hope I can still be trekking the world when I'm his age).
Riding around today, I felt slightly less stable on the motorbike than I usually do. You see, when we went to the garage this morning, Van Anh's bike was out of pressure so we had to take Loan's. From the beginning, I noticed things were a little off - I kept sliding arounda nd my helmet banged into Van Anh's every time she hit the breaks. She later told me the reason was that Loan's bike is a "boyfriend motorbike," the kind a lot of guys buy so that their girlfriends riding behind them will have to hold on tighter (pretty ingenious from a guys perspective). I think I'm going to start riding side-saddle anyway, because Van Anh said when I'm on the bike no one can tell I'm a foreigner except that no local sits like I do when wearing a skirt.
As we drove around, I took notice of many of the schools in the city. We went past a preschool, identifiable from the outer gates made in the form of carved cartoonish animals (complete with giraffes, elephants, and Santa's reindeer). We also went past a highschoool with dozens of parents outside the gate, waiting for their children to finish a big final exam that would determine those students' futures. Later in the afternoon, a group of us went to the reunification palace. It was beautiful certainly, but after a while, the countless meeting rooms (that remained useless except when dignitaries visited) started to meld together.
For dinner, we decided to risk our health for the banh mi (Vietnamese sandwich) on the street. It was well worth the risk, packed with patte, three different kinds of pork, veggies (including papaya), and egg, topped off with lard mayonase and hot sauce. I'm sure Jenny Craig wouldn't approve of this meal, but I love it. Later that night, Van Anh and I went back out to survey, this time splitting up to cover more ground. The first group of people I encountered were mostly nice except for the one, more brash man who made me ask him the questions orally, rather rudely getting up and walking away in the middle when he was tired of answering questions. The next group however were all nice. They were Australian and British expats who were very interested in what I had to say about Ninh Thuan and happy to talk to me about living in Vientnam. They told me to pull up a seat and told me all the nice, safer places to go in the city and what the expat community was like. I had a lot of fun just sitting and chatting with them. While I know a lot of expats come here for shadier purposes, I'm becoming increasingly convinced it's even easy to find the decent, hard-working ones too.
Riding around today, I felt slightly less stable on the motorbike than I usually do. You see, when we went to the garage this morning, Van Anh's bike was out of pressure so we had to take Loan's. From the beginning, I noticed things were a little off - I kept sliding arounda nd my helmet banged into Van Anh's every time she hit the breaks. She later told me the reason was that Loan's bike is a "boyfriend motorbike," the kind a lot of guys buy so that their girlfriends riding behind them will have to hold on tighter (pretty ingenious from a guys perspective). I think I'm going to start riding side-saddle anyway, because Van Anh said when I'm on the bike no one can tell I'm a foreigner except that no local sits like I do when wearing a skirt.
As we drove around, I took notice of many of the schools in the city. We went past a preschool, identifiable from the outer gates made in the form of carved cartoonish animals (complete with giraffes, elephants, and Santa's reindeer). We also went past a highschoool with dozens of parents outside the gate, waiting for their children to finish a big final exam that would determine those students' futures. Later in the afternoon, a group of us went to the reunification palace. It was beautiful certainly, but after a while, the countless meeting rooms (that remained useless except when dignitaries visited) started to meld together.
For dinner, we decided to risk our health for the banh mi (Vietnamese sandwich) on the street. It was well worth the risk, packed with patte, three different kinds of pork, veggies (including papaya), and egg, topped off with lard mayonase and hot sauce. I'm sure Jenny Craig wouldn't approve of this meal, but I love it. Later that night, Van Anh and I went back out to survey, this time splitting up to cover more ground. The first group of people I encountered were mostly nice except for the one, more brash man who made me ask him the questions orally, rather rudely getting up and walking away in the middle when he was tired of answering questions. The next group however were all nice. They were Australian and British expats who were very interested in what I had to say about Ninh Thuan and happy to talk to me about living in Vientnam. They told me to pull up a seat and told me all the nice, safer places to go in the city and what the expat community was like. I had a lot of fun just sitting and chatting with them. While I know a lot of expats come here for shadier purposes, I'm becoming increasingly convinced it's even easy to find the decent, hard-working ones too.
Vietnam Day 16 (6/23/09)
This morning was our last Vietnamese class. I'm kind of disappointed that we don't have more instruction but I suppose we have enough vocabulary to get by as long as we keep practicing in real life. This afternoon, Van Anh and I went out to the backpacker's district to start conducting our surveys. Despite my normally outgoing nature, I was kind of nervous to approach people. I'm not usually keen on taking surveys myself, so I felt bad about asking other people to do them for me. But at least I had Van Anh with me and she urged me on. We worked out a good system whereby she would get permission from the Vietnamese cafe owners (who were frequently skeptical because they thought we were from the government) and I would approach the tourists.
Everyone was very nice once we explained ourselves. Not one of the cafes turned us away and only a couple of foreigners declined to take the questionare. Mind you, some of the toursists were more willing than others, under the influence of the empty beer glasses in front of them. No one was too drunk - they were all very nice and mostly coherent (though I had to speak a little more slowly at times so they could understand me). I was concerned at first that this might skew the survey in a negative way but I soon realized that the more beer they'd had, the more frank and chatty they were. Since part of my goal was to engage people in conversation beyond the survey questions, it worked out perfectly. I had some very interesting conversations with people from all over the world about their travels and we compared notes on our impressions of Vietnam. When I say people from all over the world, I of course mean primarily Australians, but I did talk to people from some unexpected countries like Sweden, Belgium, South Africa, and even Mexico.
On our way back from surveying, Van Anh parked the motorbike on the sidewalk next to a little stand and we had iced milk with bits of kumkwat mixed in. It was delicious and apparently others agreed with me because within minutes, there were tons of motorbikes crammed in around the stand, all of us drinking our milk without ever leaving the seat of the motorbikes. For dinner, we went to a small street-front restaurant to get bun, or "special noodles." There wasn't enough room for the whole group downstairs, so Kendra, Wen, and I proceeded to the even tinier upstairs landing (me bumping my head on the way up). It was as if we'd walked into Alice and Wonderland. We'd sat at small kiddie tables with little plastic stools before, but for some reason everything about this place seemed exponentially smaller. We were giants living in a miniature world, with only an incomplete roof to give us some much needed headspace. The noodle soup was excellent, especially after adding absurd amounts of hot sauce. Half-way through our meal, a complete stranger joined our table as if it were completely normal. He was very polite - he just ordered his food and sat quietly and even helped us get the check. Sharing and communal living are just common practice here and, I have to say, it's quite refreshing.
By the way, I think my Vietnamese accent might be getting even worse, because today I asked My where Van Anh was and she thought I was asking for a banana. So, I guess now I have a Vietnamese name and Van Anh has an English name (both based on food, interestingly enough). One of the other minor difficulties I've encountered while being here is laundry. So far, my white shirts have all turned lovely shades of purple and green and there's always the lingering question of how clean our "delicates" are. I suppose it's just part of living here.
Everyone was very nice once we explained ourselves. Not one of the cafes turned us away and only a couple of foreigners declined to take the questionare. Mind you, some of the toursists were more willing than others, under the influence of the empty beer glasses in front of them. No one was too drunk - they were all very nice and mostly coherent (though I had to speak a little more slowly at times so they could understand me). I was concerned at first that this might skew the survey in a negative way but I soon realized that the more beer they'd had, the more frank and chatty they were. Since part of my goal was to engage people in conversation beyond the survey questions, it worked out perfectly. I had some very interesting conversations with people from all over the world about their travels and we compared notes on our impressions of Vietnam. When I say people from all over the world, I of course mean primarily Australians, but I did talk to people from some unexpected countries like Sweden, Belgium, South Africa, and even Mexico.
On our way back from surveying, Van Anh parked the motorbike on the sidewalk next to a little stand and we had iced milk with bits of kumkwat mixed in. It was delicious and apparently others agreed with me because within minutes, there were tons of motorbikes crammed in around the stand, all of us drinking our milk without ever leaving the seat of the motorbikes. For dinner, we went to a small street-front restaurant to get bun, or "special noodles." There wasn't enough room for the whole group downstairs, so Kendra, Wen, and I proceeded to the even tinier upstairs landing (me bumping my head on the way up). It was as if we'd walked into Alice and Wonderland. We'd sat at small kiddie tables with little plastic stools before, but for some reason everything about this place seemed exponentially smaller. We were giants living in a miniature world, with only an incomplete roof to give us some much needed headspace. The noodle soup was excellent, especially after adding absurd amounts of hot sauce. Half-way through our meal, a complete stranger joined our table as if it were completely normal. He was very polite - he just ordered his food and sat quietly and even helped us get the check. Sharing and communal living are just common practice here and, I have to say, it's quite refreshing.
By the way, I think my Vietnamese accent might be getting even worse, because today I asked My where Van Anh was and she thought I was asking for a banana. So, I guess now I have a Vietnamese name and Van Anh has an English name (both based on food, interestingly enough). One of the other minor difficulties I've encountered while being here is laundry. So far, my white shirts have all turned lovely shades of purple and green and there's always the lingering question of how clean our "delicates" are. I suppose it's just part of living here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)