On Mondays and Tuesdays, I take the “bus” to work. HCMC’s public transportation system of buses is relatively reliable and fairly extensive and there is almost always a bus (or two) to get you to where you want to go. The bus that runs the most direct route from our apartment to my school is not exactly a bus, but a mini-pick-up truck with a covered bed and two benches running the length of either side, allowing for five Vietnamese-sized people to sit comfortably, facing each other with about a foot of space between their knees. Often, when I get on the space is already full by Western standards, but somehow they manage to find space to squeeze me in. On a recent ride home, I found myself squeezed onto a bench with five other people, facing six other people similarly squeezed onto the opposite bench, with three people squatting on the floor between our knees. In order to allow the person in front of me some space, I had to pull my knees up by “standing” on the tips of my toes. While it is not the most comfortable way to get home, it is definitely a good way to get up close and personal with Vietnamese people.
Sometimes after school, I find myself riding alone in the back of the little “bus.” When this happens, I take the seat on the bench on the right side, closest to the driver in order to hand him my fare of 3000 VND or about 20 cents. The next time he stops to pick someone up, I find myself in the unofficial position of money handler, a role the person in this seat always seems to take on. People hand me their money and since I am closer to the driver and able to reach through the window to the cab, I make the transaction and hand the new passenger their ticket. The new passengers, always Vietnamese, usually find it quite amusing that I help them and will often give me a friendly smile and sometimes it even leads to a conversation in simple English and/or Vietnamese, which is a neat way to break the barrier that usually exists between foreigners and the non-English speaking locals. And it gives me a chance to pretend that I fit in here, even if just for the 20 minute ride to work.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Have bike will travel...
Steven and I finally got around renting a motorbike last weekend. We are now the proud renters of a bright red Honda Wave for the bargain price of $50 a month.
All last week Steven took the bike to work since I have yet to build up the courage to try it out in the city and this weekend, we decided to take advantage of the fact that we no longer have to wait around for the bus.
On Friday evening we went to Cantina Central in District One for a post-dinner snack of chips and quacamole and (cooked) ceveche (can you call it ceveche when it is cooked...?). After Cantina Central, we rode over to the Lion Brewery and Restaurant to try out their signature beer brewed fresh on the premises. Our choices were "Light" Lion Beer or "Dark" Lion Beer. We both chose the dark and were please to find it not too much unlike my New Castles back home. After our beers, we rode back home, enjoying the view from the road as we wove our way through the hoards of teenagers and young Vietnamese cruising at a snails pace down the streets, reminding me very much of Lake Worth beach when I was a teenager, only with more motorbikes and less cars. And of course, lots more Vietnamese.
Saturday, we headed over to District 7 to check out the campus of the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT), where I had heard many local sports teams go to use their athletic fields, in search of somewhere to get in a regular run out from under the curious stares of 100s of passing motorists.
We found RMIT to be much smaller than we'd imagined, consisting of only one building, but we did find the sports fields which were invitingly green and surrounded by a red stone path that we figured would be suitable for running, surrounded as it was by bushes and fences far from the business of the road.
After leaving RMIT we rode back home for lunch before heading out again to meet a friend at Bobby Brewers to watch Slumdog Millionaire and then to continue the theme Mumtaz for an Indian dinner.
Sunday, we were up and out early to make it to RMIT before the sun got too hot and enjoyed a leisurely run (at least leisurely for me – Steven admitted that he was worried the whole time that they were going to kick us out for trespassing..) and then home for a quick change before going back to the market to pick up some shirts Steven had made and then to meet up with friends at the Rex Hotel for an afternoon by the pool.
It was a busy weekend and we made the most out of our new wheels! (And as you can see , as we've settled into our lives here, our exploits in the city don't make for very interesting posts!)
All last week Steven took the bike to work since I have yet to build up the courage to try it out in the city and this weekend, we decided to take advantage of the fact that we no longer have to wait around for the bus.
On Friday evening we went to Cantina Central in District One for a post-dinner snack of chips and quacamole and (cooked) ceveche (can you call it ceveche when it is cooked...?). After Cantina Central, we rode over to the Lion Brewery and Restaurant to try out their signature beer brewed fresh on the premises. Our choices were "Light" Lion Beer or "Dark" Lion Beer. We both chose the dark and were please to find it not too much unlike my New Castles back home. After our beers, we rode back home, enjoying the view from the road as we wove our way through the hoards of teenagers and young Vietnamese cruising at a snails pace down the streets, reminding me very much of Lake Worth beach when I was a teenager, only with more motorbikes and less cars. And of course, lots more Vietnamese.
Saturday, we headed over to District 7 to check out the campus of the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT), where I had heard many local sports teams go to use their athletic fields, in search of somewhere to get in a regular run out from under the curious stares of 100s of passing motorists.
We found RMIT to be much smaller than we'd imagined, consisting of only one building, but we did find the sports fields which were invitingly green and surrounded by a red stone path that we figured would be suitable for running, surrounded as it was by bushes and fences far from the business of the road.
After leaving RMIT we rode back home for lunch before heading out again to meet a friend at Bobby Brewers to watch Slumdog Millionaire and then to continue the theme Mumtaz for an Indian dinner.
Sunday, we were up and out early to make it to RMIT before the sun got too hot and enjoyed a leisurely run (at least leisurely for me – Steven admitted that he was worried the whole time that they were going to kick us out for trespassing..) and then home for a quick change before going back to the market to pick up some shirts Steven had made and then to meet up with friends at the Rex Hotel for an afternoon by the pool.
It was a busy weekend and we made the most out of our new wheels! (And as you can see , as we've settled into our lives here, our exploits in the city don't make for very interesting posts!)
Friday, February 20, 2009
You know it is time for a vacation from Viet Nam when...
You're walking in District One, where all of the tourists are, past the money changers and when they ask you if you'd like a money changer, you shout, "I LIVE HERE. I HAVE BEEN HERE FOR THREE YEARS!!!" in their faces before stomping away, as if they should know that you aren't a tourist because....?
You're walking out of a fancy hotel bar onto the sidewalk in District One, just as a woman is riding her motorbike past - on the sidewalk - and as she beeps her horn at you, you lean down into her face and shout, "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!"
Sometimes watching the expats here is more amusing than watching the Vietnamese...
You're walking out of a fancy hotel bar onto the sidewalk in District One, just as a woman is riding her motorbike past - on the sidewalk - and as she beeps her horn at you, you lean down into her face and shout, "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!"
Sometimes watching the expats here is more amusing than watching the Vietnamese...
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
If every day were like today...
Saturday morning, I met Marjie, one of Steven and my friends from his school for an outing. Marjie lives in an amazing neighborhood with narrow streets, a flourishing local market, cheap massages, great restaurants and apparently her own personal tailor. Steven and I have both enjoyed partaking in the cheap massages, incredible restaurants and fresh vegetables at the daily street market, but we had yet to venture into the world of personal tailoring. It was something I was very much looking forward to.
The night before I had spent an hour on the websites of Anne Taylor, Banana Republic, Dillard's, Sierra Trading Post and more, bookmarking outfits that I would love to have, but would never be able to afford. I knew that I wouldn't be able to print them out for the following day, but I wanted to be prepared for the Pandora's box of shopping possiblities that I knew was about to open before me.
Since I didn't have any print outs, at 10:00 on Saturday morning, I jumped on the back of a xe om with my favorite t-shirt and skirt, which I'd heard could be cloned with incredible skill into one of a dizzying array of fabrics.
I met Marjie and Shannon at Marjie's house and we set off through the Saturday morning market to meet the women she buys fabric from. Tuy and Than were seated up against the side of one of the buildings in a side alley behind a table covered with fabric. Fabric also lined the shelves behind them and spilled over under another table to the right of the first. Marjie introduced us and I handed one of the women my skirt, which both Shannon and I decided we'd have made in another color.
Tuy examined the skirt and then pointed to a row of fabrics from which we could choose. We each picked out a color and then we showed them my shirt and a pair of Shannon's shorts and we repeated the process. Armed with $15 worth of fabric for two shirts and a skirt, I followed Marjie and Shannon back through the market to Marjie's tailor.
We entered a small store front room with a sewing machine set up along one wall, various fabrics and garments hanging from a rack on the other and a curtain of sorts dividing the front shop from whatever lay behind. Again, Marjie introduced us to the women in the shop who greeted us warmly and then set about measuring us and asking questions about our garments, "same, same?" To which we replied that we wanted the exact same size just different colors.
We left our fabric with Marjie's neighborhood tailor and went to catch the bus to visit her other tailor near the Ben Thanh market, to whom she entrusted more complicated designs.
Once at the bus stop, we bought spring rolls from my usual spring roll lady and munched on them as we crossed through the traffic to the market. While Marjie talked with her second tailor about a dress she wanted, Shannon and I flipped through magazines of dresses. As I flipped through the pages, I remembered a game I would play with my friends when I was younger, when we would flip through a magazine and would choose one thing on each page that we would buy if we had to choose. In my mind, I choose a dress from each page, amazed at the thought that for about $15 a piece, I could actually HAVE each dress custom made from my choice of material and tailored to my exact measurements. My latent consumerist urges began to shake off their covers and stretch their arms towards the light.
From the tailor, we went into the market, where Marjie showed us where to buy cotton, silk and who to go to for material specific to the tailor we had just met - the tailor's sister. Having decided to limit my initial foray into the world of personal tailoring to the three garments I had already set in motion, I passed on purchasing anything more.
As left the market, we made a last minute detour from our path to the bus stop to stop into a frozen yogurt place we spotted on our way past the market. For 25,000 per 100 grams, we could choose from a variety of flavors of frozen yogurt and an array of toppings. Again I was transported back to my youth, but this time to a TCBY for one of my near bi-weekly parfaits with hot caramel and Reese's peanut butter cups.
After our yogurt, we caught a bus back to Marjie's and saw Shannon off before taking a seat at a little seafood stand tucked into an alley just a few turns from Marjie's house. A freestanding metal counter held bowls of oysters, mussels, scallops (still in the shell - who knew?), and a variety of other shellfish. We pointed to two dishes of scallops and a plate of mussels and sat down on small plastic chairs around a folding metal table to wait for our food.
As we waited, Marjie ask me if I had tried some sort of bean drink, to which I replied that I had not. She let me around the corner to another metal stand, this time with a frosted plastic front that hid bowls filled with what looked like various types of beans, small fruits and other unidentifiable gelatinous substances. Not one to shy from new experiences I agreed to have one of whatever she ordered and we went back to our table.
Our drinks and food arrived almost simultaneously and tucking into both, I was again reminded of one of the reasons I love Viet Nam. The food is phenomenal. The drink, what I will hereby refer to as "my little glass of heaven," was a mix of fresh coconut juice, a ton of sugar and loaded with beans that must have been soaked in sugar for days and some other jelly like blobs that just added to the mystery and experience of my new favorite drink. It tastes much better than it sounds. The mussels and scallops were grilled with garlic and scallions and accompanied by a bowl of chili-laden fish sauce, lime and salt and pepper and were as tasty as any I've ever had. When we were finished, the entire meal cost us the equivalent of $1.50 a piece.
Marjie and I parted ways at her apartment and I went back to the main road to catch the bus back home, but not before confirming that we would all meet up that night to see a movie at Bobby Brewer's for dinner and a movie.
As I walked down the road to the bus stop, I thought, "I could stay in Viet Nam...if every day were like today..."
The night before I had spent an hour on the websites of Anne Taylor, Banana Republic, Dillard's, Sierra Trading Post and more, bookmarking outfits that I would love to have, but would never be able to afford. I knew that I wouldn't be able to print them out for the following day, but I wanted to be prepared for the Pandora's box of shopping possiblities that I knew was about to open before me.
Since I didn't have any print outs, at 10:00 on Saturday morning, I jumped on the back of a xe om with my favorite t-shirt and skirt, which I'd heard could be cloned with incredible skill into one of a dizzying array of fabrics.
I met Marjie and Shannon at Marjie's house and we set off through the Saturday morning market to meet the women she buys fabric from. Tuy and Than were seated up against the side of one of the buildings in a side alley behind a table covered with fabric. Fabric also lined the shelves behind them and spilled over under another table to the right of the first. Marjie introduced us and I handed one of the women my skirt, which both Shannon and I decided we'd have made in another color.
Tuy examined the skirt and then pointed to a row of fabrics from which we could choose. We each picked out a color and then we showed them my shirt and a pair of Shannon's shorts and we repeated the process. Armed with $15 worth of fabric for two shirts and a skirt, I followed Marjie and Shannon back through the market to Marjie's tailor.
We entered a small store front room with a sewing machine set up along one wall, various fabrics and garments hanging from a rack on the other and a curtain of sorts dividing the front shop from whatever lay behind. Again, Marjie introduced us to the women in the shop who greeted us warmly and then set about measuring us and asking questions about our garments, "same, same?" To which we replied that we wanted the exact same size just different colors.
We left our fabric with Marjie's neighborhood tailor and went to catch the bus to visit her other tailor near the Ben Thanh market, to whom she entrusted more complicated designs.
Once at the bus stop, we bought spring rolls from my usual spring roll lady and munched on them as we crossed through the traffic to the market. While Marjie talked with her second tailor about a dress she wanted, Shannon and I flipped through magazines of dresses. As I flipped through the pages, I remembered a game I would play with my friends when I was younger, when we would flip through a magazine and would choose one thing on each page that we would buy if we had to choose. In my mind, I choose a dress from each page, amazed at the thought that for about $15 a piece, I could actually HAVE each dress custom made from my choice of material and tailored to my exact measurements. My latent consumerist urges began to shake off their covers and stretch their arms towards the light.
From the tailor, we went into the market, where Marjie showed us where to buy cotton, silk and who to go to for material specific to the tailor we had just met - the tailor's sister. Having decided to limit my initial foray into the world of personal tailoring to the three garments I had already set in motion, I passed on purchasing anything more.
As left the market, we made a last minute detour from our path to the bus stop to stop into a frozen yogurt place we spotted on our way past the market. For 25,000 per 100 grams, we could choose from a variety of flavors of frozen yogurt and an array of toppings. Again I was transported back to my youth, but this time to a TCBY for one of my near bi-weekly parfaits with hot caramel and Reese's peanut butter cups.
After our yogurt, we caught a bus back to Marjie's and saw Shannon off before taking a seat at a little seafood stand tucked into an alley just a few turns from Marjie's house. A freestanding metal counter held bowls of oysters, mussels, scallops (still in the shell - who knew?), and a variety of other shellfish. We pointed to two dishes of scallops and a plate of mussels and sat down on small plastic chairs around a folding metal table to wait for our food.
As we waited, Marjie ask me if I had tried some sort of bean drink, to which I replied that I had not. She let me around the corner to another metal stand, this time with a frosted plastic front that hid bowls filled with what looked like various types of beans, small fruits and other unidentifiable gelatinous substances. Not one to shy from new experiences I agreed to have one of whatever she ordered and we went back to our table.
Our drinks and food arrived almost simultaneously and tucking into both, I was again reminded of one of the reasons I love Viet Nam. The food is phenomenal. The drink, what I will hereby refer to as "my little glass of heaven," was a mix of fresh coconut juice, a ton of sugar and loaded with beans that must have been soaked in sugar for days and some other jelly like blobs that just added to the mystery and experience of my new favorite drink. It tastes much better than it sounds. The mussels and scallops were grilled with garlic and scallions and accompanied by a bowl of chili-laden fish sauce, lime and salt and pepper and were as tasty as any I've ever had. When we were finished, the entire meal cost us the equivalent of $1.50 a piece.
Marjie and I parted ways at her apartment and I went back to the main road to catch the bus back home, but not before confirming that we would all meet up that night to see a movie at Bobby Brewer's for dinner and a movie.
As I walked down the road to the bus stop, I thought, "I could stay in Viet Nam...if every day were like today..."
Toi khong co chia hoa
I came home at 1:30 a.m. after a Friday evening out with the girls to find that all three of the locks were on the door. Long ago, my key for the third, square lock had broken off after too many unsuccessful attempts and I had never replaced it because I was never locked out without Steven. Unfortunately, this evening, Steven and his key, were up in our apartment behind two very heavily locked doors.
Looking around my on the street, I noted a group of men sitting at a table at the end of alley drinking beers, a few people walking by on the side walk and the usual stream of trucks lumbering by every five minutes. Not enough people to make a complete fool out of myself in front of, but witnesses nonetheless. I reached through the door and grabbed the lock and banged in against the door hoping that Steven was up watching TV in the living room and would hear me. Nothing. I was attempted to knock again, but didn't want to risk waking up the neighbors at 1:30 in the morning.
I walked back out on the side walk and looked up at the windows. All of the lights were on. Still not sure of what to do, but noting that I was drawing looks from everyone still out on the street, I retreated down the alley and pulled out my phone contemplating my next move. Steven lost his phone in a cab when we came back from Singapore so I couldn't call him. I could go back to Marjie's to sleep, but I didn't relish the idea of getting a ride all the way to her house just to be locked out in someone else's neighborhood if she didn't answer the door. I thought about getting someone to call him on Skype, thinking that the ring might wake him up, but I wasn't even sure if he had the computer on. Looking up, I found myself at the end of the alley and decided to stick with Plan A. Throwing rocks at the window.
I went to the next street and gathered up a handful of stones. Walking back down the alley to our street, I dreaded the thought of being more of a spectacle than I already am, merely being an American in Vien Nam. Tomorrow I would be "that crazy foreign woman whose husband locked her out of the house." Then I had an idea.
Walking out of the alley on to the street, I walked up to the men at the table. As they looked up at me with startled looks on their faces, I handed each of them a rock and pointed at our window. "Toi khong co chi hoa," I told them in my broken Vietnamese, "I don't have a key." "Chung toi di ngu." "My husband is sleeping." Two of the men smiled, shook their heads and handed me back the rocks, but the third guy got up and joined me.
We walked over to a patch of sidewalk under our living room window and let the first rocks fly. But no movement from inside. We exhausted our supply of rocks, watching as they pinged off the bars over the windows or disappeared over the balcony. We looked up, then looked at each other and immediately began collecting rocks from the sidewalk. The rocks got bigger and bigger, but still no Steven. We moved to the bedroom window. A whole ten minutes later, I was ready to give up, but my accomplice was more determined. He began breaking up pieces of broken sidewalk and chucking them at our bedroom window.
Finally, there was movement from inside and Steven's head peared out from behind the curtains.
"STEVEN!", I shouted. "LET ME IN."
His head disappeared. I turned to the man beside me and said, "Cam on, qua," "Thank you very much." He smiled and headed off for his bike. I noticed that he was idling on the street as I waited for Steven to unlock all of the locks to let me in and didn't drive off until I was safely inside.
When I got into the living room, I noticed that the glass doors had been left open and the floor was littered with rocks. Too tired to clean them up, I followed Steven to bed.
Looking around my on the street, I noted a group of men sitting at a table at the end of alley drinking beers, a few people walking by on the side walk and the usual stream of trucks lumbering by every five minutes. Not enough people to make a complete fool out of myself in front of, but witnesses nonetheless. I reached through the door and grabbed the lock and banged in against the door hoping that Steven was up watching TV in the living room and would hear me. Nothing. I was attempted to knock again, but didn't want to risk waking up the neighbors at 1:30 in the morning.
I walked back out on the side walk and looked up at the windows. All of the lights were on. Still not sure of what to do, but noting that I was drawing looks from everyone still out on the street, I retreated down the alley and pulled out my phone contemplating my next move. Steven lost his phone in a cab when we came back from Singapore so I couldn't call him. I could go back to Marjie's to sleep, but I didn't relish the idea of getting a ride all the way to her house just to be locked out in someone else's neighborhood if she didn't answer the door. I thought about getting someone to call him on Skype, thinking that the ring might wake him up, but I wasn't even sure if he had the computer on. Looking up, I found myself at the end of the alley and decided to stick with Plan A. Throwing rocks at the window.
I went to the next street and gathered up a handful of stones. Walking back down the alley to our street, I dreaded the thought of being more of a spectacle than I already am, merely being an American in Vien Nam. Tomorrow I would be "that crazy foreign woman whose husband locked her out of the house." Then I had an idea.
Walking out of the alley on to the street, I walked up to the men at the table. As they looked up at me with startled looks on their faces, I handed each of them a rock and pointed at our window. "Toi khong co chi hoa," I told them in my broken Vietnamese, "I don't have a key." "Chung toi di ngu." "My husband is sleeping." Two of the men smiled, shook their heads and handed me back the rocks, but the third guy got up and joined me.
We walked over to a patch of sidewalk under our living room window and let the first rocks fly. But no movement from inside. We exhausted our supply of rocks, watching as they pinged off the bars over the windows or disappeared over the balcony. We looked up, then looked at each other and immediately began collecting rocks from the sidewalk. The rocks got bigger and bigger, but still no Steven. We moved to the bedroom window. A whole ten minutes later, I was ready to give up, but my accomplice was more determined. He began breaking up pieces of broken sidewalk and chucking them at our bedroom window.
Finally, there was movement from inside and Steven's head peared out from behind the curtains.
"STEVEN!", I shouted. "LET ME IN."
His head disappeared. I turned to the man beside me and said, "Cam on, qua," "Thank you very much." He smiled and headed off for his bike. I noticed that he was idling on the street as I waited for Steven to unlock all of the locks to let me in and didn't drive off until I was safely inside.
When I got into the living room, I noticed that the glass doors had been left open and the floor was littered with rocks. Too tired to clean them up, I followed Steven to bed.
Sorry About all the Posts
I'm sorry about the posts, but I've been backed up and wanted to get back on track with what is going on now. So now I think I am up to date.
A Taste of the Dark Side
About 7:58 this morning, I awoke to someone yelling and banging on the door. I took about two minutes to get up and dressed while whoever it was continued to yell and bang on the door. Finally, I opened the door to some guy yelling in Vietnamese and pointing at the power box. Luckily one of our English speaking neighbors walked by to interpret.
The translation of all the yelling was that I needed to pay our power bill right then or he would cut our power. I was confused since we had already paid for December in early January and the next bill usually doesn't come out until the beginning of the following month. So I explained that we had already paid for December and asked if this was for January or "one month" - thinking maybe they collected early before Tet.
Our neighbor translated what I'd said (or so I assumed) and then turned to me and repeated the first message, "You have to pay now down at the post office or he will cut your power."
I got a little defensive then asking why it was such a problem when we paid our bill every month and he said again, "You have to go down to the post office to pay your bill or he will cut your power."
So I said, "Does he have a bill that I can see? How can I pay a bill, when I don't have a bill?" So he said something to the guy that was yelling and he handed me a bill for 400.000 (or about $23) which I thought was somewhat reasonable. I thanked our neighbor and stood in the door way studying the bill while he walked away.
As I was looking at the bill the new electric guy started peering around me into the apartment, so I moved my body to block his view. Then he did it again, so I said, in English, "I'd rather you not do that" and I closed the door so that I was blocking the small space and he couldn't see past me. Then I held up one finger and backed into our apartment closing the door behind me.
When I checked the bill against the other bills, I saw that it wasn't the same company and it wasn't even for our address. So I called Mr. Viet, our landlord, and opened the door and handed the phone to the electric guy still standing outside the door. He yelled a bit and passed the phone back. I tried to explain that it was not our bill, but Mr. Viet just repeated what the guy said to him, "You owe 600,000 for power for two months and you need to go pay now." I tried to explain, in broken English, that the bill was only for 400,000 and we had paid our bills and it wasn't even for our address but nothing was getting across, so I thanked him and hung up. Just then our regular bill guy walked up, said something to the other guy, took one look at my relieved expression and waved me away, shutting our gate protectively (or so I felt). I smiled and thanked him and shut the door.
After putting away the paid bills I had retried from their file, I went to the computer to email Steven all about the would-be-shyster faux bill collector and noticed that the internet wasn't working. I looked down and the lights on the surge protector were off. I tried the light switch and sure enough the guy had cut the lights.
I gathered together all of our bills, my Vietnamese language dictionary and my ATM card and went downstairs. On my way I thought to call Phuong, the woman who had helped us find our apartment, so I called her, explained everything and asked her to call Mr. Viet. While I was explaining the situation to her, some of our neighbors walked by - a couple and a new tenant - and when they walked outside I saw them talking to the gum lady and pointing at me as I talked on the phone in the stairwell. When I hung up the phone, I went outside and saw that our regular bill guy had joined them, so I went over to them and asked them what the problem was. They said that there was no problem. I explained that I had paid all of our bills and they translated to our bill guy and he shook his head yes. Then I explained that our power had been cut. When they translated, the bill guy looked shocked, shook his head and headed back into the apartment.
I followed him up the stairs and opened the door, demonstrating that the lights didn't work. While he worked, I stood in the doorway, comfortable in my faith that he wasn't casing our apartment for a future heist, thinking how lucky I was to have developed a trusting relationship with our bill collector, without having ever had a verbal conversation. He flipped a switched and the lights came back on. Just as I turned to thank him, they went out again. He frowned and did something else and they came back on. He held up one finger and went back down the stairs.
I went back inside and started an email to Steven and there was another knock on the door just as the phone began to ring. I picked up the phone and it was Phuong saying that Mr. Viet had said that the guy said we owed for December, that they had come and we hadn't paid. I explained to her that we had, and our regular guy was right there (fixing the light - that had been tampered with? - with a screwdriver). So I handed him the phone and he talked to Phoung for a minute and handed the phone back. She said that he said that you have paid all of your bills. I thanked her and hung up; thanked the bill guy and shut the door.
The whole ordeal only took about 45 minutes to sort out, but it made me realize how lucky we've been not to have run ins like that before over other things. It is good that we have built some trusting relationships here, for people to help us out when something like that happens. I thought about what it would be like if I were some poor Vietnamese woman, really behind on my bills, and that jerk came and was yelling at me to pay money I didn't have and threatening to do something worse than cut off my power. It made me realize, in a little bit more real way, how life might be scary for the Vietnamese.
The translation of all the yelling was that I needed to pay our power bill right then or he would cut our power. I was confused since we had already paid for December in early January and the next bill usually doesn't come out until the beginning of the following month. So I explained that we had already paid for December and asked if this was for January or "one month" - thinking maybe they collected early before Tet.
Our neighbor translated what I'd said (or so I assumed) and then turned to me and repeated the first message, "You have to pay now down at the post office or he will cut your power."
I got a little defensive then asking why it was such a problem when we paid our bill every month and he said again, "You have to go down to the post office to pay your bill or he will cut your power."
So I said, "Does he have a bill that I can see? How can I pay a bill, when I don't have a bill?" So he said something to the guy that was yelling and he handed me a bill for 400.000 (or about $23) which I thought was somewhat reasonable. I thanked our neighbor and stood in the door way studying the bill while he walked away.
As I was looking at the bill the new electric guy started peering around me into the apartment, so I moved my body to block his view. Then he did it again, so I said, in English, "I'd rather you not do that" and I closed the door so that I was blocking the small space and he couldn't see past me. Then I held up one finger and backed into our apartment closing the door behind me.
When I checked the bill against the other bills, I saw that it wasn't the same company and it wasn't even for our address. So I called Mr. Viet, our landlord, and opened the door and handed the phone to the electric guy still standing outside the door. He yelled a bit and passed the phone back. I tried to explain that it was not our bill, but Mr. Viet just repeated what the guy said to him, "You owe 600,000 for power for two months and you need to go pay now." I tried to explain, in broken English, that the bill was only for 400,000 and we had paid our bills and it wasn't even for our address but nothing was getting across, so I thanked him and hung up. Just then our regular bill guy walked up, said something to the other guy, took one look at my relieved expression and waved me away, shutting our gate protectively (or so I felt). I smiled and thanked him and shut the door.
After putting away the paid bills I had retried from their file, I went to the computer to email Steven all about the would-be-shyster faux bill collector and noticed that the internet wasn't working. I looked down and the lights on the surge protector were off. I tried the light switch and sure enough the guy had cut the lights.
I gathered together all of our bills, my Vietnamese language dictionary and my ATM card and went downstairs. On my way I thought to call Phuong, the woman who had helped us find our apartment, so I called her, explained everything and asked her to call Mr. Viet. While I was explaining the situation to her, some of our neighbors walked by - a couple and a new tenant - and when they walked outside I saw them talking to the gum lady and pointing at me as I talked on the phone in the stairwell. When I hung up the phone, I went outside and saw that our regular bill guy had joined them, so I went over to them and asked them what the problem was. They said that there was no problem. I explained that I had paid all of our bills and they translated to our bill guy and he shook his head yes. Then I explained that our power had been cut. When they translated, the bill guy looked shocked, shook his head and headed back into the apartment.
I followed him up the stairs and opened the door, demonstrating that the lights didn't work. While he worked, I stood in the doorway, comfortable in my faith that he wasn't casing our apartment for a future heist, thinking how lucky I was to have developed a trusting relationship with our bill collector, without having ever had a verbal conversation. He flipped a switched and the lights came back on. Just as I turned to thank him, they went out again. He frowned and did something else and they came back on. He held up one finger and went back down the stairs.
I went back inside and started an email to Steven and there was another knock on the door just as the phone began to ring. I picked up the phone and it was Phuong saying that Mr. Viet had said that the guy said we owed for December, that they had come and we hadn't paid. I explained to her that we had, and our regular guy was right there (fixing the light - that had been tampered with? - with a screwdriver). So I handed him the phone and he talked to Phoung for a minute and handed the phone back. She said that he said that you have paid all of your bills. I thanked her and hung up; thanked the bill guy and shut the door.
The whole ordeal only took about 45 minutes to sort out, but it made me realize how lucky we've been not to have run ins like that before over other things. It is good that we have built some trusting relationships here, for people to help us out when something like that happens. I thought about what it would be like if I were some poor Vietnamese woman, really behind on my bills, and that jerk came and was yelling at me to pay money I didn't have and threatening to do something worse than cut off my power. It made me realize, in a little bit more real way, how life might be scary for the Vietnamese.
Moments of Clarity
Wednesday, I awoke at 5:50 a.m. to the sound of our alarm and switched it off, knowing that my phone alarm would ring again in 10 minutes, giving me time to get up, shower, dress, eat and be out to meet my driver at 6:40 a.m. and at school by 7:00 a.m. with 15 minutes to spare before I began my first class. I wasn't looking forward to my classes since I remembered my Wednesday and Thursday classes to be the more difficult of the two campuses, but, I told myself, it is only 3 hours and 45 minutes and you'll have the rest of the day to yourself.
I was up and out right on schedule and walked into my first class with just a little more trepidation than I had entered my previous days' classes. To my amazement, the kids actually listened to me when I spoke. They were quiet and attentive. When I gave them an assignment to do, most of the actually did it. I almost had to pinch myself. Because they weren't so noisy and I didn't have to yell, I was able to joke with them and enjoy myself. By the time was over in the morning, I was even more unsure of my decision to resign, realizing that the position wasn't as bad as I had made it out to be and that I could actually do it. The unfortunate part of my indecision was that I had a meeting with Khoi to "sort out my decision." I left the school with a lighter step and headed to the bus stop to catch the bus to District Three and the UNESCO office.
The bus I take to both SCC and UNESCO is the 54 which runs down Dien Bien Phu. Dien Bien Phu is my new favorite place to buy fruit. Ladies (and the occasional man) line the street with conical hats and bicycles with big bag baskets filled with brilliant orange tangerines, bright red rambutans and whatever other fruit is in season. From 30,000 VND a kilo in our neighborhood, rambutans on Dien Bien Phu go for 8,000 VND a kilo. A kilo of tangerines sets you back 10,000 VND (17,000 VND = $1). I hate to buy fruit in bulk anywhere else knowing how cheap I can get it here.
Standing on the sidewalk as the bus pulled away, I realized that I only had a 100,000 VND bill with me and I could hardly expect one of the fruit ladies to change such a large bill. I decided to see if I could find a store where I could buy an iced green tea for 8,000 and get some change. After walking a few blocks, I had seen many restaurants, but no little shops, so I decided to see if I could simply break the bill at one of the restaurants. As I walked in, the one non-Vietnamese in the vicinity, I could see that familiar look of panic cross the cashier's face. The look that, with a quick widening of the eyes and an anxious glance to the left and right, that says, "Oh No. Here comes a westerner. Is there anyone around here that speaks English?!" Despite her look of panic, I walked right up to the cashier and said, "Co hai num muoi nhang?" (Do you have two 50 thousands?) and handed her my 100,000 bill. A look of relief washed over her face and she smiled as she took my bill and handed me two 50,000 VND bills. I smiled and thanked her in Vietnamese and walked out like I'd been speaking Vietnamese all my life. It wasn't much, but it was a great feeling being able to communicate without speaking a word of English.
After getting my change, I bought a kilo of tangerines and half a kilo of rambutans asking for both purchases in Vietnamese ("mot kilo," "nua kilo") and then headed to UNESCO for my meeting with Khoi.
I wasn't looking forward to the meeting, but I wasn't dreading it either. Khoi is one of the friendliest people I've ever met and the worst part of leaving UNESCO for me was the thought of letting him down. I also realized that I had grown to like having somewhere to go in the morning and walking around the city after work in my work clothes feeling like I was just another resident going about my weekly chores, as opposed to another backpacker passing through. I'd also grown fond of the kids, as much as I dread teaching. Under all their initial attitude and lack of interest, they all seemed like genuinely nice kids and those that I had developed a rapport with were even enjoyable to teach. I knew that I had taken on too much and that I wouldn't necessarily look forward to teaching four days a week for the next five months, but I also knew that if I had to, I could do it and I would probably become better at it over time. I also liked the fact that I was bringing in money. Steven's job covers all of our basic expenses as well as his financial obligations back in Atlanta, but my job allowed us to have a more carefree lifestyle and gave us the option of getting away to see different places. But being so busy had cut me off from any type of social awareness, from the time I needed, not just to live in Viet Nam, but to process the experience and get this most out of it, and, admittedly, from being the happy homemaker I had enjoyed being when I had nothing better to do - shopping at the market, keeping the apartment clean, making nice dinners for Steven and myself. What I needed was a compromise. I thought that if I could work just two days a week, I would maintain my sense of purpose and reliable income with regular employment, but I would also open my schedule up to things more along the lines of my profession, allow me to be more involved at SCC and give me more time to enjoy living in Viet Nam. I had no idea if Khoi would agree to this proposition, but I thought that it was worth a shot to make an offer and see if it was one that would work for both of us.
Once at UNESCO, after a few minutes of discussing my needs verses the needs of UNESCO, Khoi offered the same solution that I had thought up just minutes before. I was grateful for his understanding and he was happy to have me stay on board. I left the office feeling a little guilty at leaving some of my kids behind, but excited about the prospect of my new schedule and all that it might bring.
Sitting on the bus on the way home, I had time to reflect on our brief time here in Viet Nam and I realized how much of a learning process it has been and how much I have truly come to enjoy living in Viet Nam. It may not have the temples or monks of Thailand; it may not have the frijoles negros served with every meal as in Guatemala, but it has its own charm and I am looking forward to the next six months.
I was up and out right on schedule and walked into my first class with just a little more trepidation than I had entered my previous days' classes. To my amazement, the kids actually listened to me when I spoke. They were quiet and attentive. When I gave them an assignment to do, most of the actually did it. I almost had to pinch myself. Because they weren't so noisy and I didn't have to yell, I was able to joke with them and enjoy myself. By the time was over in the morning, I was even more unsure of my decision to resign, realizing that the position wasn't as bad as I had made it out to be and that I could actually do it. The unfortunate part of my indecision was that I had a meeting with Khoi to "sort out my decision." I left the school with a lighter step and headed to the bus stop to catch the bus to District Three and the UNESCO office.
The bus I take to both SCC and UNESCO is the 54 which runs down Dien Bien Phu. Dien Bien Phu is my new favorite place to buy fruit. Ladies (and the occasional man) line the street with conical hats and bicycles with big bag baskets filled with brilliant orange tangerines, bright red rambutans and whatever other fruit is in season. From 30,000 VND a kilo in our neighborhood, rambutans on Dien Bien Phu go for 8,000 VND a kilo. A kilo of tangerines sets you back 10,000 VND (17,000 VND = $1). I hate to buy fruit in bulk anywhere else knowing how cheap I can get it here.
Standing on the sidewalk as the bus pulled away, I realized that I only had a 100,000 VND bill with me and I could hardly expect one of the fruit ladies to change such a large bill. I decided to see if I could find a store where I could buy an iced green tea for 8,000 and get some change. After walking a few blocks, I had seen many restaurants, but no little shops, so I decided to see if I could simply break the bill at one of the restaurants. As I walked in, the one non-Vietnamese in the vicinity, I could see that familiar look of panic cross the cashier's face. The look that, with a quick widening of the eyes and an anxious glance to the left and right, that says, "Oh No. Here comes a westerner. Is there anyone around here that speaks English?!" Despite her look of panic, I walked right up to the cashier and said, "Co hai num muoi nhang?" (Do you have two 50 thousands?) and handed her my 100,000 bill. A look of relief washed over her face and she smiled as she took my bill and handed me two 50,000 VND bills. I smiled and thanked her in Vietnamese and walked out like I'd been speaking Vietnamese all my life. It wasn't much, but it was a great feeling being able to communicate without speaking a word of English.
After getting my change, I bought a kilo of tangerines and half a kilo of rambutans asking for both purchases in Vietnamese ("mot kilo," "nua kilo") and then headed to UNESCO for my meeting with Khoi.
I wasn't looking forward to the meeting, but I wasn't dreading it either. Khoi is one of the friendliest people I've ever met and the worst part of leaving UNESCO for me was the thought of letting him down. I also realized that I had grown to like having somewhere to go in the morning and walking around the city after work in my work clothes feeling like I was just another resident going about my weekly chores, as opposed to another backpacker passing through. I'd also grown fond of the kids, as much as I dread teaching. Under all their initial attitude and lack of interest, they all seemed like genuinely nice kids and those that I had developed a rapport with were even enjoyable to teach. I knew that I had taken on too much and that I wouldn't necessarily look forward to teaching four days a week for the next five months, but I also knew that if I had to, I could do it and I would probably become better at it over time. I also liked the fact that I was bringing in money. Steven's job covers all of our basic expenses as well as his financial obligations back in Atlanta, but my job allowed us to have a more carefree lifestyle and gave us the option of getting away to see different places. But being so busy had cut me off from any type of social awareness, from the time I needed, not just to live in Viet Nam, but to process the experience and get this most out of it, and, admittedly, from being the happy homemaker I had enjoyed being when I had nothing better to do - shopping at the market, keeping the apartment clean, making nice dinners for Steven and myself. What I needed was a compromise. I thought that if I could work just two days a week, I would maintain my sense of purpose and reliable income with regular employment, but I would also open my schedule up to things more along the lines of my profession, allow me to be more involved at SCC and give me more time to enjoy living in Viet Nam. I had no idea if Khoi would agree to this proposition, but I thought that it was worth a shot to make an offer and see if it was one that would work for both of us.
Once at UNESCO, after a few minutes of discussing my needs verses the needs of UNESCO, Khoi offered the same solution that I had thought up just minutes before. I was grateful for his understanding and he was happy to have me stay on board. I left the office feeling a little guilty at leaving some of my kids behind, but excited about the prospect of my new schedule and all that it might bring.
Sitting on the bus on the way home, I had time to reflect on our brief time here in Viet Nam and I realized how much of a learning process it has been and how much I have truly come to enjoy living in Viet Nam. It may not have the temples or monks of Thailand; it may not have the frijoles negros served with every meal as in Guatemala, but it has its own charm and I am looking forward to the next six months.
Back to Reality
There were moments in Bali when I would wake up with a feeling of great foreboding and then realize that my thoughts had wandered back to the classroom and I was dreading going back to what I was now remembering as time spent completely out of my element, in front of a group of 38 noisy students, shouting in vain that "I could be home watching TV" in an attempt to explain to them that they should treat me with a little more respect. I was proud of my successful attempts to banish these thoughts of the future and concentrate on the present, whether it was laying on a lounge chair listening to the sounds of the ocean, or riding on the back of a motorbike through countryside so picturesque I was tempted to stop every 10 feet to admire the scene.
So upon my return, I had resolved to turn in the one month notice required in my contract, allowing UNESCO to find another teacher to take over my classes. I felt a little guilt, but my guilt was overpowered by my desire to wake up in the morning and be happy to be alive instead of filled with dread about my upcoming day.
To my surprise, on Monday morning my first classes were attentive and enjoyable. As were my second. Writing them off as a fluke, I sent my email of resignation, although with slightly more guilt than confidence in my decision. My afternoon classes were fine as well and I left the school wondering if I couldn't just make this work.
On Tuesday, I received a reply to my email asking that I come into the office on Wednesday to discuss my decision - although now I was not so sure just what my decision was. My classes that day went well and I caught myself looking at some of the students I had come to like and feeling bad that I would not be seeing them much longer. I figured that Wednesday would harden my resolve as the kids in the second campus were notoriously misbehaved.
Wednesday morning came and my raucous students had been miraculously replaced with a classroom full of angels. What was going on? Who were these kids?!
I joined my fellow teachers for a glass of nuoc mia (fresh sugarcane juice with lime) and thought about how much I enjoyed their company and wrestled mentally with my decision even as they assured me that I needed to think of myself and that life was too short to be miserable at work.
The song that had pulled us back into the bar in the early hours of New Year's day began running through my head as I thought back to my days with nothing to fill my hours and classrooms full of rowdy students. "Should I stay or should I go now..."
So upon my return, I had resolved to turn in the one month notice required in my contract, allowing UNESCO to find another teacher to take over my classes. I felt a little guilt, but my guilt was overpowered by my desire to wake up in the morning and be happy to be alive instead of filled with dread about my upcoming day.
To my surprise, on Monday morning my first classes were attentive and enjoyable. As were my second. Writing them off as a fluke, I sent my email of resignation, although with slightly more guilt than confidence in my decision. My afternoon classes were fine as well and I left the school wondering if I couldn't just make this work.
On Tuesday, I received a reply to my email asking that I come into the office on Wednesday to discuss my decision - although now I was not so sure just what my decision was. My classes that day went well and I caught myself looking at some of the students I had come to like and feeling bad that I would not be seeing them much longer. I figured that Wednesday would harden my resolve as the kids in the second campus were notoriously misbehaved.
Wednesday morning came and my raucous students had been miraculously replaced with a classroom full of angels. What was going on? Who were these kids?!
I joined my fellow teachers for a glass of nuoc mia (fresh sugarcane juice with lime) and thought about how much I enjoyed their company and wrestled mentally with my decision even as they assured me that I needed to think of myself and that life was too short to be miserable at work.
The song that had pulled us back into the bar in the early hours of New Year's day began running through my head as I thought back to my days with nothing to fill my hours and classrooms full of rowdy students. "Should I stay or should I go now..."
Happy New Year 2009!
We had been told that the only thing to do in Singpore was shop and while Singapore probably has the most shopping malls in any square block than anywhere else in the world, there is much more to do. We wandered around taking in the sights, sampled the international cuisine and read up on all the other things we could do if we only had more money. While Singapore is beautiful, it is also expensive.
As dusk began to settle over the city, Steven and I unwillingly made our way back to the Hawaii Hostel to change for the evening. After a quick shower, change and roach check, we ate Thai at a restaurant next door and headed back to the river to ring in the new year.
We bypassed all of the pricey seafood restaurants and found a bar blasting international dance music and settled in for some drinks and some people watching. Around 11:50 p.m. another couple came into the bar. Noticing our table full of horns and noise makers and other new year goodies provided by the bar, while their table remained empty as the hour ticked closer, Steven asked me to share our horns.
We brought in the new year with our new friends and spent our first morning of 2009 trading stories of our lives as western couples living in Asia and enjoying all that Singpore's nightlife has to offer.
As dusk began to settle over the city, Steven and I unwillingly made our way back to the Hawaii Hostel to change for the evening. After a quick shower, change and roach check, we ate Thai at a restaurant next door and headed back to the river to ring in the new year.
We bypassed all of the pricey seafood restaurants and found a bar blasting international dance music and settled in for some drinks and some people watching. Around 11:50 p.m. another couple came into the bar. Noticing our table full of horns and noise makers and other new year goodies provided by the bar, while their table remained empty as the hour ticked closer, Steven asked me to share our horns.
We brought in the new year with our new friends and spent our first morning of 2009 trading stories of our lives as western couples living in Asia and enjoying all that Singpore's nightlife has to offer.
Singapore
Steven and I rode back to Ubud after three days in Candidasa with just enough time to catch a ride to the airport. We arrived back in Singapore at 12:30 a.m. on December 31 and got a cab to our room in the Hawaii Hostel.
After three days on the beach, the Hawaii Hostel came as a bit of a shock. Tucked between glitzy shopping centers in one of Singapore's many upscale shopping districts, the Hawaii Hostel is a relic of Singapore's less prosperous days. We hauled our bags up two flights of musty stairs, picked up our key from the friendly guy at reception and walked up another two flights of stairs to the third floor.
The hall was lined with dirty mattresses and broken furniture. Behind our door, we found a single bed, corner shower stall and bedside table with chair all crammed into a tiny, windowless cell of a room. But that wasn't the worst of it. Our entrance had stirred the resident cockroaches and as we stood in the door way, we watched as they all scurried for safety.
1:30 in the morning on New Year's Eve found us squashing cockroaches, piling our bags on top of each other on a table pulled away from the wall and laying down, fully clothed, with the lights on and trying to get some sleep.
The next day, we got out early to do some sightseeing and to see if we could find a new hotel for the following night.
After three days on the beach, the Hawaii Hostel came as a bit of a shock. Tucked between glitzy shopping centers in one of Singapore's many upscale shopping districts, the Hawaii Hostel is a relic of Singapore's less prosperous days. We hauled our bags up two flights of musty stairs, picked up our key from the friendly guy at reception and walked up another two flights of stairs to the third floor.
The hall was lined with dirty mattresses and broken furniture. Behind our door, we found a single bed, corner shower stall and bedside table with chair all crammed into a tiny, windowless cell of a room. But that wasn't the worst of it. Our entrance had stirred the resident cockroaches and as we stood in the door way, we watched as they all scurried for safety.
1:30 in the morning on New Year's Eve found us squashing cockroaches, piling our bags on top of each other on a table pulled away from the wall and laying down, fully clothed, with the lights on and trying to get some sleep.
The next day, we got out early to do some sightseeing and to see if we could find a new hotel for the following night.
The Beach
Steven and I wound up on Candidasa "Beach," which in keeping with our Bali experience wasn't exactly a beach, but was beautiful and a great place to relax for a few days before making our way back to Viet Nam via Singapore.
Temple in Candidasa
Fish for sale on the road
Our Cottages
Sunset over Candidasa
Our view of the pagoda on the jetty
Sunset Views
Sunset Views
Lagoon in Candidasa
Temple in Candidasa
Fish for sale on the road
Our Cottages
Sunset over Candidasa
Our view of the pagoda on the jetty
Sunset Views
Sunset Views
Lagoon in Candidasa
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Balinese Art
From their homes and places of worship, to the offerings they provide for their gods, the Balinese are artists. Even the food, that Steven I grew quite fond of through our trip, was an artistic expression. Ubud, Bali's artistic center, is lined with shop after shop after shop after shop of art and crafts, both traditional and those obviously created with the international tourist in mind (I did not see one giraffe in Bali, but I saw thousands of wooden giraffes...). If I could have, I would have brought back and entire suitcase full of art, but as we were running on limited funds we couldn't get too crazy, but we did manage to pick up a few souvenirs.
Traditional Balinese Offering (after a few hours on the sidewalk)
Vegetarian Nasi Campur. YUM!
Balinese Masks
Wooden wind chimes to add a hint of Bali to the background of Saigon Traffic...
Our own little Barong
Our Personal Balinese Guardian (Beware evil doers...)
Traditional Balinese Offering (after a few hours on the sidewalk)
Vegetarian Nasi Campur. YUM!
Balinese Masks
Wooden wind chimes to add a hint of Bali to the background of Saigon Traffic...
Our own little Barong
Our Personal Balinese Guardian (Beware evil doers...)
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