OSHA would have a field day in Viet Nam. Construction workers in flip flops, loose electric wires dangling from every pole, open sewers, and the most rudimentary of construction equipment you'd find almost anywhere outside of rural Cambodia. A few months back, I was having tea with a co-worker on the outside patio of a cafe near our school, while some men worked on a construction project on the second floor. We watched as they hauled up plastic buckets filled with dirt from the sidewalk with a rope, mere feet from the cafe's other patrons. Without warning, one of the buckets came crashing down and smashed open on the floor with such force that it would have done serious bodily harm to anyone who happened to be in its path. Luckily for the men working, and any potential victims, no one was hurt and they simply continued their work with a new bucket.
Having forgot about that incident, I found myself sitting on the sidewalk outside of Steven's school this morning after I had dropped him off, watching a construction crew on a house being rebuilt across the street. I watched as a woman in flip flops (and socks) loaded bags of dried cement onto a hook. The hook was attached to a cable that ran the eight stories to the roof of the building where it looped around a metal bar and ran back down to a manual winch operated by a man on the sidewalk. I marveled again at the simplicity with which the Vietnamese conduct their construction projects. Just before I started off for home, there was a crash and the air filled with thick white dust. Startled, I watched as a woman who had been walking down the street quickly hurried through the cloud brushing the white powder out of her hair and covering her face with the other hand. As the dust cleared, it was apparent that the bag hadn't taken anyone with it when it came crashing down and soon the woman was back at it, loading the next bag in line.
Rationalizing that it would be quite a coincidence for me to have been witness to the only two times anything had come crashing down off of a construction site, I made a mental note not to loiter anywhere anything was being hauled any distance from the ground.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Banh Tom
I confessed to my Vietnamese teacher last week that I was losing my motivation to study Vietnamese since I won't be needing it much longer and proposed that we do something else with our time together, since she's become as much of a friend as a teacher. She agreed and we spent a few hours together last week visiting local markets and sampling various Vietnamese sweet soups that they make with various ingredients including rice, beans, noodles, bananas, mushrooms and always topped with sweet coconut milk.
This week she came over and showed me how to make banh tom, Vietnamese shrimp and sweet potato pancakes. Delicious. I should have suggested this months ago!
This week she came over and showed me how to make banh tom, Vietnamese shrimp and sweet potato pancakes. Delicious. I should have suggested this months ago!
Free At Last!
I have officially finished my brief stint in the teaching profession. The end was bitter sweet, but I can't say I'm sorry I'm finished. It was rough, but I stuck it out and I am officially free!
Here are some shots from my last day:
Waiting for the "Bus"
Climbing Aboard
Last Day on the 147
Driver from the back
TVK School
alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338199269957889778" />
Here are some shots from my last day:
Waiting for the "Bus"
Climbing Aboard
Last Day on the 147
Driver from the back
TVK School
alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338199269957889778" />
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
A massage by any other name...
My brother is coming to visit next week and our friends Johnnie and Tony are coming in a few weeks, so this weekend Steven and I set off on the important mission of scouting out massage parlours that offer a good massage for a decent price, just in case they were interested in spending an hour or two of their trip getting pampered.
If you're looking for a (reputable) massage parlour in HCMC, the best place to go is District One where parlours offering foot massages, hot stone massages, full body massages, skin treatments, mud bathes and more, compete for customers on almost every corner. However, being in District One, as everything else in that part of town, most salons charge as much for an hour massage in Viet Nam as they charge in the US which, to my thinking, is ridiculous.
When Steven and I have gone for massages, we have either gone to a local massuse in a neighborhood where our friends live for less than $2 an hour or to the blind massuse place near the race track for a little over $2 an hour. While these places have great massages, your two dollars doesn't go far enough to cover things like aircondition, soft music, or other comforts that lend to a soothing salon environment - things that we are happy to forgo, but that we thought our guests might prefer. We decided to seek out a place that would offer an option somewhere in between the District 1 salons and our $2 massages.
We stopped first at a place about 15 minutes from our home where I had stopped in months before when considering a massge for Steven's birthday. They quoted me a price of $10 for a 60 minute massage, which I considered for a minute before thinking to myself - '$10 is a lot of money' and deciding to keep loooking. The next place we went into was a fancy looking hotel offering full body and foot massages. They too quoted me a price of $10 for an hour and before I could respond handed me a key to one of the rooms. I hastily returned the key and stepped quickly down the stairs back to where Steven was waiting on our motorbike.
Zero for two, Steven suggested that we try to find the blind massage parlour near the back packer district that we had gone to on our first visit to Viet Nam. Having had a decent experience at the blind massage school near the race track, we decided to check it out.
The massages at this massage school cost 40,000 VND or a little over $2, with the option of paying 10,000 VND more for an airconditioned room. Steven and I opted for the airconditioning and went our separate ways, him to the men's massage room and me to the ladies.
I entered the ladies massage room and was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of concentrated Ben Gay. The room was large with four simple stalls on each side of a wide open central area. Each stall contained a simple massage table and a small bureau with locking drawers for your things, with a curtain closing each stall off from the central area. One of the massueses entered my stall and said something to me in Vietnamese. I answered that I was from the US and spoke very little Vietnamese. She then switched to English and asked me to disrobe and wait a few moments, before closing my curtain behind her. I did as I was told and settled, face down on the table, to wait for my massuse.
After a few minutes wait, another massuse entered my stall and made her way over to the table and began to douse me with a liquid solution that I recognized as the source of the strong smell in the room. As my skin begain to warm, she walked around to stand at my head, put four fingers of each hand on my upper back and began to move her fingers back and forth over one spot, without lifting them. A question arose in my mind. She continued this for what seemed like an eternity and I began to wonder if she were actually a trained massuse. When she finally finished with this small part of my back, she walked over to the side of the table and pressed her fingers in the right side of my back until she found a bone and once she had located this spot, proceeded to rub the skin back and forth over the bone, again without lifting her fingers. She then moved further along the bone and repeated this movement. When she finished with that side, she moved to the other side and repated the sequence. After 10 minutes, I had yet to experience one remotely pleasurable sensation and was in sincere doubt about this woman's qualifications as a massuse. I began to thinking seriously about whether or not I wanted to bear this treatment for an entire 60 minute session.
Just as that thought popped into my head, she began pounding on my back with such force, I began to fear for my physical safety.
She finished her pounding and went back to her back and forth rubbing of my bones. For a second, she began pinching the skin along my side, but jumped immediately back into the bone rattling pounding of my back. She punctuated this misery with an occasional inquiry as to my wellbeing, which which I replied outloud, that, yes, I was okay, while inside trying to think of some white lie that would allow me to leave suddenly without causing her to feel too bad. At this point, I was convinced that they had run out of female massuses and, not wanting to miss out on my 50,000 VND, asked the staff secretary to fill in.
When she began the bone rubbing on my leg and continued with such time and pressure that I instinctly crimged in pain, I decided that I had better get out and get out fast before she caused permenant damage.
I swung my legs down from the table and tried to explain that I wasn't feeling well and needed to use the bathroom. She didn't understand my pidgeon Veitnamese, so finally I just repeated the word for bathroom until she understood and rapidly dressed before she could ask me any questions.
Once out of the massage room, I made for the stairs and was soon out on the street witout looking back - a fugitive from the massage parlour - vowing next week to cough up the $10 for a real massage.
If you're looking for a (reputable) massage parlour in HCMC, the best place to go is District One where parlours offering foot massages, hot stone massages, full body massages, skin treatments, mud bathes and more, compete for customers on almost every corner. However, being in District One, as everything else in that part of town, most salons charge as much for an hour massage in Viet Nam as they charge in the US which, to my thinking, is ridiculous.
When Steven and I have gone for massages, we have either gone to a local massuse in a neighborhood where our friends live for less than $2 an hour or to the blind massuse place near the race track for a little over $2 an hour. While these places have great massages, your two dollars doesn't go far enough to cover things like aircondition, soft music, or other comforts that lend to a soothing salon environment - things that we are happy to forgo, but that we thought our guests might prefer. We decided to seek out a place that would offer an option somewhere in between the District 1 salons and our $2 massages.
We stopped first at a place about 15 minutes from our home where I had stopped in months before when considering a massge for Steven's birthday. They quoted me a price of $10 for a 60 minute massage, which I considered for a minute before thinking to myself - '$10 is a lot of money' and deciding to keep loooking. The next place we went into was a fancy looking hotel offering full body and foot massages. They too quoted me a price of $10 for an hour and before I could respond handed me a key to one of the rooms. I hastily returned the key and stepped quickly down the stairs back to where Steven was waiting on our motorbike.
Zero for two, Steven suggested that we try to find the blind massage parlour near the back packer district that we had gone to on our first visit to Viet Nam. Having had a decent experience at the blind massage school near the race track, we decided to check it out.
The massages at this massage school cost 40,000 VND or a little over $2, with the option of paying 10,000 VND more for an airconditioned room. Steven and I opted for the airconditioning and went our separate ways, him to the men's massage room and me to the ladies.
I entered the ladies massage room and was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of concentrated Ben Gay. The room was large with four simple stalls on each side of a wide open central area. Each stall contained a simple massage table and a small bureau with locking drawers for your things, with a curtain closing each stall off from the central area. One of the massueses entered my stall and said something to me in Vietnamese. I answered that I was from the US and spoke very little Vietnamese. She then switched to English and asked me to disrobe and wait a few moments, before closing my curtain behind her. I did as I was told and settled, face down on the table, to wait for my massuse.
After a few minutes wait, another massuse entered my stall and made her way over to the table and began to douse me with a liquid solution that I recognized as the source of the strong smell in the room. As my skin begain to warm, she walked around to stand at my head, put four fingers of each hand on my upper back and began to move her fingers back and forth over one spot, without lifting them. A question arose in my mind. She continued this for what seemed like an eternity and I began to wonder if she were actually a trained massuse. When she finally finished with this small part of my back, she walked over to the side of the table and pressed her fingers in the right side of my back until she found a bone and once she had located this spot, proceeded to rub the skin back and forth over the bone, again without lifting her fingers. She then moved further along the bone and repeated this movement. When she finished with that side, she moved to the other side and repated the sequence. After 10 minutes, I had yet to experience one remotely pleasurable sensation and was in sincere doubt about this woman's qualifications as a massuse. I began to thinking seriously about whether or not I wanted to bear this treatment for an entire 60 minute session.
Just as that thought popped into my head, she began pounding on my back with such force, I began to fear for my physical safety.
She finished her pounding and went back to her back and forth rubbing of my bones. For a second, she began pinching the skin along my side, but jumped immediately back into the bone rattling pounding of my back. She punctuated this misery with an occasional inquiry as to my wellbeing, which which I replied outloud, that, yes, I was okay, while inside trying to think of some white lie that would allow me to leave suddenly without causing her to feel too bad. At this point, I was convinced that they had run out of female massuses and, not wanting to miss out on my 50,000 VND, asked the staff secretary to fill in.
When she began the bone rubbing on my leg and continued with such time and pressure that I instinctly crimged in pain, I decided that I had better get out and get out fast before she caused permenant damage.
I swung my legs down from the table and tried to explain that I wasn't feeling well and needed to use the bathroom. She didn't understand my pidgeon Veitnamese, so finally I just repeated the word for bathroom until she understood and rapidly dressed before she could ask me any questions.
Once out of the massage room, I made for the stairs and was soon out on the street witout looking back - a fugitive from the massage parlour - vowing next week to cough up the $10 for a real massage.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
A Dangerous World
The last time I was in Viet Nam, I returned home with two perfectly tailored suits and and a backless, princess-style "Oscar" dress tailored to my exact specifications. All for under $20. Since I've been in Viet Nam this time around, I have managed to resist the temptation to commission a tailor to make another dress - since I've yet to wear the first - but I have begun to feel the pull of the tailor as my days of opportunity are drawing to a close.
A few months back, I accompanied some friends on a maiden shopping voyage and was overwhelmed by the sheer quantity and variety of fabrics available in the markets here. Stalls, six feet wide and 15 feet high, jam packed with reams of cottons, silks, linens, polyesters, rayon and more in every imaginable color and design stand side-by-side in a dizzying maze of rows. The problem is not finding something you like, it is narrowing down the countless options of things that you like into one or two purchases. To prepare for the trip, I unleashed my normally dormant consumerist on websites for Macy's, Dillard's, Nordstrom, Victoria Secret (who knew they made dresses?), Gap, Anne Taylor and others and spent hours drooling over $500 dresses that I knew I could have copied for less than 15 US. But after one short afternoon, my internal minimalist and deep seeded frugality won out over materialistic greed, not out of a lack of desire, but out of sheer terror over the monster I could become if allowed to shop at will in this paradise of excess.
After that trip, I settled for a copy of a skirt and a t-shirt that I had brought along from my current wardrobe. I was happy with the result, but frightened enough by the experience that I refrained from dipping my toes into those waters again.
However, when I realized that I only had four weeks left in Viet Nam, I simultaneously realized that I only had four weeks left to get clothes made in Viet Nam. I decided to forge back into the market for one last trip, my rational being that I would save so much money in the future, if I came home with a perfectly tailored wardrobe for under 100 US.
I met up with my old shopping partners and we made our way to a new market in district three. I was armed with printouts of dresses, pants, skirts and tops that would sell for over $100 a piece in the stores, that I would never dream of owning in other circumstances. Back in the market, I was again overwhelmed by the unimaginable volume of fabrics, ream after ream, shelf after shelf, rows behind rows. After walking around in a daze for the first few minutes, Katherine took me aside.
"Ok, Sharon. We have to do this rationally. Pick one thing that you need and let's go find it. Then we'll move on to the next thing. If you just look, you'll never find anything. We've got to do this one thing at a time."
Grateful to have the calming, rational advice of my new self-appointed personal shopper, I decided to look for the simplest thing on my list - linen for some white linen pants. White linen found. Two meters at $2 a meter. Purchased. Next, some sheer black silk for a dress. And on we went. Forty minutes later, I had fabric for white linen pants, a black silk party dress, a casual cotton dress, and two short cotton skirts. It wasn't my complete list, but it was enough for one day and we all made our way back out of the market, Shannon declaring "Look straight ahead, girls. No stopping for anything!"
The following Tuesday, having a day off from work, I took the material to the tailor where I was measured for each of my garments and quoted a price of 820,000 Vietnamese Dong or 46 US for two dresses, two skirts and a pair of pants and a date to return in two weeks. As I walked out the door, I found myself planning a return trip. What woman couldn't use a few more dresses...?
A few months back, I accompanied some friends on a maiden shopping voyage and was overwhelmed by the sheer quantity and variety of fabrics available in the markets here. Stalls, six feet wide and 15 feet high, jam packed with reams of cottons, silks, linens, polyesters, rayon and more in every imaginable color and design stand side-by-side in a dizzying maze of rows. The problem is not finding something you like, it is narrowing down the countless options of things that you like into one or two purchases. To prepare for the trip, I unleashed my normally dormant consumerist on websites for Macy's, Dillard's, Nordstrom, Victoria Secret (who knew they made dresses?), Gap, Anne Taylor and others and spent hours drooling over $500 dresses that I knew I could have copied for less than 15 US. But after one short afternoon, my internal minimalist and deep seeded frugality won out over materialistic greed, not out of a lack of desire, but out of sheer terror over the monster I could become if allowed to shop at will in this paradise of excess.
After that trip, I settled for a copy of a skirt and a t-shirt that I had brought along from my current wardrobe. I was happy with the result, but frightened enough by the experience that I refrained from dipping my toes into those waters again.
However, when I realized that I only had four weeks left in Viet Nam, I simultaneously realized that I only had four weeks left to get clothes made in Viet Nam. I decided to forge back into the market for one last trip, my rational being that I would save so much money in the future, if I came home with a perfectly tailored wardrobe for under 100 US.
I met up with my old shopping partners and we made our way to a new market in district three. I was armed with printouts of dresses, pants, skirts and tops that would sell for over $100 a piece in the stores, that I would never dream of owning in other circumstances. Back in the market, I was again overwhelmed by the unimaginable volume of fabrics, ream after ream, shelf after shelf, rows behind rows. After walking around in a daze for the first few minutes, Katherine took me aside.
"Ok, Sharon. We have to do this rationally. Pick one thing that you need and let's go find it. Then we'll move on to the next thing. If you just look, you'll never find anything. We've got to do this one thing at a time."
Grateful to have the calming, rational advice of my new self-appointed personal shopper, I decided to look for the simplest thing on my list - linen for some white linen pants. White linen found. Two meters at $2 a meter. Purchased. Next, some sheer black silk for a dress. And on we went. Forty minutes later, I had fabric for white linen pants, a black silk party dress, a casual cotton dress, and two short cotton skirts. It wasn't my complete list, but it was enough for one day and we all made our way back out of the market, Shannon declaring "Look straight ahead, girls. No stopping for anything!"
The following Tuesday, having a day off from work, I took the material to the tailor where I was measured for each of my garments and quoted a price of 820,000 Vietnamese Dong or 46 US for two dresses, two skirts and a pair of pants and a date to return in two weeks. As I walked out the door, I found myself planning a return trip. What woman couldn't use a few more dresses...?
Coming Home
For the past few months, I've been wrestling with a decision. In early March I learned that one of my best friends was getting married in June, before our proposed return to the US in July and I was crushed. Seventeen years, thousands of phone calls, hundreds of pictures, numerous trips, countless hours of conversation, volumes of advice, rooms full of laughter, buckets of tears, and winding roads of memories make up our friendship. The thought that I wouldn't be at her wedding, the 'happiest day' of her life - selfishly - was crushing. But I had responsibilities here. I had a contract to fulfill, a brother to host, a husband to support, an experience to complete. I wrestled with ways to make it work. I pondered. I rationalized. I agonized. I waited for my brother to buy his ticket. Finally - I decided. I'm coming home!
On June 6th, Crystie will tie the knot and I will have the privilege of being there in person to witness it all. It was a tough decision to make because I will be leaving Steven for a week on his own in Viet Nam and then for two weeks of travel with dear friends, but as much as I would like, I can't be in two places at once. In the end, after all of our years of friendship, I didn't want to miss this day. In 50 years, when we're reminiscing about our lives, our marriages, our weddings, I didn't want to not have those memories. And when would I have another opportunity to spend a few uninterrupted weeks with my parents and friends that I have seen in a year? And, luckily, I've been blessed with a wonderful, supportive husband, with whom I'll have many, many years and many trips to make up for missing out on this one.
So with the click of a button on the Orbiz website, I made my decision final. 8:36 p.m. on June 4th will find me at Palm Beach International Airport waiting for my parents with open arms. The clock is now ticking on my time in Viet Nam.
On June 6th, Crystie will tie the knot and I will have the privilege of being there in person to witness it all. It was a tough decision to make because I will be leaving Steven for a week on his own in Viet Nam and then for two weeks of travel with dear friends, but as much as I would like, I can't be in two places at once. In the end, after all of our years of friendship, I didn't want to miss this day. In 50 years, when we're reminiscing about our lives, our marriages, our weddings, I didn't want to not have those memories. And when would I have another opportunity to spend a few uninterrupted weeks with my parents and friends that I have seen in a year? And, luckily, I've been blessed with a wonderful, supportive husband, with whom I'll have many, many years and many trips to make up for missing out on this one.
So with the click of a button on the Orbiz website, I made my decision final. 8:36 p.m. on June 4th will find me at Palm Beach International Airport waiting for my parents with open arms. The clock is now ticking on my time in Viet Nam.
Vietnamese People
We met a couple on our trip to Hanoi from Spain on their honeymoon. When I asked them what they thought of Viet Nam, they said that they thought it was beautiful and that the people were very friendly. I paused for a moment and told them that it was really nice to hear that because you don't always hear nice things from travelers in Viet Nam when you ask about Vietnamese people.
When I traveled through Viet Nam in 2005, by the time I'd reached Hanoi, I had had my fill of Viet Nam and Vietnamese people, while at the same time feeling like I really hadn't gotten to know Viet Nam. In 2005, the Vietnamese tourist machine was in full gear and travelers could get off the plane in Ho Chi Minh City and make it all the way to Hanoi without cracking open a guide book. Touts at the airport took you to a hotel run by their brother, who booked you on a tour bus with stops at all the popular spots. The bus then picked you up at your hotel, stopped to eat at a restaurant owned by the bus drivers mother, before depositing you at a hotel run by their friend. The people at the hotel recommended a tour to keep you busy until you wanted a bus to your next destination and the whole process began all over. The only Vietnamese you came into contact with were in the tourist industry, which meant that they were well aware of the economic divide between Vietnamese and Western tourists and worked to close that divide one unsuspecting tourist at a time. With only this experience to go by, many left feeling cheated, both out of their money and out of a genuine experience of Viet Nam.
Since we've been in Viet Nam this time around I've gotten to know more about Vietnamese people in various walks of life and have had very little to do with the cogs in the Vietnamese tourist machine. And while I would never want to generalize an entire people, I would still hesitate to call Vietnamese people friendly.
I spent the morning on Tuesday shopping for fabrics to add to my personal tailoring marathon that began last week and will end when I leave Viet Nam in June. I had heard from one of my fellow teachers that the fabric in the market in China Town was the cheapest around, so I decided to begin my day there. Because it is well off the tourist track, I was the only non-Vietnamese person in the market and was greeted with a host of unsmiling faces.
In general, on the streets of Viet Nam, you are not greeted with friendly smiles. Curious, sometimes bordering on hostile, stares - yes, friendly smiles - no. Even in our own neighborhood, we get more blank faced stares than acknowledging nods, except for those with whom we have had personal contact or developed some form of relationship. But we have found that under those unyielding masks, lie (in many cases) warm, thoughtful, caring people who will go out of their way to make sure, once welcomed, that guests have every comfort and feel welcome to return.
You can't stop for long to look at anything in many Vietnamese markets without a chair appearing from no where and the shop keeper offering you a seat. Spend enough time browsing through the stalls and you'll soon receive knowing smiles in response to your wrinkled brow of indecision. Buy something and you will be greeted and recognized on your next visit. Walk by a corner of xe om drivers enough for them to recognize you and shouts of "You! Moto!?" turn into friendly smiles. Frequent a shop or a restaurant and you rapidly feel like a regular, always recognized and welcomed with familiar grins. Work for any length of time with Vietnamese people and you are soon accepted as a friend.
So while, after 10 months, I still wouldn't characterize Vietnamese people as friendly, I have learned to see past their caution with strangers and to appreciate the hard won smiles that appear when I walk past. After an awful day at school, all it takes is one friendly "Chao" from one of the regular xe om drivers I see and the school day is forgotten.
When I traveled through Viet Nam in 2005, by the time I'd reached Hanoi, I had had my fill of Viet Nam and Vietnamese people, while at the same time feeling like I really hadn't gotten to know Viet Nam. In 2005, the Vietnamese tourist machine was in full gear and travelers could get off the plane in Ho Chi Minh City and make it all the way to Hanoi without cracking open a guide book. Touts at the airport took you to a hotel run by their brother, who booked you on a tour bus with stops at all the popular spots. The bus then picked you up at your hotel, stopped to eat at a restaurant owned by the bus drivers mother, before depositing you at a hotel run by their friend. The people at the hotel recommended a tour to keep you busy until you wanted a bus to your next destination and the whole process began all over. The only Vietnamese you came into contact with were in the tourist industry, which meant that they were well aware of the economic divide between Vietnamese and Western tourists and worked to close that divide one unsuspecting tourist at a time. With only this experience to go by, many left feeling cheated, both out of their money and out of a genuine experience of Viet Nam.
Since we've been in Viet Nam this time around I've gotten to know more about Vietnamese people in various walks of life and have had very little to do with the cogs in the Vietnamese tourist machine. And while I would never want to generalize an entire people, I would still hesitate to call Vietnamese people friendly.
I spent the morning on Tuesday shopping for fabrics to add to my personal tailoring marathon that began last week and will end when I leave Viet Nam in June. I had heard from one of my fellow teachers that the fabric in the market in China Town was the cheapest around, so I decided to begin my day there. Because it is well off the tourist track, I was the only non-Vietnamese person in the market and was greeted with a host of unsmiling faces.
In general, on the streets of Viet Nam, you are not greeted with friendly smiles. Curious, sometimes bordering on hostile, stares - yes, friendly smiles - no. Even in our own neighborhood, we get more blank faced stares than acknowledging nods, except for those with whom we have had personal contact or developed some form of relationship. But we have found that under those unyielding masks, lie (in many cases) warm, thoughtful, caring people who will go out of their way to make sure, once welcomed, that guests have every comfort and feel welcome to return.
You can't stop for long to look at anything in many Vietnamese markets without a chair appearing from no where and the shop keeper offering you a seat. Spend enough time browsing through the stalls and you'll soon receive knowing smiles in response to your wrinkled brow of indecision. Buy something and you will be greeted and recognized on your next visit. Walk by a corner of xe om drivers enough for them to recognize you and shouts of "You! Moto!?" turn into friendly smiles. Frequent a shop or a restaurant and you rapidly feel like a regular, always recognized and welcomed with familiar grins. Work for any length of time with Vietnamese people and you are soon accepted as a friend.
So while, after 10 months, I still wouldn't characterize Vietnamese people as friendly, I have learned to see past their caution with strangers and to appreciate the hard won smiles that appear when I walk past. After an awful day at school, all it takes is one friendly "Chao" from one of the regular xe om drivers I see and the school day is forgotten.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Monkey Island
Last week one of my fellow teachers was talking about her trip to Monkey Island and I perked up, always keen on being anywhere I can see monkeys. She told me that it was a nature preserve two hours southeast of Saigon by motorbike and that we couldn't miss it because there was only one road out there.
So last Saturday, Steven and I packed a bag full of sunscreen and rain ponchos and headed out to Monkey Island. After a two hour drive in the heat and traffic, we found Monkey Island to be a welcome retreat filled with monkeys, crocodiles and a little walking part-fish-part-frog thing that I'm going to call "the missing link."
So last Saturday, Steven and I packed a bag full of sunscreen and rain ponchos and headed out to Monkey Island. After a two hour drive in the heat and traffic, we found Monkey Island to be a welcome retreat filled with monkeys, crocodiles and a little walking part-fish-part-frog thing that I'm going to call "the missing link."
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Hanoi
Last weekend, Steven and I took four days to explore Hanoi and visit the beautiful Ha Long Bay.
Street Market
The Presidential Palace
Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum
Ho Chi Minh's House on Stilts
Ho Chi Minh's Bedroom
HCM's Office
Flag Tower at the Military Museum
Flag Tower
Courtyard full of captured miliary vehicles from Viet Nam's wars with France and the US
Stone Cannon Balls at the Military Museum
Model of the Tunnels at Cu Chi
Temple of Literature
Turtles at the Temple of Literature
Temple in the Middle of Hoan Kiem Lake
Marina at Ha Long City
Traditional Ha Long "Junk"
Our Boat's Dragon Head
Our Boat
Our deck
Our Deck
View from our Deck
Our Dining Deck
Entering into Ha Long Bay
Ha Long Bay
Kayaking
Steven paddling hard
Rice Fields of North Viet Nam
Street Market
The Presidential Palace
Ho Chi Minh's Mausoleum
Ho Chi Minh's House on Stilts
Ho Chi Minh's Bedroom
HCM's Office
Flag Tower at the Military Museum
Flag Tower
Courtyard full of captured miliary vehicles from Viet Nam's wars with France and the US
Stone Cannon Balls at the Military Museum
Model of the Tunnels at Cu Chi
Temple of Literature
Turtles at the Temple of Literature
Temple in the Middle of Hoan Kiem Lake
Marina at Ha Long City
Traditional Ha Long "Junk"
Our Boat's Dragon Head
Our Boat
Our deck
Our Deck
View from our Deck
Our Dining Deck
Entering into Ha Long Bay
Ha Long Bay
Kayaking
Steven paddling hard
Rice Fields of North Viet Nam
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