R.I.P Peter Nguyen

Steven and I were heading to the gym around 9:30 on Saturday morning, explaining to our friend and current house guest, Meghan, that the gym was part of a Country Club, although it wasn't like what you would think when you hear the term "Country Club," when we noticed a covered table set for twelve positioned right outside our door.

"That looks more like a country club," Steven remarked, as we all gathered closer to the gate to see what was developing in the alley.

The table in front of our gate was one of three lined up along the alley, all covered in white table cloths and set with full place settings for twelve people each. Guessing that perhaps someone was getting married, we noticed a fire blazing to the right, just feet from our door, and immediately revised our presumption - someone had died.

In Viet Nam, when people die, it is common to provide them with items that they may need in the afterlife through the burning of paper and cardboard representations of the desired items. As we watched, the deceased was given a few paper outfits, a paper house filled with fake paper money, a tray of cardboard food, a selection of cardboard accessories, including sunglasses, shoes, cigarettes, a belt, and a razor, and my favorite, a cardboard BMW.

Not wanting to miss the festivities, but also intent on getting in a workout and some quality relaxation poolside at the Lan An, Steven and I left as soon as the fire was out and it was safe to squeeze our motorbike out the door.

When we returned later that day, we found the party in full swing. The first two tables were empty, but the one outside of our house, was filled with 'mourners,' all men, singing along to the acoustic strumming of one of the group. The floor under and around the table was littered with crushed beer cans, evidence that the party had been in full swing for some time. The table top, covered with plates of fruit and desserts, and a full glass of beer in front of every man, suggested that the party was still going strong.

As soon as we pulled up, the men pulled out two extra plastic stools and gestured for us to sit down. I hesitated for a moment, walked inside to place our bag on the porch and returned to join the party. In the moment I had been gone, a full glass of beer had materialized in front of Steven and the empty chair that was now mine. Steven happily raised his glass, while I politely declined, figuring from the amount of cans on the ground, that I wouldn't be offered just one and I wasn't ready to call it a day at 2 in the afternoon.

Not long after, we were introduced to the Vietnamese concept of "Tram Phan Tram" or 100%, in which one man holds up his glass, clinks his glass with yours and announces, "Tram Phan Tram," indicating that you will both now chug the entire contents of your glass. Sitting back, happy with myself for getting off the train before it turned into a mass of casualties strewn around the floor of our alley, I watched as man after man raised his glass with Steven, "Tram Phan Tram!" Four glasses in less than ten minutes. We were soon joined by Meghan who had been watching the revelry from afar, but decided to join once we'd settled in, and the cycle of "Tram Phan Tram!" began again.

Throughout the hours that we sat at the table, we were treated to rounds of beer and coke and various songs, of whose words we could not understand, but whose melodies and infectiousness we could appreciate. Between songs, the one man among them who spoke some English, most of them we had by now recognized as our neighbors, asked us about what we did and told us a little about why they were there - their friend, Peter Nguyen, 49 had died recently due to complications with alcohol - a fact that Meghan remarked upon later that evening as somewhat understandable given the state of all of his friends at his wake.

Finally, as the sun began to set, and various revelers had come and gone, I decided it was time for some sustenance other than grapes and coke and beer, and set out to make dinner. Around 8:30, the men having dispersed one-by-one to their respective houses as the day wore on, the party finally ended and Peter Nguyen's memory was laid to rest, at least for the day.

Tables Set for the Wake

The burning of offerings for the next life

Preparing Accessories and other Offerings

A plaid shirt for the afterlife

A meal for the road including fresh coconut juice.

And of course - a BMW!

The party in full swing outside our door.

Steven, Meghan and I join the party.

Hours of drinking = instant friends!

Live entertainment, food and drink.

Mr. "Manh," our English speaking neighbor and resident musician.

 

Meghan and her new friend - the last, and only, left standing. 

Kevin's Pictures from June 2008

I am finally getting around to posting some of the pictures Kevin took while he was here in June. Thanks, Kev!

You can never have enough pictures of Notre Dame

Saigon's Central Post Office

Old fashioned phone booths in the Central Post Office

Portrait of Uncle Ho in the Central Post Office

Old Map of Indochina - Central Post Office

Reunification Palace - Headquarters of the South Vietnamese Army during the war

Meeting Room inside the Reunification Palace (so named after Reunification)

Helicopter on top of Reunification Palace

Inside the Underground Headquarters of the South Vietnamese Army

Map Room - Inside the Underground Headquarters of the South Vietnamese Army

Wartime Bedroom of South Vietnamese President Nguyen Van Thieu

Wartime Desk of South Vietnamese President Nguyen Van Thieu

A picture of Vietnamese citizens scrambling for helicopters during the Fall of Saigon

A War Memorial HCMC

A Vietnamese Style Buddhist Pagoda

Chai Dau - Veitnamese Bean Drink with Coconut Milk

Grilled Scallops with Scallions and Peanuts

Mussels and Lemongrass

A Breakfast fit for a King

My Driver, Manh from the early days of our Vietnamese adventure

 

An entry way at a Chinese Pagoda in Da Lat

Typical Tin Slums along a river in HCMC

Typical Tin Slums along a river in HCMC

 

Vietnamese putting on their ponchos as the rain begins.

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Phu My Bridge Phun Run

A few Saturday's ago, Steven and I ran the Phu My Bridge Phun Run, a 5K race across a newly constructed bridge between Districts 2 and 7 southwest of central Saigon. Along with over 3,500 other participants, we christened the bridge before its official opening to traffic by running up, down, around and back over the bridge in a race that took a little over 20 minutues. The starting line was a the beginning of the bridge in District 7 and continued straight up a grueling incline to the top, where we then had to use much our energy simply to keep from tumbling down the steep decline head first, only to turn around and repeat the process. It was a rough race, but it was a nice way to spend a morning.

An Unwelcome Fertilizer

When we were searching for a house, my top priority was location. I wanted an alley, Vietnamese neighbors and a local market. For Steven, his top priority was a roof top deck or balcony where we could enjoy the outdoors and cultivate our own herb and vegetable garden. Luckily for us, our new house meets both of our needs. And our balcony even came equipped with its own built-on flower box.

The first week we were here, Steven planted some seeds and began checking on them regularly to assess their progress. After about a week, he came to me disgusted, informing me that the neighborhood cat apparently liked to use our flower box in lieu of a litter box. After a few days of grumbling and cleaning out the unwelcome mess, I began thinking of ways to reclaim our soil.

Last weekend, we went one of the city's many plant stores and bought a bunch of pots and a huge bag of potting soil. Afterward, we stopped into the supermarket across the street where I began scouring the isles for something to use to keep the cat out. Finally, after some inspired searching, we checked out armed with two garment bags and a bag of party straws.

Once at home, we began, by scooping as much of the dirt and other unmentionables (along with two batteries!) out of the flower box as I could, leaving us about six inches of space for our new seed bed - the idea being that the seedlings would be re-potted in fresh soil long before their roots could travel down to the remaining soil, although now free of batteries, surely containing all manner of other nasty stuff. After the new soil was laid and new seeds were planted, we set about constructing our "cat shield." In what turned out to be a more labor intensive process than I'd imagined, we spent the next two hours cutting the laundry bags into pieces, sewing the netting to the straws which were placed about four inches apart at the front end of the flower box, deep in the soil, and tying the other part to the short metal railing separating the balcony wall from the flower box which juts out over the alley, creating a makeshift net tent enclosing the entire box.

As we worked, we drew the inquisitive stares of children playing in the alley as well as those of the men working on the house two houses up from ours. When our neighbor across the alley came out on her second floor balcony to watch us, I managed to say, "Cat" with a disgusted face in Vietnamese and she nodded with understanding.

Now almost a week after the construction and a few torrential downpours, our cat shield is still standing and, from the looks of it, serving its intended purpose. The only potiential clue we have had as to the reaction of the cat toward our disruption of its bathroom habits is a dead rat on our balcony last night, which could easily be unrelated, or it could be the cat's way of saying, "Take down the sheild, or you'll be next....".

The World is Their Toliet

A friend once joked that a typical Vietnamese postcard should show the back of a man relieving himself against a wall or on the side of the road somewhere as that is probably one of the most common sights in the country. I have become accustomed to the sight, although it still doesn't sit well with me, because in a city where I don't feel comfortable wearing shorts, it seems crazy that men feel free to blatantly expose themselves to urinate in plain view of hundreds of passersby, not to mention the fact that it is unsanitary and not at all conducive to a pleasant walk through the city.

Just the other day, I walked by an old man who had one entire leg of his pants hiked up to his groin and was urinating out the leg of his pants. I can't imagine that there isn't an easier way. I have heard that the government is working on a public education campaign to promote the use of public toilets, but given a recent story in Thanh Nien News reporting that public toilets in Viet Nam are among the "dirtiest in Asia," I don't see that happening any time soon. For now, I will continue averting my eyes and quickening my step and hoping that one day men in Viet Nam will learn to keep their business behind closed doors.

The case of the missing shoes...

This summer I was helping a friend move into her new apartment and as we all took items from the car and walked them up the three flights of stairs to her apartment, I was always conscious that there was someone going down as someone went up. At one point, we were all up in the apartment and I said, "Shouldn't someone be down by the car with all the stuff?" to which I was told, "Sharon, we're in South Florida." Right. This isn't Viet Nam.

While Viet Nam has an extraordinarily low reported violent crimes rate (I won't claim to know the unreported rate), it's petty / property crime rate must be astronomical. You frequently hear stories of bags being stolen off of shoulders by thieves speeding by on motorbike or things disappearing the moment you turn your head. But even with all the stories, it isn't until you experience it yourself that you remember to be diligent about keeping watch over your possessions and sometimes even then diligence fades with time...

One morning last week as I walked Steven out the door as he was leaving for work, I noticed that our shoe rack was askew and there were shoes strewn about in a manner that we wouldn't have done ourselves. I looked at Steven and said something along the lines of "This is strange. Do you think someone stole our shoes?" to which he immediately replied, "Someone stole our shoes!"

After a few harried moments, we ascertained that we were indeed missing a pair of Steven's dress shoes, both of our running shoes, one of Steven's Indian sandals and one brown sneaker of mine. Looking outside our locked gate, I noticed the mates to the sandals and my brown sneakers leaning up against the outside of our house. After another few moments speculation, we realized that whomever had taken our shoes had done so while I was out and Steven had left the gate partially open and that at some point during the night, once they  realized that they only had two lone shoes without mates, they had generously returned our single shoes so that we wouldn't be left with only one shoe and presumably, because one shoe wouldn't bring much profit to them either.

It was distressing for a day or so, but once we replaced our running shoes and got back out on the track, we chalked it up to another lesson learned (never leave the gate unlocked) and were grateful that at least we were robed by a theif with somewhat of a conscience.

Street Markets at Risk

I am trying to be more on top of local news this time around, so I have made the Thanh Nien Daily, a local English language newspaper, our homepage. This morning, I was horrified to read the news of government action towards doing away with local markets. With the impending ban on cyclos on the streets, it is obvious that the Vietnamese government is trying to go the way of Singapore - modern, sterile and relatively culturally neutral. This is not to say that  I don't love Singapore, but I will never know what it was like 20, 30, 50 years ago because everything is so new. Viet Nam's charm, in large part, is due to the life on it's streets, while obviously modernizing, still bustling with life as it was many years ago. Not to mention the loss of livelihood that this decision could cause millions of villagers and townspeople who earn their living selling food out of their homes, carts and in the countless local markets throughout the country. Luckily, for now,  the decision has been overturned, not due to the great potential harm it could cause, but for the nonspecific nature of the language in  the bill. I hope that coverage of this story sparks more opposition. I am all for progress, but not at the expense of culture and the people who depend on these markets for their livelihood.

Read the complete news story in Thanh Nien Daily here.

 

Mr. Steven at work.

 

Steven's Classroom

 

Stairwell at AIS

 

New developments and construction going up in Binh Thanh

 

New subway construction on the road to the school.

Steven has been teaching for a little over a week and a half now and is really enjoying it. Since last year, when the AIS middle and upper level classes were all in one building, the middle school has been moved from the building in District 10 into a separate building in Binh Thanh District, spreading AIS students into three separate districts of the ctiy. The new building is right off of Nguyen Huu Canh, a major throughway between District One and District Two as well as a major artery out of the city. This major artery is now being torn up for the addition of the first Vietnamese subway system. Between District One and District Two, Binh Thanh is becoming a destination in itself with luxury housing developments, delux highrises and upscale businesses springing up every day. The effect of all this construction on Steven and his students are sporadic tremors that shake the school building throughout the day.

Besides the occasional worry that the buliding may come crashing down around them, Steven is throughly enjoying teaching Geography and World History. He has his manager system back in place, he has some great colleagues, a supportive principal and a willing bunch of kids who were thrilled to have him back this year.

Our Neighborhood

 

Our gate and front stoop

 

The front of our house

 

Our house and our neighbors' houses

 

Down the alley to the right out to the street.

 

The end of our alley.

 

Walking down the alley

 

Still walking down the alley

Out on 18A

 

Houses on 18A

 

More houses on 18A

 

Neighborhood Cafe

  

One of many neighborhood tailors.

Neighborhood Market

 

Local Buddhist Temple

 

  

  

Neighborhood Restaurants

 

One of many neighborhood fruit stands

  

Our neighborhood sign