Eat Tet

1.25.12
Usually, in Vietnamese, instead of saying that one celebrates Tet, it is said that one eats Tet. I think by now it should be clear why. Even though I have two weeks off for Tet, there are three essential days of Tet. On mùng một, the first day of the lunar new year, you are supposed to celebrate with family. No one has managed to agree on the order of the next two days, but one is for visiting friends and one is for visiting teachers.

Ms. Lieu picked me up and we stopped by her brother's house and then went to her parent's house. Similarly to yesterday, instead of spending time with her whole family, I spent time with her, her brother, and two high school English teachers who were in my FCE class. As much as, conceptually, it would be nicer to be integrated into the family's celebration, I think this arrangement suits me better. At the houses where it has been all Vietnamese, all the time, I sometimes wind up feeling like just another lucky Tet decoration. It was a very leisurely morning. We chatted and drank tea and coconut juice for a couple hours, then I was directed to a hammock and I napped until food was ready.

We ate traditional Tet food, which mostly just means we ate more or less the same thing I've eaten at every house so far. There was one new dish though, with duck, bamboo, and mushrooms, that somehow tasted just like barbecue. After eating we had more tea and then went for coffee. We went to the Co Chien riverside and the road literally ran into the river, because this is a ferry stop. It was a beautiful breezy place and it was really relaxing.

The end of the road

Our next stop was Ms. Lieu's brother's place. Time for more food. This time we were eating mắm công, fish sauce with crab over vermicelli noodles with pork, herbs, sprouts, and peanuts. It was delicious.

The spread

The claw

On the way home it started to sprinkle. I knew there was no way we were going to make it before the sky opened up because it was a pretty long ride. We went as far as we could, and when it really started pouring we pulled over to take shelter under someone's awning. Ms. Liu told me, "It never rains during the dry season, but it's raining." I noticed. We didn't have to wait too long before the sky cleared again and we finished the ride back home.

1.26.12
It was an up and down day. I woke up in a great mood. But, by the time we got to Mr. Hung's house, I was in less of a good mood. No idea why. Maybe it was because Mr. Luan was there too. Mr. Hung and Mr. Luan are the two people I work for/with when I am attempting those mind-numbing translations, so I generally associate them with stress and confusion, though I try not to. To make matters worse, thanks to Friday night's events, I now also associate Mr. Luan with being sick to my stomach. Poor guy can't win for trying. 

On the way to Mr. Hung's house, Trang told me that she had gone to visit her husband's parents yesterday, and that it had been a very long ride. She let her son drive her there and back, but she said, "My son rode me there." Teaching moment! People frequently ask me whether I can 'ride a motorbike'. I have come to infer that they conflate to ride and to drive, and so I usually answer with something like 'I can ride on the back but I cannot drive one.' Since Vietnamese people's pronunciation renders the two verbs practically indistinguishable, I don't think anyone has ever noticed my specificity. Anyway, with Trang I said, 'he drove you.' She repeated, 'he rove me?' 'No, he DROVE you.' It took a few more rounds of back and forth, but eventually she got it and was quite shocked to learn this new information.

I tried to help in the kitchen, but I was relegated to my two main jobs: slicing bread (and apparently this merited a picture) and ferrying things from the kitchen to the table. Eating tet has shown me that way more dishes fit on a table than heretofore imaginable. This had led to a new theory: Vietnamese people eat out of small bowls because they take up less table space than plates. In between trips to and from the kitchen, I talked to Mr. Hung. He showed me a picture of himself and a little girl and a young woman.
- "This is my daughter."
- "How old is she?"
- "She was born in 1980."
- "1980? Your daughter is 32 years old?"
- "Yes."
I was confused. The little girl looked about 4.
- "Is this an old picture?"
- "Yes, it was taken three years ago."
- "And she was born in 1980?"
- "Yes."
At this point I was really confused, because Mr. Hung doesn't look like he could be much past 40. I started to think that maybe the young woman I assumed to be his wife was an older daughter. I asked,
- "Which one is your daughter?"
He pointed at the little girl.
- "And she was born in 1980? She's 32?"
- "Yes."
I gave up. Later I asked Ms. Trang, who asked him. For some unfathomable reason, despite the fact that he clearly understood that we had been talking about his daughter because he even pointed her out to me in the photograph, he kept telling me his wife's age. 

The food was delicious -- just beef stew that Mr. Hung made himself and the spread for build your own spring rolls. I realized I could easily make spring rolls on my own in the US. It might not be the most exciting culinary skill to bring back from Vietnam, but it's something.

Not even close to everything we fit on that table

I had a couple of hours of downtime in the afternoon before my next stop, but the hours of peace and productivity made me wish I had the rest of the day free. I was not terribly enthusiastic when it came time to go, especially since I didn't even know where I was going, despite my many inquiries. It didn't help that I got 'picked up' at 330 but then we hung around by the college gate for 45 minutes waiting for someone to come replace Mr. Luan for security duty. It's easy to get in a grumpy rut and I was trying really hard not to have a bad attitude.

My luck and mood changed when we arrived at the house we were visiting (I still don't know the name of our host). Her son asked me if I wanted "tea or, like, pure water." At the sound of that "like" my ears and mood perked up. Clearly this English speaker was a cut above. I soon discovered that he has been living in Singapore for the last seven years and is pretty much fluent in English now. We spent the rest of the evening in easy conversation. It was so nice to be able to talk at a completely natural pace without having to sidestep tricky grammar structures. He coddled me a little about Vietnamese culture, asking me if I 'dared' to try a watermelon, orange, and a Malay apple. First of all, two are perfectly common in the US, and the other I've had several times. Other than a few similar incidents, we got along really well.

After diner, which was more spring roll building, I thought it was time to go home, but I was wrong. We were going to Ms. Nga's house for '10 minutes'. Famous last words. We only spent 40 minutes there, but they felt more than long enough once Ms. Nga's husband arrived; he was drunk and only knew how to say 'I love you' in English. Can we go home yet?

Look at this cutie! I was visited by a praying mantis.