Feet first

This morning we got our feet wet with some team-teaching at the American Center, an English language club hosted by the American embassy. I think we were all under the impression that we would be helping someone else teach, but as it turned out, we ourselves would be teaching in pairs. We were provided with lesson plans and waited for our groups of thirty or so students to arrive. We introduced ourselves and asked our students to do the same. So far, every time I say Ben Tre people give me a blank stare. Am I really pronouncing it that badly? Today was no different. But at some point later during the lesson and I mentioned Ben Tre again and people made knowing nods. I said it right! Or right enough. It might have been a fluke, but I am giving myself credit.

One of the questions I asked during the lesson was why students were interested in learning or improving their English. The answers they gave were almost identical to the answers my thesis participants gave when I asked them about why they studied Esperanto. This makes sense, since English currently fills the same purpose Esperanto was intended for, just at a much larger scale. But, it caused some simmering thoughts of mine to bubble up to the surface. As grateful as I am for this opportunity, and as happy as I am to enable people to access the opportunities that speaking English provides, I question the implications of teaching English in a foreign country. Sometimes it feels like linguistic proselytizing, especially in contrast with Esperantic ideals (cultural neutrality in particular). But people here seek it; it's not forced upon them, so that consoles me, kind of.

After class we found ourselves in the midst of a thunderstorm and had to cross the river of a street to get into a cab. My shoes are still sodden. The flooded streets made traffic impassable, so after a while we decided to hop out and seek lunch on foot. I had my first taste of coconut water after hearing that it tastes nothing like coconut, and to my delight found this report to be accurate. Coconuts awaiting the kiss of a machete are available everywhere, and it might become my new afternoon refreshment. This discovery also gives me hope for the next nine months. Ben Tre is known for its multitude of coconut products, and I have been concerned that I might either spend nine months pretending to like coconut or grievously offending everyone by turning down anything coconut. Maybe real coconut products won't be so bad. After lunch we went back to the hotel to rest for a while and then went to a nearby cafe to relax, blog, write postcards, journal, etc. It was really nice to have the afternoon off, and such a refreshing change to not feel exhausted by 4pm.

Every day I hear the symphony of car and motorcycle horns and have been seeking a way to work them into my description of Hanoi. It is at once such a quintessential sound here, and yet has so quickly been reduced to white noise. Today, while pondering and writing on the second floor of the cafe, looking out onto the street, I was listening to music on my iPod. To turn it up enough to drown out the neighborhood sounds would have made the music deafening, so instead the honks and blares worked themselves seamlessly into the fabric of my mellow afternoon music (Iron & Wine and Bon Iver, if you're curious). Something about it all felt like I live here, like I've been here for a good while, and as I wrote my postcards I had to keep reminding myself that it has only been a week. Certainly, my communication skills are lacking, but I am finding my space in the bustle.

Dinner was the best rice plus et cetera that I've had so far, and this one included a fried hard boiled egg. After our half-day that made it feel like it was still the weekend, we had a hard-earned night out with most of the group. Tomorrow, it is back to the grind.

Lying in wait

You would have thought Justin Beiber was in Hanoi, or maybe that a K-Pop group was visiting. But no, it was just the usual Sunday line to get in to see Uncle Ho's body in the mausoleum. The line stretched over 3,000 meters, some three to five people wide. I wondered how many people were coming for the first time and how many were repeat visitors. There were elderly people, including an old woman with black laquered teeth (a beautifying practice from that generation), young couples, and families with small children. May I point out that this means that sweating it out to stare at (pay homage to) a dead body counts as ideal family time as much as a pleasant date. The line inched forward for eons, except when the bold darted forward to cut in line when the guards weren't looking, or when the aggressive elbowed their way through the more passive and patient. The guards did their best to quell the rampant cutting, but to do that effectively they would have needed eyes on all sides of their heads. At one point, some indignant Italians decided to take it upon themselves to physically block and shout at anyone who tried to cut ahead in line. I found this rather amusing, as one of the first things you learn in Italy is that maintaining an orderly line is not really their forte. I wanted to talk to them, but was reticent to interrupt them while they were so focused. After about an hour and a half, we made it to the entrance of the mausoleum. Still outside, the sudden chill of air conditioning sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine. The thing about visiting Uncle Ho is that not only do you have to stand outside forever, you are required to wear respectful attire, aka pants. So it's hot. And inside it was amazingly cool (dare I say cold). By far the best air conditioning in all of Hanoi. But I should be talking about the preserved body on display, not the air conditioning keeping the dead from sweating.

Uncle Ho was in a glass case with spotlights on his head and hands. I found the lighting both logical and symbolic. A guard stood at each corner. He reminded me of the perfectly (miraculously) preserved body of a former pope on display in St. Peter's in the Vatican and of the life-size figures of Jesus that I have seen in churches in Guatemala. As is proper behavior regarding the latter, I assume you should not turn your back on Uncle Ho's body (this is also proper protocol regarding household ancestral altars). Indeed, the path in the viewing area was arranged such that this would not happen unless done deliberately. After all of the waiting, the viewing was brief but surprisingly poignant. While in line I debated whether all of this wait would be worth it. In retrospect, I don't regret having waited, though I probably wouldn't have regretted not seeing it, either. I'm glad I saw him, and I do feel that the waiting in line somehow contributed to the whole experience at large.
The picture below is from our failed attempt yesterday. No cameras are allowed inside the mausoleum.

 
Allow me to rewind about six hours. I woke up at 6am to go to Vietnamese mass in the cathedral. Here, men and women usually sit on opposite sides of the church, but Lam decided to sit on the women's side with me. Mass was a beautiful experience. I simultaneously understood nothing yet knew exactly what was happening. I quickly decoded the words for God and 'brothers and sisters'. I also recognized a few numbers. When I realized that it would soon be time to 'share with one another a sign of peace', during which people usually say 'peace be with you', I had a brief moment of panic. I had no idea what to say, and I didn't want to come off as rude for being unable to reply in kind. Fortunately, I discovered that in Vietnam people don't talk, hug, or shake hands like we do; they silently bow to one another. Easy enough. My favorite part of any mass is the singing, and here it was even more wonderful than usual. In the US, it seems like people only sing if they feel confident enough to do so. Here, because it is a singing culture, the church was filled with voices raised in song. It was truly amazing.

Now, fast forward to where I left off. We met up with other people in our group and headed to lunch, another rice place, though without the option of larvae this time. By the time lunch was over, we were all pretty wiped out from the long morning, and decided to head back to the hotel. We decided to walk rather than take a cab and the walk took us through some new areas of town, including the Citadel, a war memorial, and a flower market.

After resting for a few hours, Melissa and I went shopping at a 'mall' recommended by one of our coordinators. The mall turned out to be a department store that required you to check your bag (but not your wallet) at the entrance. Just like at the night market, most of the clothes were tiny. Trying on shorts felt like testing out some kind of circulation obstructing diaper. In keeping with the scale of things, the dressing rooms were so small that if I put my hands on my hips my elbows touched the opposite walls. I saw two women come out of one dressing room, and I wondered how they managed to try anything on without injuring each other. I bought one pair of miracle shorts and a shirt. On the way back to the hotel I saw the edges of sunset for the first time (usually I seem to be inside at that hour) and when we passed the lake, decorative colored lights in the trees made it yet another lovely site. I am starting to get my bearings.

Don't sweat it

 “The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it.” – Rudyard Kipling

Let me start this post from the end. Tonight I went to the night market, and on the way passed a block or so of spice vendors. It was an aromatic experience. This and other smells -- exhaust, unwashed bodies, pungent durian, steaming rain, street kitchens, blooming flowers -- are teaching me Vietnam.

We set off on a sightseeing adventure today. First stop, Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum... or so we thought. We accidentally went to the museum instead of the mausoleum. Still, it was the most unique, unusual museum I have ever been in. Exhibits were more like walk-in dioramas, often very symbolic rather than literal, and all captioned in Vietnamese, French, and English. I have also never seen a museum so densely packed with people. The gentle AC was no match for the blistering body heat. After visiting the museum we went to the One-Pillar Pagoda, designed to resemble a lotus flower blossoming on a stem. Having heard so much about it, it was a little underwhelming, but nonetheless beautiful. It seems that most significant historical sites in Vietnam are replicas or reconstructions of the originals, and some of them feel more tourist-oriented and disneyland-esque than centuries old holy ground. Our next stop was a temple, and its large enclosed courtyard with huge aged trees was unexpectedly serene, given that just outside its gates was a major thoroughfare.

We reached the West Lake district and, by this time, we were all experiencing sweat levels heretofore unimaginable, so we were ready for lunch. The group split in two, some opting for a burger place and others sticking with street food. Can you guess what group I was in? This dining spot offered a plate of rice piled with an assortment of the day's options, doled out by the cook. I was treated to a plate of rice with morning glory shoots, pork, beef, onion, cabbage that tasted like horseradish, tofu, and what we came to call 'mystery larvae'. The cook did not give everyone everything, or even the same selection of things, and I counted myself lucky to receive the bugs in my mix. It was exciting to try something totally new. Though the texture of the larvae was not the most enjoyable, they were very flavorful and quite tasty*, and the texture was fine when eaten with rice. The morning glory shoots were also really delectable*. Andrea bought a kilo of rambutan, which made the perfect dessert for all of us.

We visited another temple in West Lake and then walked to the Temple of Literature. It was a little hard to confidently cross the street after seeing our first traffic collision (a truck sideswiped a motorcyclist) but we made it across in one piece. Though impressive and beautiful overall, the Fourth Courtyard of the Temple of Literature had been transformed almost entirely into gift shops, so this felt like another Disney to me. I almost didn't notice that there was a Fifth Courtyard, but I'm glad I did, as it was one of my favorites. I'd give more details about the history of the Temple, but I think Wikipedia can explain it better than I can.

After spending a good while at the Temple of Literature we came back to the hotel to rest and de-sweat. In the evening we went to the night market, grabbing some bánh mỳ on the way. Judging from the number of people there, the market seemed like the place to be. Pick-pockets also know that this is the place to be, so I didn't bring my camera. There were a lot of cute clothes, but most of them seemed designed for tiny hipless women. I tried on some cute shoes but was not convinced, but I did buy a dress. Tomorrow I will make my second attempt at visiting the mausoleum.

*Today's synonyms for delicious was provided by my erudite mother. And below, a taste of home, even here.

Born with a chameleon tongue

"You were born with the skill to communicate with people easily." - Fortune cookie confidence-booster

Today I understood two consecutive overheard sentences. It has been sunny for the last three days, despite the fact that the forecast continues to predict daily thunderstorms. I can make introductory small-talk, count, bargain (đắt quá! - Too expensive!), name animals (con cá sấu, crocodile, literally means ugly fish animal), and reply appropriately when someone sneezes (sức khỏe!). I am feeling more confident about the six tones and have taken to quietly reading aloud all the signage I pass in the streets. Language is being learned. Food is being eaten.

Last night we took a walk to the cathedral. When we went inside there was a contingent of primarily older people praying the rosary. I couldn't understand a word, but I couldn't mistake the structure. The church was beautiful, built during the French occupation, and the stained glass windows were imported from France.

Tonight we had a reception to meet representatives from our host institutions. I got to meet the man who has coordinated my schedule, Mr. Luan. As soon as I walked into the room he started taking pictures of me, and this continued throughout the evening. He was thrilled to meet me, but spoke very limited English. To give you a sense of how much we were struggling with English, when he mentioned that he had learned Russian in college, I immediately tried to switch over, thinking we would have more success that way despite the fact that I only speak a spoonful of Russian. Unfortunately, he told me that he didn't remember any of it anymore. I am starting to believe my guidebook's assertion that though many middle-generation people studied Russian, they forgot it as soon as the Soviet Union fell. At first Mr. Luan and I struggled and relied on repetition and writing things out (he seemed to have an easier time understanding written English), but as the evening progressed we started figuring each other out and communicating better. He told me that there are no foreigners in Ben Tre, and that I will be a great resource for the College. It is certainly a nice feeling to be so appreciated and to be received with such enthusiasm, but I can only hope that that old fortune cookie is right. If he is any indication, communication will be a challenge. On the upside, I hope this means that my Vietnamese skills will develop substantially.

Today, on the way to our reception with members of our host institutions, hosted at an ambassador's house, I saw a completely different part of Hanoi. We live in the Old Quarter and everything seems within walking distance, but Hanoi has a population of over 4 million people, and there is clearly much that remains to be discovered. Every day I am wiped out by the end of class, but I can't not seek out more of Hanoi. I am trying to find the right balance between rest and exploration.


Want to see what it's like to cross the street? Watch a video on Kelly's blog.

It was a long day

I am too tired to do today justice.

We studied introductory phrases and numbers today. I find number morphology fascinating to compare across languages, and today had me bouncing in my seat. I also learned that 6, 8,  and 9 are lucky numbers. People often want these numbers on their license plates or in their phone numbers. Given my birthday, I have concluded that this makes me a very lucky person by Vietnamese standards. 7 and 13 are unlucky, however. Understanding the complex pronoun system is an ongoing process. The idea of having a respectful 'you' and a familiar 'you' is not unusual. In Vietnamese, however, there are not just two 'you's; there are several, dependent on gender and age/social rank. Moreover, your gender and relative age/rank affect the first person pronoun, so there are different 'I's.

It was sunny today! All day! I didn't know this was possible. This anomalous weather was fortuitously paired with a two-hour lunch break (twice as long as usual). This amounted to good wandering and some good photos and trying on some heels, confirming that my feet are just the right size for most of the shoes available here.

When we got out of class we were confronted by possibly the worst traffic we have seen yet. Believe it or not we managed to hail a cab in the midst of this mess, and literally walked into the middle of the street to get into it. Don't worry, though, our walking pace far outstripped any vehicle caught in this jam. Still, that didn't keep the cabbie from inching forward while we were trying to get in.

Possibly the most exciting thing about today is that I am starting to understand things. I can now identify a few menu items and ingredients. Even better, I understood an eavesdropped (very short) sentence. I guess it's true that when you start at zero every step up yields discernible results. Here's looking forward to tomorrow's results.


P. S. Don't forget to check out today's photo at http://vietnamsm.tumblr.com/

Street signs

Aside from getting eaten by a pair of elevator doors, eating longan, mangosteen, and rambutan, not much has happened since yesterday. Actually, most of what I just mentioned happened yesterday, but I forgot to include it in my post. I also saw a bowl of brains yesterday and tried a rice porridge with heart meat.

Today we started our Vietnamese language class. Suffice it to say that my inner linguist came out in full force, and I was in my element. I will spare you the details for now. Another thing that came out in full force was the rain. We have seen rain every day, but today was our first storm. Thunder and lightning and streets turned to rivers. Getting to lunch felt like fording a river filled with motorcycles instead of crocodiles. Our journey was worth it, though, as the end treated us to delectable Vietnamese sandwiches, bánh mỳ. That reminds me; yesterday's dinner is called Bánh xèo. In the afternoon we had a session on Vietnamese culture that was as fascinating as it should have been, and not at all as dry as I had feared. In the evening I did some wandering and had sesame-glazed chicken on skewers for dinner. Again, I have no idea what this would actually be called, but that didn't make them any less delicious. (I am running out of synonyms for delicious. Feel free to leave suggestions in the comments.)

Since today's activities don't offer much in the way of storytelling, I thought I'd share some observations instead. In retrospect I realize that my title is not quite accurate, in that I think what I actually want to talk about is sidewalks, but the things is that there is little distinction between sidewalk and street, or between sidewalk and building interior. Physically, there is a general absence of curbs; the only real difference is a slight diagonal incline that demarcates the transition from street to sidewalk. This enables motorcycles to pull onto sidewalks to park and drive on the sidewalk when they get tired of being stuck in traffic or just want to go in the opposite direction of traffic. During our safety briefing yesterday, the speaker urged us to '360-degree vigilance,' reminding most of us of Mad-Eye Moody's refrain of 'Constant vigilance!'. Despite the danger, businesses and life spill out onto the sidewalk, too. Businesses maximize their display areas by spreading their wares from the back of the narrow shop to the edge of the sidewalk. Why anyone would be interested in a wooden cabinet that has been pre-treated with a daily rain bath is beyond me. When it is dry or where there is an awning, eateries set out their tiny plastic stools and tables. People eat and socialize on the sidewalk. People throw out their trash on the sidewalk, or so the prevalence of eggshells and browning vegetables would indicate. So, where is left for the pedestrian? On one side, the tide of motorcycles and other vehicles. On the other, unmoving but nevertheless obstructing, densely packed people and objects. Pedestrians walk the cement tightrope between street and sidewalk, often, conveniently, at the point where the awning comes ends, dropping a steady trickle of water. But even this narrow path is not uninterrupted. Ultimately, try as you might, you'll just have to step down into the puddling street, get cozy with the motorcycles, and try not to splash too much.

Savory success

Let me get a few things out of the way. First, thank you all for the wonderful comments and emails I have been receiving. Second, I've started a photo blog at http://vietnamsm.tumblr.com/. My goal is to post one photo every day, generally in a more artistic rather than documentary vein. Now on to the narrative.

A few hours ago I would have had little to write about. Today we had a lot of briefings regarding health, safety, the local economy, and so on. Interesting and informative for us, but not thrilling blog material. The air conditioning unit was so raucous all of us thought the sounds were coming from (nonexistent) construction outside. Lunch was a combination of eel and noodles and other things that I found generally delicious, though I may have been one of the few who did.

After lunch there were more briefings and then we endured the eternal process of acquiring and setting up a cellphone. Having done this in three countries now, I find the process to be impossible without a fluent speaker of the local language. Thank goodness for our Embassy liaison.

So far, I had been feeling very dependent on my peers who already speak Vietnamese, and generally not feeling like I could do anything on my own. Here's where the last few hours tonight come in. While most of the day's activities take place in a clot of fifteen Americans, dinner often sees us subdividing into smaller groups defined by nap duration and hunger imminence. Tonight, I went out with three other people whose Vietnamese is about as nonexistent as mine. We asked the woman at the front desk how to ask 'how much' and set out. Having already traveled in two directions from the nearest corner, we chose to turn left. The first place we approached had something I've had in the US in Vietnamese restaurants and love (but whose Vietnamese name I don't know). We used our newly learned phrase and got an answer -- except we couldn't understand it. Luckily, the cook's friend (or so it seemed), who was sitting on a scooter on the edge of the sidewalk, was able to translate for us (or so we thought). After some confusion about the price, it seemed unreasonably high, so we decided to keep looking. But, after more wandering we decided to come back. It was by far the most inviting-looking food and welcoming-looking patch of sidewalk. The food didn't taste quite like what I've had before, but was warm and filling and scrumptious, and the crunchy texture was a nice change of pace after several noodle-based meals. Also, when we paid, it turned out that the price was way less than what had been originally translated to us, and on the absurdly cheap side of reasonable.

More important than our food adventure, though, was its effect. Venturing out, armed with our few phrases and poor pronunciation, I did not feel confident. So far, whenever I have tried to tell people the name of the city I'll be living in later on, I am met with blank stares. Clearly, my attempts at approximating its pronunciation are insufficient. Therefore, I had low expectations for our communicative accomplishments this evening. What I found, however, was that people are friendly and willing to collaboratively cobble together a language of mispronunciation, translation, miming, and writing things down. This gives me hope. I may never attain eloquence, but I can attain food, and that's a great start.

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In other news, I had been unable to find my battery charger for my camera, and was very concerned. Luckily, another girl here has the same camera, so today I borrowed hers. Once I leave Hanoi, however, I obviously would no longer be able to use it, and this had me worried. But, while rummaging around for my wallet, I found it! Hooray! In celebration, here's a picture I took today from inside a taxi.