Meet. Eat. Repeat.

Why I am paranoid about inadvertently using offensive body language.

This morning I had an 8am breakfast meeting with the one professor whose class I could not observe last week. It turned out he got too hungry waiting for 8am so I ate and we talked. This professor had worked in tourism before teaching, and he gave me good advice about places to visit and where to go. After this meeting it turned out that other teachers had convened just to chat and hang out with me/each other for a while, so we changed tables to go join them.

Shortly thereafter, I had my first Vietnamese lesson with Trang. It was mostly review (introductions, pronouns, nationalities, numbers), but the one-on-one teaching meant that she wouldn't move on until I got the pronunciation and tone just right, something that will be really beneficial. When I was little I used to toy with my parents by making them say "Moo, moo, moo, moo, moo, moo, moo" in a very specific cadence. I always insisted that they were doing it wrong, and would repeat it and make them try again, though they couldn't hear a difference in what they said and what I said. (Signs that I was a budding linguist? Or that I could still hear tone at that age?). That was kind of how I felt today. Say X. x. No, not x, X. x. No, X. X. Yes! Perfect! Sometimes I could hear the difference, and sometimes I just stumbled upon it.

In the afternoon I met with the chairman/mayor of the city to introduce myself and discuss ways I can contribute to the city's English education. It was the quietest meeting I have ever been to. I was almost glad I couldn't understand anything, anyway, because even if it had been in English I would have had no idea what was going on. I naturally project in that kind of situation, and when it was my turn to speak I had to mentally turn down my volume knob to not feel like I was using a bullhorn in a library. I was also paranoid about somehow conveying disrespect via body language. Consequently my suddenly itchy nose went unscratched for far too long. We discussed many possibilities and made no decisions. I think I am getting pretty good at being noncommittal but supportive. Eg. "I look forward to exploring the potential to participate in the activities we have discussed, pending more details, so long as my schedule allows it." Of course, who knows if my diplomacy survived translation. But people seemed pretty pleased with the (non)outcome of the meeting and decided that we should go have a meal afterward.

So, at 3pm we set out for a meal. I'm not sure whether to call it lunch or dinner or supper. What I do know is that I had dinner plans at seven and was worried about spoiling my appetite. But you can't really turn down a meal with the city's officers of education, especially when your ride has decided that you are going. We had some kind of fish that was translated to me as grilled ray, though I'm not sure what that is. A problem with the cultural practice of serving the guest means that not only is food put in my bowl for me, it is dipped in chili for me before it gets put on my plate. So suffice it to say that if by the end of this year I don't have a great tolerance for spicy food, all hope is lost. More life skill development right there. Then we had chicken sour soup, which was delicious and kind of made me forget that I was trying to not eat too much. If I try to be sneaky and just don't serve myself more food, someone else does it for me. If I try to be sneaky and eat my food really slowly so as to not get served more food, people urge me to eat, eat! So I can't really escape eating. I'm pretty sure I saw the chicken's head in the soup pot, but luckily it was not served to me. I did, however, get the heart and a lung, which was just fine with me. The third course was a pot of clams steamed with mint and ginger. It was absolutely scrumptious. The woman next to me took it upon herself to keep my bowl stocked with clams, and I had a hard time resisting. When I finally remembered that if I lay my chopsticks across my bowl that would indicate that I no longer wanted to eat, she just moved my chopsticks and kept serving me food. Oh well. 5pm rolled around and I rolled on home hoping to be able to work up an appetite for 7pm.

Heart and lung in the upper left.

The experience made me appreciate Trang even more. I am comfortable with not understanding the conversation around me, and I don't expect everyone to exit their linguistic comfort zone for my convenience, but at this meal I was pretty much ignored except when more food was getting put in my bowl. Given that most of the people at the table were English teachers at various schools, it seemed like someone could have made a little more effort to include me.

At seven, I was to meet Trang and her sister to go try her sister's favorite dish. Trang's son joined us too. The dish turned out to be hủ tiếu xương again, but with chicken this time. I also had nừơc mía, sugarcane juice. It tasted almost like orange juice, presumably because it is mixed with some lemon juice. 

Hủ tiếu xương gà

Sugar cane juice

After this meal, which fortunately was just the right portion, it was suggested that we go get fruit salad. What comes to mind when someone says fruit salad? I bet it's not what we had. We had chè, which comes in many forms, but in this case was kind of like a warm milky tapioca pudding. It is one of the few things that I had been hoping to avoid eating while here. Despite the fact that it was made of milk, sugar, flour, seaweed, green beans, and peanuts, it tasted fine. The powdery wet texture was not my favorite, but I managed to ingest it all a lot more easily than I anticipated. 

Do any of these look like fruit salad to you?
Mine is the one on the lower right, same as the top right.

  
Would it seem like my evening was drawing to a close? I certainly thought so. But around nine I heard a knock. Ms. Mei was at the door, holding up a bag of fruit. More food! It was to be my third meal in five hours. I guess it's a good thing I'm a bottomless pit. She brought cóc, the mystery fruit that people keep giving me but that I hadn't figured out how to eat, and a pomelo. She also had a jar of what I think was chili salt to put on the fruit, but that in my opinion made everything taste like barbecue potato chips. After peeling and slicing and preparing she left me there with my bottomless pit filling up and about half a pomelo to go, while she started sweeping and mopping. Maybe in my next class with Trang I will ask her how to say "You don't need to clean my room, thank you," and "Please, eat more." But I appreciate the gesture of the fruit and the cleaning and I appreciate the company, even if for now we just sit in friendly silence.