100 legs are better than eight

“The only way of catching a train I ever discovered is to miss the train before.” – G.K. Chesterson

After blogging last night I came to the unfortunate realization that even if I had locked my house guest in the bathroom, it was perfectly capable of creeping under the door if it so desired. I spent much of the night thinking of the many places it could hide in my room. So, it was a relief to see it in my shower this morning -- sort of. See, I was planning on taking a shower, and I certainly didn't plan on doing so with my eight-legged visitor. I generally don't kill anything but roaches and mosquitoes, but this visitor had long outstayed its welcome. Morena lent me her bug-killing spray and I started in on the spider. I don't know if it was the contents of the spray or the sensation of being sprayed, but the spider was really not pleased about it. It started scurrying all over my bathroom. Lest you get the wrong mental image, let me tell you I was not running all over my bathroom, chasing after it, finger oppressing the spray trigger. I would spray until it started scuttling, and then I would wait for it to stop, and spray some more. It started heading towards my broom and that's when I had my great idea. Whack! About five more broom-whacks later, the spider was dead and I was saved. I could shower in peace. Or so I thought. Partway through my shower I opened my eyes to find something rapidly sliding across the floor. Then I realized it was a centipede making a beeline for the crack under the shower door. Great. On the upside, at least it was leaving me to finish showering in peace. When I emerged from the shower it seemed to be writhing in pain, and dying an agonizing death. Perhaps it had run across some of the residual bug spray. Reading up on it later I discovered that it was probably a small Vietnamese centipede, an aggressive species whose venomous bite can cause extreme pain. I guess it's a good thing I'd had to take down the spider before my shower.

Belly up

After all of the shower drama, Morena and I began our quest to take the bus to the city center. As you may recall, the last time we tried we spent an hour waiting and ended up having to take a taxi. This time the bus actually showed up within the alleged 15-minute interval and it was a pretty quick and easy ride. My school has provided me with a yearlong bus pas, which is actually a laminated sheet of paper with a lot of information and my photo and the signature of someone important. Apparently this is pretty unusual, because the bus attendant had to spend a good while reading it to figure out what it was and accept the fact that I didn't need to pay anything. (More on bus attendants later.) Originally I had planned for us to eat first, because by the time we arrived it was almost noon. But, we got distracted by shopping at the central market, though neither one of us ended up buying anything because no one would bargain with us, even though that is de rigeur. By the time we finished shopping it was around one, well past meal time by Vietnamese standards, and we couldn't find anyone selling anything other than fruit. Morena suggested that we walk to the supermarket, which is more like a shopping mall, to eat at the food court.

Vietnamese transportation ingenuity

Fuzzy-wuzzies at the market

Fishing supplies

Sugar and bees

At the Co-Op Mart food court I discovered that they sell pizza, spaghetti, and a hamburger. The pictures didn't inspire much confidence, but it was kind of reassuring to know that in the unlikely event that I ever desperately need an escape from Vietnamese food I don't have to go all the way to HCMC to get it. We did some more shopping after lunch, and miracle of miracles I found a pair of pants that fit me. Never mind the fact that they are sized XXXL. Curiously, all of the pants have button holes sewn but not cut. They don't cut the holes until after you buy them. There is a park across the street from the supermarket, and I've zipped past its epic statues many times, but this was my first opportunity to visit and take some pictures.

At the park

After having spent a few hours in the midday sun Morena and I were both feeling ready to head back. The problem was that I wasn't really sure where to catch the bus back to campus. We waited at one stop for a good while longer than 15 minutes, and then I decided it would be easier if we went back to the city center. We waited at the bus stop there, but when a bus pulled up and I showed them the school's address the bus attendant waved me off, indicating that they weren't headed that way. Just after I called Trang to ask for help, another bus appeared. The bus attendant turned to us and asked, in English, "Where are you going?" I showed him the campus address and he seized and shoved us onto the bus, yelling "Go! Go! Go!" Here's the thing about bus attendants: they do everything, and if they stop moving and yelling and pushing and waving and shouting, the Vietnamese bus system would shudder to an off-schedule halt. He hops off the bus before it stops to find out whether people are getting on and drags them onto the bus if they are, so the bus barely has to stop moving. Barely weighing in at over 100 lbs, he loads the bus with sackloads of fruit or dried fish being lugged by the even smaller women trying to get onto the bus, and fits them into spaces you didn't even know existed. He points everyone to a seat or a standing space, organized by destination. He makes sure everyone pays after they have been situated. He waves on 18-wheelers (or the Vietnamese equivalent) who are trying to pass the bus, and tells the driver to let them pass. He gets you on your feet and near the door as your stop approaches. He does it all. Somehow, this bus attendant found moments to chat with me in the midst of all the bustle. During one of our Vietnamese lessons Trang had told me that the way I say yes in Vietnamese is very lovely, and that any man would immediately fall in love with me upon hearing me say it. I laughed, but today when the bus attendant asked me (in English) if we were teachers and I said yes in Vietnamese, his whole countenance changed and he told me I spoke Vietnamese very well. It was literally the only word he had heard me say.

When I got back to my room, there was still a dead centipede in my bathroom. Except that when I approached it it started moving feebly. To be on the safe side I had to kill it. My bathroom trash can is becoming a bug graveyard.

Tonight Trang and I went to dinner together. On the way, I was telling her about the spider and the centipede. Just as I mentioned the centipede, I remembered that she had once told me that she is afraid of them. It was a good thing we weren't going very fast, because I felt her jump as she realized what I had said. She then told me how once, when she was a little girl, her mom was getting dressed and, as she put one leg into her pants, a centipede fell out of that pant leg, and when she put the other leg in, a centipede fell out of the second pant leg, which made Trang afraid of centipedes (and putting on pants, for a while).

Trang took me to try cháo trắng hột vịt muối, rice porridge with a brined duck egg (language side note: hột vịt literally means 'duck seed'; there is a word for egg, but the word for seed, followed by the kind of animal, is used just as often). The egg is cut in half, you slice out a tiny sliver with your spoon, and then scoop up a bit of the piping hot rice porridge. At first I was surprised to discover that the albumen was significantly saltier than the yolk, but when I stopped to think about it, it made perfect sense.  It is also served with pickled cucumber slices and shrimp cooked in coconut milk that you can add in as you wish. My favorite was the shrimp.

Porridge and, diagonally from the top left, shrimp, cucumber, egg

Take your pick