It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas

Saturday
In the evening, after refueling post-trek (with two strawberry smoothies and schnitzel and mashed potatoes), we got to observe the progression of a full lunar eclipse as we roamed the market and enjoyed the nightlife.

Sunday
Sunday was our last fun day in Dalat before the Mid-Year conference started. After a lot of hemming and hawing over plans, we decided to rent motorbikes and head to one of Dalat's most famous attractions: the Crazy House. I did what I thought I'd never do, and let a westerner take me around on a motorbike in Vietnam.

Brittanye, my experienced driver

At the entrance to the Crazy House

Looking up, inside the Pheasant Room

View from the top of the Crazy House

The house was indeed crazy, and also crawling with Russian tourists. A series of events led to me attempting to chat with a Russian woman. I was extremely rusty at first, and several Vietnamese words snuck their way into my lexicon, but I understood her well enough and we had a nice chat.

Our next stop, after lunch, was the Valley of Love. After the entrance there was an assortment of cheesy photo-op statues, beautiful flowers, and slightly structurally suspicious carnival rides. Beyond that, though, there was a magnificent lake. Lam, Violet, and I found an abandoned swan boat crammed the three of ourselves into the marooned ship. It was hilarious, but it was also breathtaking and serene.

True love

After the cheesy stuff

Three to a boat

We took turns pedaling

On the way back we got lost, but it was a scenic lost, and we ended up circling one of the many lakes in Dalat.

Monday
Our conference kicked off bright and early, and I was the first presenter. Each of us was supposed to talk about our challenges, successes, and achievements thus far, especially regarding accommodations, acculturation, working with our host institution, and working with the Fulbright coordinators. It was a long day of long talks (from 8 to 545), but it was beneficial to hear about each others' experiences in a structured way. It was unsurprising but comforting to hear all of the commonalities between our respective challenges. It also made me appreciate my post even more than I already do. I still think that my accommodations are on the low end of the group's, and I'm under the strictest rules, but I've realized that my relationship with the college and my co-workers is much better and more open than many others. More than anything, I have realized yet again just how fortunate I am to have Trang as a guide and friend.

In the evening we headed to the market to look for gifts for a White Elephant exchange we'd be having on Tuesday. I tried to bargain with a vendor, but when he started saying things other than prices I had no idea what he was saying. "I don't understand," I said. He continued. "I don't understand," I repeated. His reply: "You speak Vietnamese but you don't understand?" Score one more for my Vietnamese.

Tuesday

The morning was spent wrapping up the conference with the last few presentations. In the late afternoon we reconvened for our gift exchange. Hilarity ensued.

A motley collection of budget gift-wrapping attempts

Immediately following our mini-Christmas, Trang, who was also in town for a few days, came to take me out to dinner. She knows what and where to eat even when she's not in her hometown. Apparently Dalat is one of the few places in Vietnam with fresh salmon, and that was what we would be having for dinner. We met with a local friend of hers who is a poet, musician, college professor, and journalist. Our first course was some form of salmon (fried?) wrapped in a sort of potato chip. Next was steamed salmon. Next was the salmon head. The eyeball was pure buttery deliciousness. Last, we wrapped up the meal with a salmon hotpot soup.

Salmon-filled chips

I see you...

The next phase of the evening is an experience that I hope to remember for years to come. Trang's friend is friends with a painter, and he had arranged for us and my fellow ETAs to go to the painter's gallery to watch him do some calligraphy. I knew that whatever would happen would likely go completely against any expectations, and yet it was all still so unexpected. The painter is known as the 'one-finger painter' because he paints using his index finger. We were also told that he can only paint when he's had a few drinks. We were joined by some of his friends, apparently fellow artistic types, and we got started with tea, which quickly was replaced by liquor. Eventually, it was time for him to start.

The artist showing us the first piece of the night, bamboo and our first initials

 When I heard calligraphy I expected brush painting on rice paper, or something like that, but it ended up being fingerpainting with ink mixed with alcohol on the back of calendar pages. It was fun to watch, but it felt like more of a party trick than a fine craft. This is not to speak lowly of his art, though; his house/gallery was canvasses-deep with beautiful and intriguing paintings.

Gradually, the night evolved into something utterly Vietnamese. A guitar emerged, songs were sung, and poetry was recited. And then it was our turn. Every single guest was to contribute something, whether it be a song, poem, or story. We had already sung a few songs all together, including yet another reprise of my one Vietnamese karaoke song, but that didn't count. I sang 'Como la Flor,' a Selena song, one of few songs that I actually know all of the words to. The whole experience was really special. So many times when I travel I feel removed from Vietnam; I am a tourist again. Here, though I was in Dalat, I did something I might have done back in Ben Tre, but in the company of friends. It made Dalat feel more real.

Finger painting calligraphy inspired by musical accompaniment

The whole group

Wednesday
Today I was torn between making the most of my hotel bed and making the most of my last hours in Dalat. The latter won. We took a cable-car ride up the mountains to a temple.

Starting point. Note the wild poinsettias!

Temple entrance

Dragons. Note the new hoodie mentioned last week

My favorite part was the serenity that somehow withstood the slew of tourists tramping around on the temple grounds.

Trang left in the morning, but that didn't keep her from sending me a lunch recommendation that we happily followed. Her text message lead us to try bánh khọt, which is kind of like small cups of fried rice flour-based dough, with some kind of topping. I chose a mixed platter, and enjoyed pork, shrimp, oyster, and a few other elements.

After lunch I had just enough time to visit the church next to our hotel. We had tried to visit it before heading to the mountaintop, but the only part that was open was the columbarium. We were told that the church would reopen at two. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Instead, I spent some time exploring the church grounds.

The rest of the day shouldn't have even been worth mentioning, but it was. The 30-minute flight to HCMC was the first time in Vietnam I have ever been able to fully forget where I was. Sitting in a nice plane (the budget airline I usually travel with is notable not Western), reading a book in English, and listening to music in English. I could have been anywhere, on my way to anywhere. Looking out the window reminded me of where I really was, but even so I just felt so detached from what has been my reality for the last four months.

When I landed I needed to figure out how I would get to the bus station. I've often traveled by motorbike to the airport, but never from the airport. It was time to take the next step. I set out for the xe oms, not sure how to proceed, when I was approached by a small woman offering me a ride. Her starting rate was 100k, but as I continued to walk away she got closer and closer to my counter-offer of 50k. At 60k we reached a stalemate, until she said follow me and turned to lead me to her motorbike. But had we agreed on 50k? She evaded the question, but eventually I got a yes out of her. The ride was longer and more circuitous than it has ever been. Was she taking me to the right place? Was it her way of avoiding the 5pm traffic? Was it a ploy? After a while, while we were still on our way, she started insisting on 60k again and I continued to hold strong at 50k. I wondered whether she would dump me in the middle of the street in retaliation. We did make it to the right place, and through the magic of having exact change I made sure she upheld our agreement.

I arrived seconds before the bus left, and was rushed on. When we got to Ben Tre we passed the place where the bus should have turned towards the college. I wondered what was next. After a few more roundabouts we pulled over and the bus driver walked around asking where everyone was going. I told him but he didn't seem to understand. Then someone walked onto the bus and asked me in English, where I was going. I told him again. After consultation between the driver and the English speaker I was told to get off the bus. The driver didn't know where the college was. How is that even possible? The driver paid for a man on a motorbike to take me to the college. Despite the eventful, multi-part way back, I am now home, safe and sound.


Reflections
The majority of the Vietnamese people that I interacted with in Dalat thought I was Vietnamese. My initial reaction to that is to feel happy, but then I asked myself why it makes me happy to be misconstrued here, when in the US it can often be a source of frustration. I'm not sure if I really have an answer, but I have a theory. I think it is reassuring to me to be reminded that, even if I myself am constantly aware of my utter outsider status, the people around me might be less aware of it than I would think. So many of my fellow ETAs' days are punctuated by pointing, shouts of 'hello!' and 'I love you!' and 'Where are you from?', that they cannot escape feeling like not just an outsider, but a spectacle. My physical appearance insulates me from that. I need just a little less energy and courage just to step outside.