My last day in Ben Tre was spent more or less alternating between saying goodbye and packing. It started with goodbye breakfast with Thy at 730 am. Nhu was supposed to join us, but something came up last minute so she wasn't able to make it. My stomach has been feeling funny on and off for the last week or so (another reminder of my early days in Ben Tre), so I couldn't eat much at breakfast, but otherwise it went ok. It's so hard to feel a sense of conclusion with any of these goodbyes. I've been here so long and spent so much time with these people that I can't really wrap my mind around the fact that this is a pretty final goodbye. I've traveled enough while here that it's hard to remember that when I walk out the door tomorrow I won't be coming back in a few days.
I spent several hours packing. I had already packed one suitcase and thought I would be in great shape, but the mound of gifts I received yesterday forced me to start over again. I felt overwhelmed and a little desperate, but I was determined.
I had lunch with Mr. Vu. He has been working on his master's thesis all year and consequently spending most of his time in HCMC, so I didn't get to see him very often, but he is one of the teachers around whom I feel most comfortable. We chatted about his thesis research, and I got signed up to proofread his chapters once he starts writing them.
I spent more time packing and by some miracle (and letting go of more clothes than I originally intended) I eventually fit it all in. Trang lent me her scale and I'm weighing in at around 30kg. Not unreasonable for a year's worth of stuff and a treasure trove of gifts.
Hong and Anh came over to say goodbye. I spent a lot of time with them last semester; we usually went out together at least once a week, but then for some reason we stopped hanging out. Despite our long time no see, it was really nice to see each other one last time. After my day of packing, I was very happy to see that their farewell gift was two beaded rings. When the time came to say goodbye, Hong gave me a hug. It was the first time someone has initiated a hug in Vietnam, and it is something that had been missing from my other goodbyes, so it really meant a lot to me.
After a nap, it was time for my next and last goodbye party. It was actually a much delayed cast party for me and the third years who performed in the English conference, but given the date it got turned into a farewell. We went to one restaurant, where we had spring rolls made with goat breast meat and okra with a sesame marinade and soy-based sauce. We also had a blisteringly spicy seafood hotpot. Then the students read my mind and decided we should go out for embryonic duck eggs. These were the students who took me to try them for the first time, and it was only fitting that I have them one last time with them. So, we went to another place known for its shellfish, and two students got us all eggs on the way. We ate the eggs, as well as some shellfish in a tamarind sauce and some clams in a lemongrass ginger broth.
Party restaurant
I think none of us wanted the night to end, but eventually it was time
to go home. One student, Trang, gave me a big hug and after that
everyone else wanted one too. I was surprised that she was the one to
start the trend, because out of the group she is maybe the one I would
say I am least close to. But I felt loved by all of them.
Have I tried every Vietnamese dish? No. Have I tried every southern Vietnamese dish? No. Have I now tried one thing that probably trumps any other terrifying food I will ever have the opportunity to try in my life? Probably yes. I sampled embryonic duck eggs with grace and appreciation. Last night I faced something infinitely more daunting. But that story comes later.
Wednesday night was the last student English club. Turnout wasn't huge, but at eight-ish it was significantly more than the four who came last week. I learned how to fold paper into boats/bowls to hold rambutan and other snacks, and then we all sat and chatted and ate snacks and sang. I added one more Vietnamese song to my repertoire. I asked the three seniors present about their future plans, and they asked me about mine. One student told me that before I arrived, they expected me to be tall, pale, and blonde. When I arrived and they saw that we had similar skin and hair, they felt confident that we might be friends. I don't know what that says for US-Vietnam relations, but I guess it meant something good for me.
Thursday morning I had one more last visit to Trang's parents' house. It was the first time I wasn't there for some sort of event, and consequently it was a very relaxed visit, just me and them. If there is any goodbye dish I would want to have, it would be the goobdye bánh xèo that Trang's mom made. Ngon, ngon, ngon (3x delicious!), accompanied by Trang's favorite liqueur: Bailey's. This time I didn't cry on the road home; I guess I got all of my boohoos out the first time.
A more modest spread than what I usually see
Goodbye
In the afternoon, I participated in the college's closing conference for my term as a Fulbrighter. It was held in Vietnamese, but it was still moving. I made a presentation in English, and then made some closing remarks in Vietnamese. It was the first time I've had stage fright in a long time. When I started, everyone sort of giggled, and I wasn't sure whether I had said something wrong or whether they were just laughing because they were surprised to hear me speaking Vietnamese. Afterward, no one commented positively or negatively, but Trang told me that I did a good job (and she would tell me if I hadn't) and that people thought that the way I spoke Vietnamese was probably like the way they speak English. I got a mound of goodbye gifts that I haven't opened yet, and a certificate from the local government that is the highest honor one can receive and usually takes two years of consistent exemplary service to earn. I was also interviewed by a reporter for the local news.
Receiving my governmental certificate of achievement
Being interviewed
After that, there was another goodbye party. The party was festive but uneventful until I discovered that either banana rice wine is either much stronger than regular rice wine or my tolerance is shot, because I was quickly buzzed. Buzzed enough to feel inspired to toast Mr. Luan, my biggest source of frustration but most concerted effort for appreciation, for our mutual respect for each other's patience when facing communication struggles. After a plate of watercock, a plate of ruddy ground dove, a few hours, and several more shots, I met the biggest culinary challenge I have met in my life. I recall the time I went to Six Flags Arlington and faced down a ride called the Chameleon that had a loop and went forward and backwards, and I told myself that if I rode this one ride I would never fear a ride again. This dish was the Chameleon's equivalent. A dish of fish sauce, chilis, and duông dừa: coconut beetle larvae. I have now eaten live coconut worms with bold terror and shots of banana seed
rice wine. And I had four. And to be perfectly honest, other than
the long time I spent watching them writhe in fish sauce while we all worked up the courage to
eat them, the worst part was how much pepper was in the fish sauce,
more so than the maggots themselves. You held it right behind the head, put the body in your mouth, and ripped the head off. People told me it was healthy protein, and that they are organic. Even after they'd been decapitated, the discarded heads kept moving in my bowl.
About to eat one
Are you ready for this? Behold, the terror of the worms:
If you want more, watch the mandibles keep moving after I've eaten the bodies. Now that's a sendoff.
I debated a lot whether to publish that last post. I didn't want to come off as negative, especially so close to the end, but it was the truth. Fortunately, last night did a lot for my emotional well-being. It was the last meeting of the adult English club, and we had a party at one of the teacher's houses. The idea was that I would get there early and learn how to cook some traditional dishes but, as I suspected, that turned into me wrapping spring rolls while everyone else did the serious cooking. I didn't mind, though. I was pleasantly surprised to see so many people who hadn't been coming to the club this semester show up for the party.
Our handiwork
While the cooking continued, Ngoc and Mr. Luan took me to a nearby site of importance that they couldn't explain. I found out later that it was a Cao Dai monastery. Aside from the hellish swarms of mosquitoes, it was really nice. It is a place for meditation, so there were a lot of small fountains, rock formations, and gardens. There was also a sort of burial area with these massive grave markers. I'm not sure who got to be buried there. We met some of the monks, and they seemed somewhat tickled to have me, an American, in their midst.
Graves
Whoever it is that gets buried under these apparently gets some fancy headwear
By the time we made it back to the party, it was time to eat. And like any Vietnamese meal-based gathering, eat we did. For once, having been around for the preparation of the food, I knew exactly how many courses there would be, and I had an easier time pacing myself. Of course, that doesn't mean I didn't end up stuffed to the gills. As is often the case, we ended up splitting into a men's table and a women's table. In theory, I wonder whether this division should bother me, but in reality, in Vietnam I find it very comfortable. Given the different social expectations for festive men (lots of drinking) and festive women (less drinking), it makes sense and it cuts down on drinking pressures for me, since I straddle the line of expectations as a western woman.
Men's table
Ladies' table
Most of the group, except for the five people holding cameras
"The earth is round, so maybe we will see each other again." - parting words from Trang's dad
Yesterday I had another sort of Vietnamese lesson with Trang. We had our weekly bowl of bun bo hue, and when I look at the heaping dollop of chili paste that I require to make it taste 'right', I remember the days when the pot of red flaky sauce looked like a pot of impending suffering. Mother's day is coming up and, as I told Trang, she is not my mother but there is no older sister's day or aunt's day, so I wanted to do something special together. I invited her/us to go get our hair washed. I haven't done this in almost six months, yet as soon as I walked in the hair washing women not only recognized me, but also asked Trang whether I am gaining weight. Oh, Vietnam. Once we were washed and massaged and cucumbered and washed some more, we went on to the next phase of the day.
For quite some time, Trang has been promising to teach me how to make fried chicken with a fish sauce glaze, which I tried at her family home way back when. We were supposed to finally do it this past weekend, but when the day came, Trang wasn't feeling well. Today her son, who loves to cook, would be my teacher. I mostly just watched and took notes, but it is a remarkably simple dish, totally within my capacities and totally reproducible back home. I
intend to bring Vietnamese-style buffalo wings to many sports watching
get-togethers in my future. As the afternoon rains washed away some of
the heat, we feasted on our handiwork.
Ta-da
When I was back home, the power was gone for most of the
afternoon, and I wondered whether it would come back in time for the
English club. It did. For a while I thought no one was going to show up.
No one was there, not even whoever was supposed to come with a key to
unlock the classroom. Two students showed up, though, and they invited
me to play shuttlecock/jianzi/Vietnamese hacky sack
with them while we waited for more people to show up. I surprised
myself by exhibiting more eye-foot- and
eye-random-body-part-coordination than I expected. But I wasn't doing
any stellar, behind the back kicks, like one of my more expert students.
Two random students, not coming for the club, saw us playing and joined
us. By 6:20, we decided it was time to just go ahead and start, even
though there were only four students. I showed them a brief slideshow of
pictures from Cambodia, which they had requested, and after that I
decided it was time to have some fun. Since there were so few of them, I
invited them to go have a sinh to (smoothie) with me instead. It is
avocado season and I am definitely going to drink as many avocado
smoothies as I can before I go. It was nice to sit and chat with them in
an informal setting. Despite the fact that I had very clearly been the
one doing the inviting, my students did not let me pay, saying I could
pay next time. I told them that this meant that they were committing to a
next time.
This morning I woke up early to go with Trang to a relative's
house for a death anniversary. It would also be the last time I would
see her family.I initially thought we were going to her parents' house, but it was actually someone else's house so, of her nuclear family, only her dad and brother were there. I felt like I had barely arrived and then it was time to go. I got there around 830 or 845; Trang's husband was my ride back and he wanted to leave at 10, so home I went. It was hard to keep it together when saying goodbye. Trang's dad and I exchanged long well-wishes and a long, firm handshake, and that was it. I barely managed to keep my tears in, and I let them out on the road. Crying on the back of a motorbike is debatably the best semi-public place to cry in Vietnam. People might see you, but the only person you know is sitting in front of you, and will (hopefully) never know.
Plate after plate after plate, as usual
I'm remembering the days I cried in September when I felt like I had this interminable stay in Vietnam ahead of me, and getting to the other side of the next nine months felt like driving across Texas when the road is an unwavering straightaway into the distant horizon. And now here I am, crying because I'm about to reach the horizon and a big bend in the road.
Needless to say, I was feeling pretty glum in the early afternoon. Luckily, my day didn't end there. I went out with Thy and Tuc. Originally, they were just going to help me get some photos printed, but that ended up expanding to dinner, Asian-style photobooth pictures at the supermarket, and a new milk tea place. It was just the time with friends, out of my head, that I needed. It could have been bittersweet, colored by the pall of impending goodbyes, but it's not the end yet, and I'm not going to mourn farewells while I'm still here.
This weekend was the Khmer new year. I went to Tra Vinh, which has a significant Khmer population, to visit Violet and take part in festivities. Unlike the last time I traveled on a Friday the 13th, I was met with no bad luck or undue stress. I caught the bus to the ferry on Friday afternoon. An elderly man across the aisle tried to chat with me. No matter how many times I said I didn't hiễu, it turned out that I did actually kind of understand. After asking me where I was going (to the ferry), why I was going there (to go to Tra Vinh), and what I'd be doing there (visiting a friend), he jumped to a strange conclusion. He suddenly proclaimed that I spoke not only Vietnamese and 'American', but also Lao and Cambodian. After that I really didn't hiễu anymore, and he started chatting with someone who took the seat next to him. I really enjoyed the ride. Even if the weather never changes here, it's obvious that it's spring. We passed ponds full of blooming water hyacinths and lotuses and water lilies. It's not the same as Texas wildflowers, but it was beautiful nonetheless.
I took the ferry across the river; Violet met me on her side, and she drove me into Tra Vinh city. Naturally, our first order of business was to go shopping. I bought my first pseudo English shirt, and it even had some pseudo Italian to boot! Violet and I had dinner at a banh uot place I've been wanting to revisit ever since my first time in Tra Vinh, and it did not disappoint. We bought a kite and then went home for a bit to relax before our second dinner. At around nine we left for a bia hoi (fresh beer place) with Vincent and were met by some of Vincent's students. Sadly, the grill was broken, so I didn't get any of the grilled beef I'd heard so much about, but we had some great corn, fried chicken, and fried calamari.
In our new shirts
Saturday morning, Violet and I had the choice between going to the beach or going to a going away party for a foreign employee at her university. We chose the beach. It was more or less a 90-minute drive and, again, it was incredibly enjoyable. As much as I love new sights and new experiences, I love it when I can find something familiar in it. The wide blue sky full of cumulus clouds and the many, seemingly stray, cows reminded me of Texas. Some of the towns reminded me of Guatemala. The old churches had notes of Italy. By the time we got to the beach, I was feeling really good.
Getting onto a ferry
We were the only people at the beach. We set up under a thatched roof that shaded us from the sun above and the blistering sand below it, and we had a well-earned brunch that I bought before we left the city while Violet was having her clanking bike checked for our trip. The beach was not the blue water white sand paradise that destination beaches tout, but I hadn't been expecting it to be. It was covered in the most amazing shells, a surprising amount of lightbulbs, and the usual Vietnamese debris (assorted sandals, empty bottles of fish sauce, etc.). After eating and setting my inner child free to collect an absurd number of these shells, we went for a swim. We let ourselves get pruny before we emerged again to fly our kite. Though the kite was pretty, it came with a very short string. The wind carried it easily, but it couldn't get high enough to really glide.
Some of the shells were encrusted with barnacles
Mollusk-mohawked light bulb
Flying our butterfly kite
And then Violet found a dead puffer fish on the beach
While we were scampering around discovering the beach's trash treasures, a group of young Vietnamese guys arrived, with a big hoe in tow. They started digging in the sand and shouted at us to join them, but we declined. They came to us. It turned out that they were digging for crabs, and they brought one to show us. They might have accidentally-on-purpose released it at us. They caught it again, but one of them had to literally pounce on it to keep it from getting away. Crabs are fast! After a while of rocky conversation, they conscripted us to help them dig for crabs. A second crab was unearthed and somehow, in attempting to get it into the bag with the first crab, both crabs ended up springing free and swiftly scuttled in opposite directions. Unluckily for the crabs, they were recaptured. At this point, one of the guys thought it would be funny to try and drag Violet into the ocean, at which point I decided it was probably time for us to go.
That night we went to Ratana's home. He is one of Vincent's students, and he had invited us and several others to come celebrate his birthday. It was a striking treat to watch a group of young guys cooking for and serving the guests. They made a green mango and dried fish salad, fried chicken, and a fish soup that tasted like it was equal parts fish and peppers. It was a good mix of students and foreigners, as four of Vincent's friends teaching in other cities came in for the new year and came for Ratana's birthday. When the food was gone we decided to move on to karaoke. Unfortunately, we had only made it through one song when the power went out in the whole city. On the upside, the pitch black outside made it easy to see all of the stars.
Sunday was Khmer festivity day. We started out by going to Trà Cú, a Khmer town in Tra Vinh province. We went to the home of Mr. Hai, a teacher at the university. So began a day of culturally mandated debauchery. Mr. Hai plied us with Heineken, 333 beer, brandy, and three different batches of homemade rice wine. He told us that while the Vietnamese only drink until they are drunk, Khmer people keep going long after that. The alcohol was accompanied by a feast that included beef jerky that he brought home from Cambodia after a recent trip. He wanted to take us to observe some religious rituals, but social obligations summoned us to another house.
Our host is on the far right
The bacchanalia continued at a Khmer student's house. When we got there, we were greeted by a band of performers that included a king and queen, an old man, a 'ladyboy' (man in drag), a monkey warrior, and some demons. They and most of the town children paraded into the yard of the house we were staying at and gave a special performance. In the video below you can see the monkey warrior dancing and most of the other performers.
With the king
Ladyboy in the foreground, queen in the background
After they left we had dinner. It started off with curried duck, then a squid and greens dish, and then the main course came out. Drum roll please. It was dog meat stew. I had started to think I might leave Vietnam without trying it, but I should have known Vietnam would not disappoint me. Despite all of the negative opinions I had heard, I actually found dog meat to be perfectly palatable. It was certainly chewy, but it just resembled overcooked beef, which isn't so bad as far as bad meat goes.
It was only slightly awkward to have dogs lounging at our feet while we ate
We took a break from eating and drinking to go to the family tomb for a special ceremony. From what I understand, each family has a stupa-like structure where the ashes of all ancestors are kept. Families go pay their respects and monks lead each family in prayer. They also fling a lot of (holy?) water during the praying. After this, we went to what felt like a big neighborhood party. Musicians played Khmer rock and we spent the rest of the night dancing in circles around a table laden with fruits and flowers.
Having recently celebrated Easter and having now participated in three different kinds of new year celebrations, I have been reflecting about tradition. Last Sunday I was acutely aware of the importance of tradition. Without ritual or tradition, it's hard to sense the specialness you may expect a day to have. Most American holidays, even the ones I was able to celebrate with friends or family, just didn't feel quite right. They were missing the people or foods or activities that make them different from every other day. That, and most of my holidays are irrelevant and meaningless to everyone around me. Before Tet, I wondered if it would somehow feel more special than my own new year, even though it had no meaning to me, because it would be actively celebrated by everyone else around me. It didn't. Yesterday, though, got close. There was a large gathering of new friends, there was feasting, there was some ceremony, and there was a lot of celebration. I don't know that it felt as meaningful as 'my' holidays, but it felt like the right kind of special.
Friday's classes were an invigorating experience after Thursday's struggles. I had no desire to try to wring another lesson relevant to our current unit, Traditional and Modern, so I just did something else. I made a survey for students to use to interview their classmates. There were eighteen questions, and they had to find a different person who fit each question (e.g. someone who doesn't know how to swim, someone who has eaten pizza, etc.). We worked on structuring the different necessary questions: have you ever...?, do you...?, and are you...?, and then we went outside and let the surveying commence. The students took on the task with great enthusiasm, and I only had to remind them to use English a few times. Funnily enough, the hardest task was to find someone who wanted three
children. One girl, in playful frustration, started running through the
group shouting, "Do you want three children?" and everyone else shouted
back, "No!"
When we got back inside I started to poll them, to find out which of their classmates fit each criteria. After a while of struggling to figure out what names were being shouted at me and how to spell them correctly, I decided to appoint a scribe to write down people's names on the board. Then I used this list to ask for the backstories from students who had broken a bone and students who had met a famous person. One of the students said that the famous person she has met was me. I smiled and replied that I think I'm only famous in Ben Tre. But it was a sweet moment. The students asked me if I had ever met a famous person. I guess I have, but no one who would be famous to them came to mind.
Violet arrived in the evening and we went out for milk tea with Thy and Nhu. After about an hour of hanging out and breaking the ice, the four of us went to the coconut festival. I was glad we were going with them, because unbeknownst to me there were three different locations. We tried to go to see the performances on the stage on the lake in the city center, but when we got close we discovered that they had closed off the street and weren't letting people in anymore. This was the first sign that this festival might be an even bigger deal than I had imagined. We headed to the outskirts of town to see the fair.
Not this way
This way!
Considering that up until about two weeks ago, no one had been able to tell me the dates of the festival, it was hard to imagine that this would really be a big deal. I imagined something along the lines of flower street during Tet -- lots of coconuts laid out on a closed-off street, and people insisting that it was magnificent -- plus that stage in the lake for performances. Well. Well, well, well. I was wrong. When we got to the fairgrounds I saw more people than I have ever seen at once in Ben Tre. It took about ten minutes just to park. The fair reminded me a lot of the livestock show and rodeo back home, except that it was about coconuts instead of cows. There was one big tent full of coconuts, coconut crafts, coconut products, coconut candy, free samples of coconut wine, and informative exhibits.
People waiting to get in
Inside the coconut tent
Me, Nhu, and Thy with a tiger made of coconut
Coconut candy girls
Coconut packing machine
Pyramid of coconut varieties, plus coconut flowers on top
Outside of the coconut tent there was a food court, where some of my students were working. There was another tent full of merchants selling everything from mattresses to pots and pans to electric fans (which provided a nice, breezy break from the heat). We passed a stage with people pretending to be statues and, naturally, a karaoke stage.
Cow mascot inviting people to try free samples of juice.
Our photo-op spared him from a horde of toddler boys
pommeling him in the udders.
Living statues
Musicians in rainbow sombreros
And now let me tell you about the most magical and memorable moment of the evening. Our wanderings led us to the main stage. We had passed it earlier and seen people competing in a blindfolded feed-your-partner-hot-dogs contest, but now someone was singing. I used my crowd navigating skills to bring us closer to the stage, and we had a great view of Nguyễn Hoàng Nam's stellar moves and deep dimples. Violet, my students, and I were all rather smitten. He had clearly mastered the smoldering eyes required for a pop ballad and the pelvic wiggles necessary for an upbeat song. In addition to his vocal styling, his styling styling was of note. Not many
people could accessorize with sheriff's badge, a single glove, a
leather cuff, a wallet chain, and pirate boots and still look
attractive. Here are a couple of his more popular music videos: 1, 2.
Just look at that stage presence!
Just look at those accessories!
For some reason, I wished I could go on stage and dance. (If you clicked on the video links you'll note that they're ballads, but he mostly performed upbeat songs at the concert.) I quickly dismissed that wish -- never gonna happen. But then I had a second thought. If it would happen anywhere, it would happen in Vietnam. Before his next song, Nam called out to the audience, asking for people who wanted to join him on stage (which I understood courtesy of my students' translations). Violet, fearless soul that she is, seized my hand and raised it high into the air. We, along with about four other people, were chosen.
On stage, no big deal
We got on stage and suddenly realized that from now on we would have no
idea what was being said, or what we might be expected to do. Was it a
contest? Were we supposed to copy his moves? Who knew. He started
singing, and everyone seemed to be doing their own thing, and so we all
just let loose and danced around on stage. Nam came over to dance with me. I had given my students my camera, but sadly they did not see fit to photograph my one-on-one time with him. Nevertheless, I assure you that it happened, and it was unforgettable. When the song ended, an MC came out to ask Violet and I if we were foreigners visiting the coconut festival. Despite the fact that this exchange occurred in English, we somehow ended up telling him that we were from Tra Vinh. All of us who went on stage received a gift for participating and got to shake hands with Nam before we left. We all received hanging clocks in boxes that looked deceitfully like pizza boxes, and for some reason I also received a six pack of bottled green tea soda. Off stage we reunited with my gleeful students and worked our way back through the crowd, who looked upon us with a mix of envy and admiration.
Part of me wished I had saved my Friday morning survey for next week. If I had, I would have a famous person that is actually famous to my students, and had a great story to go with it.
Blame the internet's early bedtime for the infrequency of my posts.
3.7.12
It was the last day of my USA class. I held a review session disguised as a contest, and teams worked together to 1. list as many states as they could in eight minutes, 2. match a list of states and cities, 3. match a list of historical figures with their descriptions. In the first activity I only counted correctly spelled states, and teams' scores ranged from 17 to 30. Interesting alleged states included: Huron, Ontario, Brooklyn, Bronx, Mohata (Manhattan, I think), Canada, and Mexico. I expected the students to do really well, or at least better than they did, on the city-state matching exercise. Everyone paired Las Vegas, Philadelphia, and New York City with the right states, but St. Louis was almost exclusively paired with Louisiana. Much to my surprise, the students did a speedy and stellar job on the last exercise, and most groups got them all right. This was surprising since, when I used to have more specific quiz questions, questions about historical figures were rarely answered correctly. Members of the winning team received pens decorated with images from Texas, and I was happy to see them start using them right away. I also gave out magnets with the NYC skyline to the two students with the highest average quiz grade.
States, states, states
The evening's English club went especially well. It turns out that asking students what topic they want to discuss makes for much more active students during the discussion. What a surprise! Not only did everyone participate, they asked follow-up questions to their peers' replies and proposed additional questions for discussion. It probably also helped that there were only ten students. The topic was marriage, and there were only 9 female students until about halfway through, when one guy arrived. I learned about their ideal husbands and wives. One student (who is a ham and a half) said that she wanted to get married at 22 to an American, go live in the US, and have 12 children, which is why she wanted to get married so young. I wasn't sure if she was serious. The other students asked her if she wanted to make her own soccer team. Much to my surprise, two students said they don't want to get married. The class agreed that having eight boyfriends before getting married is too many, but 5 is ok. In between is a gray area.
Attractive professions and the qualities of an ideal husband
On my walk to dinner I talked to myself in Italian to refresh my memory. I figured talking to myself wouldn't make me stand out any more than I already do as a foreigner, female, person walking alone at night, and there wouldn't be much difference between me speaking one language no one else here understands and another. When I started speaking in different voices I decided maybe it was time to stop talking to myself.
3.8.12
Today is international women's day. In Italy, people give you yellow flowers and bars all have male strip shows to entertain the night's female patrons. In Vietnam, people give you flowers and other small gifts. So far, it seems that I am well on my way to having a full Vietnamese disguise. On Tuesday night I got a bedazzled purple shirt from the teachers' English club. Last night I got a flower arrangement and oranges, the latter for my continued recovery. Today I got a rose and a big floppy hat from my students, who also took me out for coffee during the break between periods. I also got a dress from the administrators.
After the gift-giving, class was business as usual until break. The students invited me to go to the canteen to have coffee with them, and break ended up being much longer than the scheduled 15 minutes.
Around lunchtime I got a very unexpected text message from an unknown number. Take a look:
My teacher! Please accept me today my wish for u HAPPY WOMAN DAY! Teacher isso bauety body and lovely hjhj. Love for you is alway. I see u in my heart wish to forever with u. My LOVE my WIFE my DREAM FREIN and KISS. Som day i can hope to spaek open to u:D pjpj teacher
When I replied, asking for the texter to tell me his or her name, this is what I got: "Oh u do not reconi me :DDD i am wait for u hope for see u teach me in futre MY LOVE." Interesting.
In the afternoon I was supposed to go watch the women's day activities that were taking place. Originally, Trang had plotted to get me in the cooking contest despite my protests, but I was spared by the fact that only union members were allowed to compete. As I headed to the gymnasium, I was trying to set aside my misgivings about women's day being celebrated with a cooking contest, but when I arrived I was pleased to see that there were as many men as women on the cooking teams. It was a spring roll making contest, judged on quantity produced, presentation, and flavor.
The winning team
Another fanciful display
After the judging, everyone in attendance got to dig in. I should have known that any remotely important day would include food, and I should have known that there would be more food waiting in the wings. And with food and celebration, there is always alcohol. I watched the men flit from table to table, inviting people to partake of the shotglass they refilled with a plastic bottle full of moonshine. I had already eaten my last bite of dessert and some of the teachers at my table were starting to leave but my table had not yet been pollinated by the alcohol butterflies. Could it be possible that I would make it through the meal without having to down any drinks? Vietnam would never allow such a thing. They swooped in just in time, and then I was snared again later, as I was on my way out.
