Tearless

"Remember me and smile, for it's better to forget than to remember me and cry."

I left Ben Tre on May 26. A cohort of seven people, including teachers, administrators, students, and local officials accompanied me on the two hour drive to the airport and then sat with me to wait for the two or three hours until it was time for me to go to the gate. I had been close to tears a few times in the morning on the way back from a last breakfast with Trang, but I had kept it in at that time. Maybe because I tried to swallow them then, my eyes stayed dry for the rest of the day. We were driving away from Ben Tre and halfway across the bridge into the next province when I realized that Ben Tre was literally and figuratively behind me. I turned around for one last view of the palm-covered island that I called home for nine months. It was a moment.

I met Violet and her respective cohort at the airport. When the time came to say goodbye, Trang told me to 'just go.' I thought she was trying to help me not cry, but when I hugged her I realized that she was the one trying not to cry. I had been feeling like there weren't any goodbye gifts that could begin to show my love and appreciation for her, but I was struck with a last-minute inspiration and gave her the lucky two-dollar bill I found before I came to Vietnam and told her the story behind it.

My caravan

Saying goodbye to the 'big woman in a blue suit', as she described herself before
picking me up at the same airport nine months ago

The next several days in Hanoi passed in a blur. ETAs filtered in and we looked for a balance between last Vietnamese experiences and transitional western meals. We went to a soccer game, which was something I had wanted to do since arriving in Vietnam. The stadium was pretty empty, but the fans of the visiting team waved flags, banged drums, honked horns, and reminded me of Italy. Hanoi (in blue) won 3-2 with a last-second goal.

Opposing fans

We had a short and sweet concluding conference and lots of farewell functions and before we knew it our term as Fulbrighters was officially over. People trickled away. Some are home already; some of us are still traveling. On the 31st Violet and I took an overnight train and we are now in Sa Pa, the last place on my must-see list in Vietnam. When I get back to Hanoi on the 4th, it will be to commence my month of Southeast Asian adventures. I'll try to keep you informed.

Famous on Friday

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.

Miles in the snow

I finally had the morning to myself, and I admit that it was a relief. Mr. Vu picked me up at 2pm and took me to his parents' house. I had been hoping to meet his wife and sons but apparently they were at her grandparents' house. I found myself in the midst of the Ben Tre I'd always imagined but never really seen. One left turn and then a right took me into the midst of rice paddies and coconut palms. Obviously I've seen both of these things while here, but I never knew just how close they were to campus. The ride earned me the self-granted distinction of riding about 40km, round trip, sidesaddle. On the way, Mr. Vu stopped to buy me a face mask. Consider me one step closer to being a local -- or at least one cover-up closer into blending in with them.

When we got to his house we spent the first hour or so just chatting over coconut water and fruit. Through a series of conversational tangents I ended up talking to Mr. Vu about the slang usage of the words 'cougar' and 'gold digger.' He responded in kind by telling me about relationships between teachers and students. I tried to wrap my head around the news that several male English teachers at the college have married former students, and a few of the female teachers are married to their former teachers. It was hard to keep judgment out it. We talked about many other things, however. Mr. Vu is one of my favorite teachers (though I don't actually work with him), mostly because I feel comfortable around him. He told me that he had been invited to attend a TESOL conference in Bangkok and one in Philadelphia. Unfortunately, the one in Bangkok is in about four days, so he won't be going to that. Unfortunately again, it is not likely that he'll be able to attend the one in Philadelphia, either, because it's really hard to get permission to leave. All the hoops I have to jump through around here? They're about five times worse for citizens. For some reason, the school officials are more likely to not permit their educators to leave the country for professional development than they are likely to allow it. Why? This frustrates me. Not only are they depriving their employees of opportunity, they are depriving their students of the benefits they could access by having professors with these kinds of experiences. But, even if he does get permission, the invitation is just an invitation, and he'd have to foot the hefty bill of airfare and lodging.

Mr. Vu spent a lot of time telling me about how different things were, not too many years ago. He said that nobody in his area had any vehicles until about 20 years ago. He still remembers the first time he and everyone in his neighborhood first saw a motorbike. They thought it was so strange. When he was a kid, bicycles were too expensive. He walked to school every day, and luckily it was only about 1km away. But then, when he had to go to secondary school, it was 7km away. Many of his classmates had to stop going to school, but he loved learning. He woke up at 3am every day to be able to make it to school in time. This sounds like the archetypal old man's story of walking to school uphill two miles in the snow, both ways, but it's almost nine miles round trip in the Mekong heat. Talk about commitment. Talk about the rest of us taking things for granted.

We were joined by three of his past students who were in the first graduating class that he taught, so they are almost his age. A little later one of my students, who is also Mr. Vu's cousin, came over too. Based on the last few days I had expected to have a huge meal with Mr. Vu's extended family, but I only met them when I arrived (and several of them said that I look like one of Mr. Vu's cousins), and I had dinner outside with Mr. Vu and the other guests. It was a very laid back meal, not to say that it was not abundant. We barely made a dent in the spread before us. I kind of got the impression that we were all eating out of politeness because everyone is perpetually stuffed during Tet. During the meal I mostly talked to my student. It was nice to just chat with her one-on-one. The evening lasted just the right length, and before we left I received my first ever envelope of lucky money. I thought I was too old for such a gift, but I'm not complaining.

Mr. Vu and I

Enter the dragon

Welcome to the year of the dragon! By Vietnamese measure, I am officially 24. Literally since my first day in Ben Tre, I was asked what my Tet plans were. Naturally, I had none. Campus wheels have been turning since then, and I finally get to experience the plans that have been underway since August.

1.20.12
I got back from HCMC in the morning and I was supposed to meet Mr. Luan and his family at 5pm. To be honest, this was the Tet day I'd been most worried about; because Mr. Luan is my supervisor for translations, I associate him with feelings of stress and frustration. However, we got off to a great start. It turns out that when we're one on one and having casual conversation instead of trying to exchange instructions, playing English fill-in-the-blank isn't so bad. I joined him, his wife, his son, and Ms. My (remember her from my early bike riding days?) at the flower market. Everyone thinks the flower market is the most beautiful thing ever and has been talking to me about it for weeks. One street along the river gets overrun by plant vendors selling everything from potted flowers to small flowering trees to pepper plants. It was pretty, but it wasn't as stunning to me as everyone else seems to think it is. We spent most of the time strolling and chatting and exchanging English and Vietnamese names for each plant. They bought me a cotton candy and, I kid you not, after little more than a minute it started melting and crystallizing. Essentially, the extreme humidity in the air was causing it to do what it would normally do in your mouth.

Welcome to the new year's flower market!

Who can spot the flower vendor?

I'm not sure at what point I started feeling unwell, whether it was before the pre-moistened cotton candy or after, but by the time we headed to dinner I was definitely feeling worried. We found a place that sold bánh xèo. I tried to use my sneaky tactic of eating slowly to avoid getting too many refills, but it didn't quite work. At some point, everyone else got full, and it was decided that it was my job to finish what was left. Long before this point, I was already struggling. I was not happy with this decision. Maybe I was too tired to resist, or maybe they were unusually forceful, but I ended up eating way way more than my body was willing to accept. And then we went somewhere else for dessert. I wasn't able to decline ordering dessert, but I did succeed in leaving it unfinished. All of that food ended up making a comeback later that evening. While it was unpleasant, it taught me that I need to be willing to stand firmer when I feel full in the coming days of feasting.

1.21.12
My next Tet stop was Mr. Bao Duy's house. He is the head of the English department. His wife picked me up and when I got to his house I spent a while hanging out with his kids. The whole family speaks English quite well, so socializing was very easy for me. His daughter is 20 and studies accounting at a university HCMC. It turns out that she doesn't really like accounting and is only studying it because she didn't know what to study and her dad recommended it. She's planning on being an accountant, anyway, but what she really likes is journalism, which she is involved in during her free time. His son is still in elementary school but speaks English excellently, though of course somewhat shyly. They have a tiny, adorable, bug-eyed, chihuahua-like puppy that was literally an ankle-biter.

Mr. Bao Duy invited me to photograph him making offerings at his family altar, and then it was time to eat. Very much in contrast with what normally happens, I experienced almost no insistence that I eat more and hardly any food ended up on my plate that I didn't put there myself. I had to wonder if word might have gotten out about the results from the night before. After the meal they saw the impending post-meal-coma in my eyes and offered me a bed to take a nap. Saints! Given that the flower market is pretty much the most exciting thing in all the land right now, I was taken on a second visit before being taken back to my room.

Not all of the courses were out when I took this picture

Flower market again

1.22.12

Have I mentioned that my Vietnamese name is Xuân Mai
(Spring Apricot Blossom)? It is the Tet flower because it
blooms briefly and almost exactlyduring this holiday season.

I woke up at 6am so that Ms. Trang could drop me off at Ms. Hoang's house, and I got in their family car to go to Ms. Hoang's husband's father's house. I should mention, this is the only Vietnamese person I know who owns a car. I didn't have breakfast because I figured we'd be eating soon and a lot. But, I guess 8am is a little early for lunch, even by Vietnamese standards. I was told to sit in the corner but I tried to find ways to be helpful. Ms. Hoang and her son were de-stemming some herbs on the floor and I sat down to help them. I couldn't help but think about the expression, 'the floors are clean enough to eat off of,' and the fact that in Vietnam they're always clean enough to cook and eat off of. I got to slice bread. They set me up for slicing on the floor, but as soon as I lowered myself to the ground everyone laughed as though this were preposterous and insisted that I work at the table.

By the time we finished ferrying five plates worth of each different dish to the three tables, my appetite was saying bring it on. Again, I was pretty much left to my own devices when it came to serving myself, something I was perfectly happy with. I was certainly encouraged to eat more, but in a very non-aggressive way.

One of the tables

I was informed that one of the teachers I used to teach in the FCE class last semester lived nearby, and we were to go visit him. At first I thought he was just going to come get me and take me to his house, which I was not totally comfortable with given the past joking but forward behavior of my male FCE students, but when I realized that Ms. Hoang would be coming too I went along with the plan. The three of us squeezed onto his motorbike. It wasn't as uncomfortable or precarious-feeling as I was expecting, but I was glad he only lived about 1km away. Of course, he plied us with more food. We went on a tour of his garden/massive yard/orchard. Apparently his land extends across the river, but we didn't go so far.

Three on a bike

Mosquitoes the size of penny-sized apricot blossom petals!

When we got back to Ms. Hoang's I was invited to observe a cockfight. Apparently cockfights are a big part of Tet, not so much because of tradition as because people have nothing else to do. It's illegal to bet on the fights, but of course people do it anyway. The winner becomes more expensive and the loser becomes dinner. I have to say, the fight was neither as dramatic nor as depressing as I was expecting. After the first couple of face offs it was clear that there wouldn't really be a winner, just a less loser. The roosters lost their spunk quickly but the fight doesn't end until one dies, so their handlers kept setting them up again and again. The only reason I stuck around until the end was because Ms. Hoang asked me which one I thought would win and I wanted to stay and find out whether I called it right. I did.

Face of when they still felt like it

Their ankles are taped up with a big metal barb curving outward at the back

1.23.12
It was new year's day and I would be spending it at Trang's parents' house. I arrived and was eagerly greeted by cheers and jumping up and down from Trang's oldest brothers' kids. It felt like coming home to family. The morning started with breakfast and the usual calm and surprising conversation with Trang's dad. We all hung out for a while and, throughout the morning, several of his eleven brothers and sisters (whom I did not previously know existed) and their families dropped by. I watched little kids get goaded into delivering new year's wishes to their elders in exchange for envelopes of lucky money. Money aside, I like the tradition of exchanging thoughtful good wishes. To this end, I learned a few lines in Vietnamese to make sure I could greet my hosts properly.

I had been warned that I would have work to do today. Trang's dad's 8th sibling (who is actually the 7th because Trang's dad, the 1st, is for some reason called the 2nd) invited me to his house to wrap Tet cakes. I'm not sure what distinguishes Tet cakes from any other glutinous rice cakes, especially since I saw several varieties of Tet cakes, but I got to help make them marketable. One woman was doing most of the work: she prepped banana leaves, scooped rice onto them, weighed them to make sure it was the right amount, added the log of filling, rolled it like a giant sushi, and tied banana leaves around the whole thing. Then we would re-tie it tighter, but that makes our job sound easier than it was. I watched Trang do it once and then I got to work. The woman finishing up the ones that Trang and I wrapped was astounded at my beautiful handiwork. She kept holding up my finished Tet cakes and waxing about them in Vietnamese for several minutes at a time. I could only understand her praising tone and frequent use of the word for beautiful. One time I tied it so tight that I squeezed some sort of fluid (ew?) out of the log. Apparently that's a good thing, because everyone was impressed.

The setup

Hard at work

Beautiful Tet cake

Slices of Tet cake, filled with green bean paste and pork fat, which you eat
with pork, broth, and eggs.

Working women and 8th Uncle

Now it was time to go back to Trang's parents' house and take a nap. I didn't need telling twice. A few hours later we headed to Trang's sister's house. Some weeks ago, when Trang was telling me about how superstitious people only want people with 'good names' to visit them on new year's day, and are especially particular about the first person who arrives, we had a funny conversation.

• My mother's name is Good.
• It's good? What is it?
• It's Good.
• Yes, what does it mean?
• It's Good, but my husband's name is Better.
• What is it?
• It's Better.

It didn't take too too long for me to figure out, but it was a real life Who's on First moment. Anyway, we had to wait for Trang's husband to get to her sister's house first before we could arrive. Once we got there, it was of course time to eat again. I've been in Vietnam long enough to recognize the spread as the assortment necessary for a build your own spring roll fest. Yum. After happily re-stuffing myself to the gills and drinking some Russian champagne it was time for gambling. Another Tet gambling endeavor is bingo. I played with Trang, her son, her sister, and her mom; her dad was our bookie. It was decided that it was a great time for me to practice Vietnamese, so after the first round I had to be the caller for the rest of the game. I won once, and Trang's sister won every other game. However, my winnings were enough for me to buy a second mat for the last round and break even at the end of the game.

Sping roll ingredients

My winning row

Receiving my winnings

This whole week I've been a little confused. It's the holiday season here, but it isn't a holiday season in my tradition, but it is a holiday season in the life I'm currently leading. In some ways, it has felt more like a holiday season than Thanksgiving, Christmas, or New Year's. I had the friends and family, which was wonderful, but I couldn't really carry out any of my traditions. Now I am lacking the friends and family from home, but it feels good to participate in traditions, even if they are not my own. I'm so immersed in it here that when I talk to people back home I'm taken aback when I am reminded that their life is celebration free, business as usual. Today was particularly nice because I felt like a part of the family and a part of the celebrations. When I was talking to Trang's dad in the morning I was remembering that I was doing the same thing five and a half months ago on my first weekend in Ben Tre. I didn't know these people, and yet they took me into their home. Now, I feel like I've been taken into their family, too.

On the way home, Trang and I started exchanging folktales and fables. She told me one that I found particularly striking and will now share with you.

A young woman came to visit her mother. She was overwhelmed by the difficulties in her life and felt like giving up. Her mother listened to her and then got up without saying anything. She set up three pots of water on the stove. In one, she placed a carrot; in the second, she placed an egg. In the last pot, she put some coffee beans. After the pots boiled for some time she asked her daughter to examine the contents of each pot. The carrot had become soft; the egg, hard. The water containing the coffee had become fragrant and flavorful. The mother said to her daughter, "Some people are like the carrot and let life's difficulties change them from being strong to being weak. Some people are like the egg. They start out gentle and sensitive but become hardened under life's burdens. Some people are like coffee beans: they change the circumstances around them into something better. Which one will you be like?"

Given that it is the new year yet again, I will make one more resolution about life in Vietnam and life in general. I will be a coffee bean.

Laos begins to wow us

1.13.12
I'm not usually one for superstitions, but let's just say that the start of my trip happened to fit people's expectations for Friday the 13th. On the bus to HCMC I had a moment of panic when I thought that I had left my wallet back in my room. Fortunately, it was in my backpack, but my hands were shaking for a good while thereafter.

When I got to the bus station in HCMC I was immediately spotted by my newly dubbed 'xe-homie' (a xe om is a motorbike taxi). The first time he took me somewhere he wouldn't accept my bargain and I felt overcharged. The second time I didn't recognize him until it was too late, and our final bargain was once again too high. However, when we got to our destination he re-evaluated and charged me less than we had agreed upon. This time, he saw me and cried "my friend!" and gave me a very reasonable price to the airport.

Back to Friday the 13th drama. I am one million times thankful that I decided to get to the airport early and check in right away. After finally making it to the front of the unmoving line I was told that since I did not bring the credit card I used to purchase my ticket, I would have to cancel my original one and buy a new ticket. I was told that I could get a full refund on the original ticket, but that the new ticket would likely be more expensive. I had to leave the check-in line and go to the ticketing line. I waited there, found out that the price was actually the same, and almost went through an entire transaction and then was told that I could not use this card to make the purchase because it says "Capital One Customer" instead of my name on it. Sooo I had to leave that line, find the ATM two floors down, get enough cash to pay for the ticket, then go back upstairs and get back in line and try again. Third time's the charm, I guess. Then I had to go back to the check-in line. Finally, finally, all was well and Kelly and I were on our way to Vientiane, the capital of Laos.

I naively expected Laos to feel more or less the same as Vietnam. I mostly just figured that since Vietnam is so different from the US, a neighboring country should be equally different and therefore feel generally similar. Instead, my first night in Laos made me realize just how hard it will probably be to readjust to life outside of Vietnam. I naturally chose chopsticks over the fork, and couldn't leave my plate sitting on the table in front of me; I had to hold it up near my mouth. I missed eating out of a small bowl and I was comforted by the roll of toilet paper serving as napkins. I was perplexed as to what to do with my wadded up napkins since there was no trashcan under the table and the place was too nice for me to just drop it on the floor, as I would in Vietnam. Over dinner I enjoyed the acclaimed Lao Beer. Admittedly, the lager was not terribly inspiring, but the dark lager was a happy reminder that beer can actually taste like something.

1.14.12
The next day illuminated even more differences between Laos and Vietnam. Right away, the prevalence of cars and minimal presence of motorbikes was striking. Kelly and I found ourselves struggling to cross the street when it doesn't feel like live-action Frogger. Regularly spaced traffic lights, obedience of conventional traffic regulations, and ostensibly silent horns were further baffling.

We embarked on a guidebook-guided tour of the city. We passed by the Presidential Palace on the way to our first stop, Wat Si Saket (wats are Buddhist temple complexes). Wat Si Saket is known for being the oldest standing temple in Vientiane and for having thousands of Buddhas. As our first wat, it was particularly striking.

Central temple, with renowned murals inside

Our introduction to the vibrant and intricate wat decor

Large Buddhas and two small Buddhas in each alcove.

We stopped by a large market, but I missed being somewhere where I know the language (and where the exchange rate is more in my favor). Almost everyone spoke English, but things just feel better when you can speak to people in their own language. We passed by That Dam, the Black Stupa, which happened to be next to the US Embassy, and had lunch nearby.

I'm the tiny speck in the lower center

Next, we went to Wat In Paeng, perhaps the most breathtaking of the day's wats. It was here that I began to feel a profound appreciation for being in Laos. Jumping onto Kelly's Tet travel bandwagon brought me into the midst of a beautiful new world I could never have imagined. A young monk came right over to talk to me, perhaps intrigued by my vaguely Asian features. He took a shine to me, and was happy to both practice his English and tell us all about himself and monk life. He told us that he was from Luang Prabang, but that there is no monk college there, so he had to move to Vientiane. I learned that I really knew nothing about Buddhist monkhood. They wake up early to receive alms, pray, and clean. In the evening they meditate for about 15 minutes. In between they study and have a lot of free time that, as far as I can tell, they use like any normal person would. They say that you can be a monk in the morning and not a monk in the evening; you can join and leave monkhood as you wish, as many times as you want. He also helped us practice Lao numbers, because Kelly and I were both tired of not being able to say anything other than hello (sabaidee) and thank you (kop jai) in Lao.

View of the main temple and entrance to the wat

Top of the archway over the wat gate, seen above

Gilded, mosaiced, muraled temple entrance

From there we went to Wat Ong Teu Mahawihan, the monk's college, and Wat Haisok.

Wat Haisok, as seen from the top of a tower in the complex

And then, the surreal and serene went to another level. We had read about Wat Sok Pa Luang, which is known for its herbal sauna and has guided meditation on Saturday afternoon. As luck would have it, it was Saturday. We started with seated meditation, during which we were supposed to focus on the flow of our breath. I did realize how much my ears revealed the longer my eyes were closed. Next, we moved on to walking meditation, and I was much better at that. Everyone was walking slowly, with purpose and awareness, I suppose, but I felt like that would alter what I was supposed to be observing. The constant change of walking helped me keep my focus, and giving conscious attention to visual distractions felt valid within the objective of fully experiencing the moment. I watched a spider wrap its prey; I walked on different surfaces to note the differences; I walked in circles on the sand to see how my footsteps came to overlay on each other. Then we went back to sitting. My mindfulness was more established by then, and it was easier this time around. I observed the erratic swarm of my thoughts, how one always rushed in to fill the void I tried to create. After that we took on the sauna. You might ask why one would choose to enter a steam bath when it could be said that the last five months of my life have been an unending steam bath, and I asked myself the same question. However, once I entered the wooden hut and breathed in the cloud of tea, I had to admit that it felt good. After a few ins and outs in the sauna, we decided it was time for our massage. Cue the best massage of my life (1 of 2 ever, but still).

The night wasn't over yet. We went to a night market for some authentic Lao food, and chose spring rolls, fried spring rolls, and big balls of rice that get broken up and mixed with lemon juice and herbs. We swung by Pha That Luang, the national symbol of Laos. After that we discovered that by that time of night it wasn't so easy to get tuk-tuks, the default mode of public/tourist transportation. Suddenly our meager Vietnamese abilities felt like a treasure trove compared to our nonexistent knowledge of Lao. We decided to give it a shot and tried to ask a woman for help, in English. To our surprise and delight, she informed us that she was Vietnamese. Communication! Success! She couldn't really tell us anything other than that we were up a creek, but some time after starting the walk back to the hotel we managed to hail a passing tuk-tuk and make it home.

not so foreign

Rice plate. We asked for 'just a little spicy' and got about six peppers each.

Rice balls. Each one turns into a rice plate as seen above.

Pha That Luan

1.15.12
Today was our last day in Vientiane, so we tried to get around to the last few things on our list. We rented bikes (yes, I biked!) to expedite our commute to Patuxay, the victory arch. Despite the self-deprecating sign saying that it is "a huge structure resembling the Arc de Triomph" that, "from a closer distance, it appears less impressive, like a monster of concrete," it was a sight worth seeing. Seven stories up, the top provided a great view of the city.

Patuxay

View of the plaza below

After that we met up with Leslie and John, two ETAs teaching in Laos, for lunch. It was great to meet new people, trade stories, find differences and similarities, and get an insight into Lao culture. They also introduced us to a new dish, tam mak hung, a papaya salad. They also gave us advice about what to make our next and final stop. Off to buddha park we went.

Papaya salad

Fulbrighters

We surrendered our bikes and took a tuk-tuk the 20-odd kilometers out of town. The long, bumpy, hair-tangling, dust-coating ride took us past the Lao-Thai friendship bridge and the Lao Beer Brewery. We also zipped past innumerable wats that made us wish we had more time to explore. Buddha park itself was a unique sight to behold. It was built in the 1950s and is full of Hindu and Buddhist statues made to look ancient. Though it houses a small temple, it is mostly a photo-op playground for locals and tourists. 

On the tuk-tuk

View of Thailand across the Mekong

Not pictured: brewery fragrance

Buddha park

Chilling on the most iconic of the statues

Clearly, I needed a picture on the cricket statue

In the evening we went to the night market, and even though we didn't do much shopping we made a grand discovery. The best thing since sliced bread: grilled sticky rice on a stick. It was like a hot, savory, fried rice popsicle. We had to go back for another. We also got to try Lao Beer Gold, the third of the three Lao Beers.

Pure genius