The one few will ever read

“Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.” – Paul Theroux

I miss Vietnam. I miss it a lot. As the passage of time buffs away memories of frustration and homesickness, I find myself homesick for the ideals of my experience. I miss my students, their smiles, their energy. I forget their silences. I become nostalgic for the hand-sized spiders in the bathroom.

I miss the food, of course. But that's the one thing I can almost get here, though it's almost never the same. I miss speaking Vietnamese, yet I rarely conversed in it there. I was on the cusp of daring before I left, and I miss the chance I would have had to come into my own if I had stayed.

I forget the loneliness and I remember the adventure. I miss the wind in my hair, forgetting that I always wore a helmet. I miss the potential for adventure being around every corner, even though it did all become mundane after a while. I miss chasing adventure on weekends away, clinging to the back of the motorbike as my favorite pilot whizzed us over country roads.

I miss the love and care that I didn't always feel but was undeniably there. It seems that every time the pessimistic voice pops up, suggesting that I've been forgotten, that those I might have touched have moved on and left me behind, I get an email or two from former students. And it makes my day.

I miss Vietnam and the life I made there, but I am grateful to realize I have no regrets. I could have done things differently; I could have pushed further beyond my comfort zone, but I was already living thirteen time zones past it. So I think that was plenty far enough. Now I just want to go back.

Leaving Asia

Wow. Eleven months exactly, and suddenly -- well not so suddenly, as it took 30-some hours to get to the US -- I was flip-flopped to the other side of the world. I spent my last day in Thailand with elephants, but I spent my last night at a drag show, an equally suitable farewell to Thailand.

Between wats and massages and elephants and ladyboys I visited Tip twice a
day almost every day for the best smoothies I've had all year.

After all of that I went back to Kuala Lumpur to regroup and repack. For the most part this meant lounging around Marta's house, doing some last-minute souvenir shopping, and going out to eat. However, on Friday I got to do something special. Marta has been volunteering as an English teacher for Afghan refugees, and on Friday she took me and her son to meet two of the families she has been helping. They were inspiring people to meet, and I also learned a lot about refugees and resettlement and what different countries offer the refugees they receive (easy since I knew pretty much nothing about this before). Both families have suffered almost unimaginable difficulties, but it was interesting to see how one family seemed to wear their struggles, while the other exuded energy and hope. I wish for the best for both of them, but it is much easier to foresee the latter family thriving when they are finally resettled in Australia. That evening Marta and her family took me out to a farewell dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant. Believe it or not this was a welcome and missed cuisine, and I got to play expert and recommend dishes for everyone.

The next day I began my long journey back to the United States. Seven hours took me from Malaysia to Japan, and then I had a nine-hour layover in Narita. With so much time on my hands, I decided to leave the airport and have a day trip in Japan. It was still early in the day, and few things were open when I got off the subway, but I figured I would wander around anyway. I was starving, and I stopped in one of the few open places for what claimed to be a salmon and cream cheese sandwich that ended up having slivers of salmon slathered in mayonnaise.

Getting comfortable on the plane

Welcome to Narita

sights around town

Fortunately, the rest of my visit went better. I walked to Narita's main attraction: Narita-san Shinsho-ji, a Shingon Buddhist temple founded in 940 that was expanded to a massive complex starting in the 1600s. The temple grounds were certainly large and impressive, but I was having a hard time appreciating them, possibly because I had no information about them and also probably in part because of my heavy backpack. However, as I wandered the grounds, leaving the temple areas and entering the scenic garden areas, I made an exciting discovery. Dismembered Japanese rhinoceros beetles were strewn along the path and were being voraciously consumed by ants. They were an exciting and unusual sighting for me, but internet research shows that they are popular pets in Asia, even being sold in vending machines. After that I also found some beautiful yellow and green spiders spinning webs between mossy rocks surrounding a waterfall.

Rhinoceros beetle carapace

feasting

For lunch I stopped at a place that had caught my attention earlier because a man was sitting at the entrance deftly slicing and cleaning live eels. Some of my favorite Japanese dishes feature eel, and so I was excited to see that almost every restaurant on the walk to the temple had an eel special. I went back to the place with the public butchering, which seemed to be one of the most popular restaurants within my price range. The restaurant was bustling, and I was entertained to hear people saying 'domo arigato', not followed by 'Mr. Roboto.'

Expert eel slicer

nom nom nom nom

Along the way to the temple I had spotted some shops where I thought I might be able to unload any unspent Yen I'd have left. Luckily, I did not do that before lunch, because after paying for my food I had little more than return subway fare left. Before leaving Japan I made two more notable sightings: a Mexican restaurant and a fancy-pants(less) Japanese toilet.
 

Enlarge to see the many options the toilet buttons offer

With that, it was a 10-hour flight into the US and another layover and flight until I reached my final destination. Now I am adjusting to eating American food (though I went out for Japanese noodle soup already), gorging on cheese, marveling at high-speed internet, and having days filled with little moments of contrast that remind me just how different a life I led for the last year. The blog may be over, but the adventure continues. Thank you for being a part of it.

"To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it is taken for granted." – Bill Bryson

In the merlion's domain

The opulence of Little India

I really enjoyed Singapore, perhaps because I had very few expectations and because I didn't stay for too long. My main reason for going to Singapore was for the food and because it was nearby so I might as well. However, I knew how expensive it can be, so I didn't want to stay for too long. One evening and one full day ended up being perfect.

I had printed out a few itineraries/walking tours for the city, and I picked out the parts that appealed to me. On my first evening I did the evening portion of a full-day walking tour. This started me out on the riverside, where I saw a historic bridge and the Merlion. I detoured a little and got a closer look at the Esplanade, a building known for it's resemblance to a split durian or a pair of bug's eyes. From there, I could also see the famous Marina Bay Sands complex and the Lotus museum. All year in Vietnam, there was a commercial about Singapore that aired at almost every commercial break on the channel I watched most often. I and the other ETAs got to the point where we had memorized most of the narration of the commercial, and now that I was in Singapore I could hear the voice actress's eager description of many landmarks playing in my head. I walked back along the riverside and was surprised to find myself in front of a familiar face. The bust of Ho Chi Minh was one among many busts of notable leaders that gazed over the riverfront.

In front of the merlion

Marina Bay Sands complex

I found the statue of Sir Stamford Raffles, the founder of modern Singapore, and had a long-deliberated dinner along the Boat Quay. I say long deliberated because this sort of riverwalk area was covered in restaurants and I was overwhelmed by the number of options as well as by the number of western white collar workers who had flooded these establishments for their happy hour. I was also slightly overwhelmed by the prices, though I had already mentally prepared to spend $20 on dinner. I chose one place but they didn't choose me, and after about twenty minutes, until the end of a soccer match, when I still hadn't gotten any service, I decided to go to my second-choice restaurant. Second choice might have been best. It was an Italian restaurant that exceeded my expectations and fit within my budget. The hostess was confused as to why I would be going out for dinner alone. By the time I left dinner it was dark out, and I enjoyed the lights of Clarke Quay before I called it a night and went back to the hostel.

City lights over the river

The next morning I started with a tour of Chinatown. The main sights were a Hindu temple and the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple. The second temple really amazed me. It was big on the outside, but I had no idea how ornate and impressive it would be on the inside. When I can upload pictures you will see what I mean. By the time I left, it was high time for lunch. Fortunately, that was part of why I had made Chinatown my first stop. I went to the famous but nondescript Maxwell Food Center, a sort of collection of food stalls. I had to have the famous local specialty, Hainanese Chicken Rice. At least half of the stalls served this. How was I to choose the best one? I had been advised to choose the one with the longest line, but most poeople were already eating so I chose the one with the most people sitting in front of it. After I ordered I noticed that they had a picture of Anthony Bourdain endorsing their particular stand. Good choice, I guess. It was good, but honestly it didn't taste notably different from the chicken rice I had in Penang.

Top of the hindu temple

Buddhist Tooth Relic Temple

Inside the temple

Anthony Bourdain approves

One last look at Chinatown

My next stop was the botanic gardens. They are huge! The maps posted throughout the grounds give estimated walking times to different parts of the garden, ranging from 10 to 30 minutes. I visited the rainforest area, and was thrilled to see an elusive monitor lizard climbing a tree. I also visited the National Orchid Garden, the only part of the gardens you had to pay for. Among other things, there was the VIP garden, which housed special cultivars of orchids that have been named after various dignitaries who have visited the gardens, like Nelson Mandela. Another garden I liked was the ginger garden. I learned that the ginger family includes many different kinds of plants, including bananas. I spent several hours at the garden, partly enjoying it and partly killing time before my next destination.

Monitoring the monitor

Speckled orchid

On a recommendation, I went to the Ion Mall for dinner. I didn't end up going to the place recommended because it wasn't open yet and was out of my price range, but I found another dim sum place in the food court. I realized that dim sum doesn't work as well when you're eating alone, but luckily my appetite is big, and I had three different sets of dumplings. I was still hungry after that, and looked over my options to see what might fill me up. I saw that they had these crispy things filled with durian and shrimp. This is not something I would have every been drawn to before, but I figured I needed to give durian a chance. I'd had it in things before and while it was never a positive experience it had ceased being a negative experience. Either way, the dish would end the meal, either by filling me up or taking away my appetite. It did a little of both. The plate came with three pieces, and the first one was ok. The second was also ok, but I was just unwilling to have the third. Meal completed.

Now it was time to visit the art museum. It is free every Friday from 6 to 9pm. There was an exhibit called Panorama, featuring the work of contemporary Asian artists. I didn't like the first few pieces I saw, partly because they resembled so much contemporary Asian art I've already seen, and partly because I just didn't like them, but when I moved to the next room things took a turn for the better. I ended up really liking the show, largely because the highlights shone so bright even with the smattering of lowlights.

On my last morning, I made one last trip to Chinatown, back to the Maxwell Center, for dumplings that had caught my eye the day before. A quick lunch and then I rushed back to the hostel to get my things and go to the airport, so I could get to Thailand. It's crazy to me how easy it is to forget that casually hopping on a plane/train/automobile to another country or even to another city isn't really a normal part of daily life for most people.

"Ulysses by the Merlion" by Edwin Thumboo
I have sailed many waters,
Skirted islands of fire,
Contended with Circe
Who loved the squeal of pigs;
Passed Scylla and Charybdis
To seven years with Calypso,
Heaved in battle against the gods.
Beneath it all
I kept faith with Ithaca, travelled,
Travelled and travelled,
Suffering much, enjoying a little;
Met strange people singing
New myths; made myths myself.
But this lion of the sea
Salt-maned, scaly, wondrous of tail,
Touched with power, insistent
On this brief promontory...
Puzzles.
Nothing, nothing in my days
Foreshadowed this
Half-beast, half-fish,
This powerful creature of land and sea.
Peoples settled here,
Brought to this island
The bounty of these seas,
Built towers topless as Ilium's.
They make, they serve,
They buy, they sell.
Despite unequal ways,
Together they mutate,
Explore the edges of harmony,
Search for a centre;
Have changed their gods,
Kept some memory of their race
In prayer, laughter, the way
Their women dress and greet.
They hold the bright, the beautiful,
Good ancestral dreams
Within new visions,
So shining, urgent,
Full of what is now.
Perhaps having dealt in things,
Surfeited on them,
Their spirits yearn again for images,
Adding to the dragon, phoenix,
Garuda, naga those horses of the sun,
This lion of the sea,
This image of themselves.

On the spectrum

"A racial community provides not only a sense of identity, that luxury of looking into another's face and seeing yourself reflected back, but a sense of security and support." - Wentworth Miller

As a person on the brown spectrum, my interaction with new people is often tinted with curiosity. Almost always, after trying to subtly gather intel, the person I am talking to inquires about my origins. In the US, this is amusing if I am in the right mood and tiring if I am in the wrong mood. In Asia, I might call it enlightening.

In the US, 'diversity' is usually parsed into a few different sets of peoples, and we are usually pretty good at (or think we are pretty good at) discerning which set most people fit into. We forget that diversity means something very different in other places, and when we're in those places we are not necessarily equipped to even perceive that diversity. In Italy, for example, diversity came from Africans, North Africans, and Eastern Europeans. Of those, Africans were the only ones I could confidently differentiate from Italians, while Italians themselves were adept at perceiving (and sometimes subsequently discriminating against) a person's membership in each one of those groups.

Here in Asia, my ambiguous physical appearance has given me insight into what constitutes diversity wherever I go. In Vietnam, which is largely homogeneous other than the many ethnic groups who get swept under the rug, I was usually some other kind of Asian outsider when I wasn't Vietnamese. Indian, Thai, Malaysian, and, when I came back especially brown after Cambodia, Cambodian. There, I was definitely possibly a Cambodian. In Laos, I don't remember any locals asking me, so I don't know. People in the countries I have visited see me and see almost themselves. Both being perpetually labeled with a question mark and being hesitantly labeled as something that I am not leave me feeling like I am neither here nor there. I am familiar, but not quite right. The truth is that I am not 'right'. I am not a local, and as convenient as it might be for people to mistake me for one of their own, I am no less an outsider than a tall, blonde, blue-eyed westerner.

The Malaysian population, though of course more diverse than this generalized representation, is split among native Malay peoples and those with Indian or Chinese heritage. From what I've learned, one's ethnic identity strongly affects one's status and privilege, and there can be a lot of contention between these groups. In this context, I was particularly curious to discover where I might fit in. My externally perceived identity is also important because while Malaysian Chinese dress as unconservatively as they want, most native Malays are Muslim, and dress very conservatively. If I were perceived as one of the latter but were not dressed accordingly, it could cause some uncomfortable situations. I consulted with Marta, and we both felt that that might be the most likely interpretation of my identity. However, I also asked Francis, Marta's driver, who is Malaysian Indian. He stated, fairly confidently, that I look like a Chinese-European mix, something that is apparently becoming more common here. It almost made me laugh, because that is one of the most common guesses I get in the US. I nonetheless intend to dress somewhat conservatively, but it is a relief to know that I am not as likely to be seen as an errant Muslim as I thought.

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.

Looking back

Surprisingly, despite the drudgery of having to write what felt like ten different overviews for Fulbright and the college, I somehow ended up churning out something I liked. I thought I'd share this one:

My time in Vietnam has been, first and foremost, a learning experience. I learned some local culture and language; I learned about how people learn and how to teach them, and I learned about myself.

One of the reasons I wanted to come to Vietnam was to experience a culture drastically different from my own, and to try to learn Vietnamese. While my Vietnamese study was not as consistent or successful as I had hoped, there was no stopping the cultural exposure. I was lucky to have a host with an appetite as big as mine, and a teacher’s spirit. I told her early on that I wanted to try new things, and even now, in my last month in Vietnam, she is still taking me to try new dishes, like gà ác. I can definitely say I have savored Southern Vietnamese culinary culture. More importantly, over the many meals we shared, she taught me so much about Vietnamese culture. I learned about everything from proverbs to chopstick etiquette to superstitions. Moreover, every time I interacted with someone, it was a moment of cultural exchange.

Though I had some experience teaching before I came to Vietnam, this was my first time developing lesson plans that had to keep 30+ students engaged and learning for 90 minutes. In the beginning, the hardest part was estimating how long each activity would take, and I often over-planned in case I overestimated how much time each activity would fill. Eventually, though, this became second nature. But then the real challenges started. How did I know if my students were learning anything? Was I a teacher, or just an entertaining foreign babysitter? Most of the time, it was hard to tell. But, there were moments, flashes of light, in which I saw that I was having an impact. They could be small signs – students getting in groups and shouting their group number in English rather than in Vietnamese – or big ones, like when I let my students chat about whatever they wanted as long as it was in English, and they did. I asked students to fill out teacher evaluations and self-evaluations at the end of each course. Even if at that point it was too late to implement any suggestions for improvement, these evaluations showed me what the students thought of me, my teaching style, my lessons, and their own behavior and progress in my class. Many times, when students wrote about the effects of certain lessons, they wrote exactly what my unspoken objectives had been. These evaluations affirmed me as a teacher, and educated me about my students.

Life in Vietnam was sometimes a life of extremes. Living alone here is different from living alone in the States, where friends are never too far. Here, a 15-hour time difference separated me from my closest friends, at least two hours of public transportation separated me from the closest ETA, and language separated me from most of the people in my vicinity. Loneliness was a whole new animal. Frustrating situations were made all the more frustrating by cultural differences and language barriers. I had to confront my shortcomings and my bad habits, and battle to change them or accept them as a permanent part of me. When I first got to Ben Tre, feeling the weight of nine unimaginable months ahead of me, I told myself that if I survived this next phase of my life, I would know whether I would never leave home again or whether I would be a wandering spirit forever.  Well, I survived, and I now know I am ready to spend some time at home for now, but I’ll be surprised if I stay there for too long.

I know that Fulbright’s objective is cultural exchange. I know that my role was that of a teacher, inside and outside of the classroom. People told me time and time again that I, the first foreigner, was an invaluable resource to the community. I believe them. But what I can most accurately assess is the personal value of my experience as an ETA in Vietnam. I have gained so much: understanding, knowledge, perspective, patience, friendship. Was I the person most changed by my presence in Vietnam? Maybe. But maybe I changed enough people enough that my influence will branch out from them, changing how foreigners are viewed, changing how English is spoken, changing how English is taught, changing things I cannot imagine.

“I am not the same having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world.” – Mary Anne Radmacher Hershey

Full circle

"Sometimes you have to go halfway around the world to come full circle." - Lost in Translation

These last few days I've been feeling much like I did when I first arrived in Ben Tre. Overwhelmed, lonely, and confused. Entering into the month of May, I thought that my social calendar would start getting overloaded with people wanting to make the most of my dwindling days. Entering into my last week, I really thought that would happen. It has not. It feels remarkably similar to my first week here, back when I had nothing to do and a whole lot of time in my room and in my head. It's also similar in the number of somewhat invasive and bizarre visits I've been getting. I thought I had gotten better at being patient with culture clash, but maybe it was just everyone else getting better around me, because my fuse did not feel long at all. The worst thing about being in a face-saving culture is that feeling obligated to smile and be polite when that's not what you want only increases the internal desire to shout and make a big fuss.

I spent most of Saturday trying to finish the mountain of final reports required by both Fulbright and Ben Tre College. At some point in the afternoon, I got a phone call. A woman I don't know called me from Mr. Luan's phone, saying that she was his friend and that she wanted to come to my room to hang out with me. I told her I was too busy, and that tomorrow would be better. She understood, and agreed to meet me tomorrow. Before she hung up, though, I heard Mr. Luan asking her questions in Vietnamese and her relaying the replies I had given her during our conversation. Maybe ten minutes later, there was a knock at my door. Can you guess who it was? It was her and Mr. Luan. They wanted to come hang out in my room, and practically forced their way in when I opened the door. Then they looked around at my packing piles and realized that there was nowhere for them to sit. So, we all stood around awkwardly a few feet from the door. We re-discussed whether I was busy and to what extent, and after too long it was concluded that we would do something on Sunday. Mr. Luan had already invited me to do something Sunday several days ago, so our conversation in my room essentially yielded no net results.

The moment came on Sunday and I prepared myself by spending half an hour in corpse pose on my bed, trying to relax. Maybe it worked, because for the most part I managed to be in a pleasant mood. Mr. Luan, his family, Ngoc (the friend from the day before), Ms. My, and a man from the college all took me to visit a pagoda with a tree that is allegedly three hundred years old. Having seen the 150-year-old live oak at the Alamo, this three hundred year old tree looked more like an overgrown shrub. The nicest part about it was that it was the many butterflies that fluttered in and out of sight amidst its branches. When he wasn't taking candid pictures of me doing things like scratching mosquito bites, Mr. Luan summoned me here and there for posed photos by shouting "You! You! You!" until I turned around. I was encouraged to eat a starfruit that was so sour it literally burned the tip of my tongue. And then it was time for dinner. Dinner was good. We all ate more than we wanted to, and then we all went to have dessert.

Pretending to hold up the tree

On the way to dinner, I had an epiphany. In the early days, I had no patience for Mr. Luan. But, I always recognized that he was well meaning and I tried to train myself to have patience with him. This used to require having a voice in the back of my head reminding me to relax and give him a chance during most of the time we spent together. Eventually, this kind of worked. I no longer feel anxiety just at the thought of spending time with him. I have a lot more patience with the many things that are rude in my culture but insignificant in his. I am the guest here, after all, and my culture is the foreign one. I often wondered why he in particular got under my skin so much more than anyone else here. He is kind. He is energetic. He doesn't speak English very well but that's not his fault. Here's where the epiphany comes in. Working for Mr. Luan is like working for a puppy. Puppies are great, but most endearing puppy qualities are terrible management qualities, and being in a position where I am subject to his whims is what causes our problems.

This afternoon I was somewhere between asleep and awake watching tv when I heard some noises outside. I thought they were general outside noises, until I realized that it sounded like someone was saying my name, and that the tapping might be happening on my door. Before I could get up and get dressed, I realized that my door was being opened. A teacher stuck her head in the door and started shouting, asking whether I was inside. Of all the times my door has been impatiently knocked on, no one has ever just opened the door and come right in. I was taken aback. Then I was told that Mr. Luan wanted to take a photo of me and my bicycle with Ms. My. Why? Why now? As I mentioned at the start, because expressing irritation would only cause me to lose face, I resorted to passive-aggressively acting like I didn't understand all of Mr. Luan's pantomiming. It wasn't mature of me, but it's the only way I can feel like I have some control.

Luckily, my day didn't end there. I went out for dinner with Thuy, Trang's sister. I thought it was going to be the last time we saw each other, but by the end of the night we ended up deciding to see each other again on Friday. We had soup and then went out for drinks. I opened up to her about feeling sad that no one seems to want to take the time to say goodbye to me. I've been mulling it over in my head, what with all the free time I've had, trying to figure out why I've had so much free time. Are people worried that I'm busy? Do people not want to deal with saying goodbye? I know it's not that people don't care, but that doesn't mean I don't feel neglected. As close as I feel to Trang, sometimes it's hard for me to talk to her about my feelings or frustrations because I feel like she feels more responsible for them. With Thuy, I'm just talking to a friend.

Westward in the Delta

“Bizarre travel plans are dancing lessons from God.” – Kurt Vonnegut

 Friday morning I wore an ao dai to teach. I don't have many more chances to wear them so, despite the heat, I'll be wearing one for my last few classes. I guess I hadn't worn one to teach my first years yet, so when I walked in I was literally greeted with a round of applause. During class, I kept seeing phones popping up and I realized that students were taking photos of me. I wanted to get a group picture with the class anyway, so I asked them to wait until the end of class, and then after the group picture I was swamped with students wanting to get a picture taken with me. Not only that, they all wanted my autograph. I signed notebooks, textbooks, and dong bills. I reminded them that I wasn't leaving yet, but that didn't seem to matter.

First years, class one

First years, class two

This Sunday, I was to be a judge at the final round of a delta-wide English speaking competition co-organized by Fulbright and hosted by An Giang University. Violet and I decided to make a weekend trip of it. We would meet in Can Tho on Friday, visit the famous floating markets on Saturday morning, and then go to An Giang in the afternoon to be there in time for rehearsal.

You may recall that when my friends came for my birthday back in September, they each had some sort of minor horror story, mostly revolving around the fact that despite their college or university's insistence that a bus could bring them to Ben Tre, they were told that there was no such bus on the day of their intended departure. Andrea, the ETA who lives in Long Xuyen, An Giang, had one of the most stressful and protracted treks that weekend. I have been fortunate enough to not have encountered this kind of frustration, mostly because I can rely on Violet's wheels for any adventures that do not route through HCMC. So, it was high time for me to have my own overcomplicated multi-part transit experience.

Last week I was told that there was a 130pm bus to Can Tho. Perfect. I finish teaching at 11ish on Fridays, so I would have time to lunch and relax before catching one easy, direct bus to my destination. Kim Long took me to the bus station at around 115 but we couldn't find the bus. A seemingly random man who might have been the driver informed us that the bus was having some kind of mechanical trouble and wouldn't be leaving until 330 at the earliest. This was not ideal, but there might still be a bus. Kim Long took me home and took me back to the bus station a little before three. The bus was still nowhere to be found and she set out trying to get more information. I overheard someone say something that sounded like the bus was gone, but Kim Long was busy talking to people and perhaps trying to trouble shoot to keep me abreast of transportational issues or developments. Finally, she reappeared and told me that there was no bus. She called Trang to ask her to explain the situation to me. However, Trang's explanation was very confusing and the result was that I'm not sure whether there was actually no afternoon bus to begin with or whether there just wouldn't be a bus that afternoon. I was about to have Trang arrange for a xe om to take me to Can Tho, when Tammy, a woman from the international office appeared. Rapid fire Vietnamese ensued and a local bus was flagged down and I was still in the dark, though it seemed that a solution might be presenting itself. She told me that her hometown was on the way to Can Tho, and that if I went with her on this bus I could catch another bus that would take me to Can Tho. I was a little skeptical but she was insistent and I figured I didn't have anything to lose. Onto the bus.

Tammy (her real name is Tâm, which means heart) came to Ben Tre College just a few months ago, and at the time I considered her a chatterbox and a busybody, but now she was my travel agent and guardian angel. She told me all about the interesting sites in the delta and she called a bus company to make sure I would have a way to get from Vinh Long to Can Tho. I was less skeptical of her plan, but this is Vietnam so I wasn't counting my chickens just yet. We passed her hometown and she stayed on the bus with me for another hour to accompany me to Vinh Long. She had intended to accompany me to the bus company office, but by then it was almost five and she wouldn't be able to get back home, so she set me up with a xe om driver who was to take me across the ferry, into the city, and to the bus company. Surprise surprise, when we got to the bus company offices and they said there were no more buses. There were also no more buses from the company next door. So, I asked my xe om driver to take me the rest of the way. Despite the fact that I was speaking to him in perfectly comprehensible Vietnamese, he held up his fingers to indicate the price. Sigh. Off we went.
  
He stopped for gas twice, and asked me for more money. Somehow, though he thought it was necessary to use fingers to communicate numbers, he thought I would understand his explanation of why I should give him more money. Since he didn't think highly of my Vietnamese comprehension, I decided to play along, pretend I didn't understand, and evade giving him more money than we had agreed on. On the road, the bus from Vinh Long that supposedly did not exist passed us -- on the way and on its way back. We made it into Can Tho, but since he was from Vinh Long he didn't know how to get around. He tried to drop me off on a random corner because he didn't want to be bothered to find my hotel. When I just sat on the back of his bike, though, it finally occurred to him to ask someone for help. Finally, after every leg of the trip went unaccording to plan, I made it. 

Violet and I decompressed for a while in our golden-yellow room at the Xoai (Mango) Hotel, which gave us mango when we checked in. We went to the riverside to check out the night market and to build a dinner composed of street snacks: bánh tráng trộn, sinh tố thạp cảm, hoành thánh chiên, and xôi gà.

assembling our bánh tráng trộn

luminous hoành thánh chiên (fried wontons)

The next morning we made the effort to wake up at six (sort of early, but not as early as the recommended time of 4am) to visit the floating market. After a short boat ride downstream, we encountered the clot of boats selling produce and snacks. Boats hung or speared produce on tall poles so that you could see what they were selling, even from far away. There were also a couple floating gas stations for convenience. People tossed fruit back and forth. It must have been quite bustling at four.

Dragonfruit in the foreground, fruit poles in the background

Pumpkin boat

Small boat with assorted fruit

Coffee and beverage boat

Tossing watermelons

Hat provided by our boatman, who was concerned for Violet's skin

Back on dry land, we took a walk to look for breakfast and wandered through a non-floating market before getting on the road to Long Xuyen, An Giang. The rain caught us twice but we made it in relatively good time. We got to see Andrea's comparatively luxurious lodgings and went out to dinner with the many officials and faculty members involved in the competition.  

The final round of the competition started on Sunday morning. 32 groups from several delta colleges and universities competed, and today we would evaluate the final six groups. I hate to say it, but the caliber of the students competing in the final round made it clear to me why none of the groups from Ben Tre made it.

First and second place winners

On Monday morning, we had one last breakfast together before Kelly, Violet, and I hit the road towards our respective homes. It took me and Elliot four hours to make it to Long Xuyen by bus when we were going to Phu Quoc, and I was curious how long it would take with Violet at the helm. By some miracle we avoided the rain. The skies were gray all around us, but a clear bright patch stayed above us the whole time we were on the road. We passed through Sa Dec, a town mostly known for being the setting of The Lover, a famous novel.

Sa Dec Post Office

We were just 16km from home when we got a flat tire. Luckily, motorbike repair shops line most roads, and we didn't have to walk very far before we found someone to patch us up and get us back on the road. Even with that delay, we made the whole trip in just under four hours, and less than half an hour after we made it home the patient sky opened up and unleashed the afternoon rains.