Sunday, September 27, 2009
I feel good.
Today I felt something I don't believe I've ever felt in my life.
I felt really, genuinely proud of myself.
It hit me after my second day of working at Aston's, the new job. I worked five hours in the morning on Saturday and four hours today, teaching children anywhere from 5 to 13 years old. I continue teaching in the evenings during the week. The class schedule is mind-boggling: teachers are shifted from age group to age group by the hour and by the half hour. Sometimes one class has two or three different teachers; usually when you arrive at a class they've already had a teacher before you, possibly two, and you have to assess what the students have already learned to even know where to begin with the lesson. It's an awful system, and I'm glad I don't have to stick with it for too long. But it's really not all bad. I'm paid $15 an hour. I have a Vietnamese teaching assistant in each classroom to assist me (they are all young and female, so this is even more of a bonus than it sounds). The kids are great. And today, after my final class, my assistant turned me and said, "The kids really like you."
"How do you know?" I said.
"They said it in Vietnamese, as they were leaving."
This made me feel great, yes. But it wasn't until I was walking home that it really, truly hit me. I am eighteen years old. I am eighteen years old and living independently in a foreign country. I am eighteen years old, living independently in a foreign country, and teaching English here, successfully. When I first left for Vietnam, I had some serious doubts about whether I could really survive such a huge transition. Well, I've survived it, and more. I've adapted to a new culture, quickly and without too many bumps along the way. I've found a job in this new culture, on my own, and so far, I seem to be doing my job well. It's not an easy job either; I'm teaching a new language to young, energetic children. And I'm eighteen years old. I'm doing this without a degree, without any sort of teacher's training, and with little experience.
Yes, I am proud of myself. It's even deeper than that, though. For the first time in my life, I feel like other people have reason to be envious of me. I'm truly privileged to be where I am right now. How many people can say they've taught English in a foreign country at 18?
This all must sound insufferable. I apologize. I can't keep it in. I'm really happy with my life right now, and I need to share. To me, this feels like the culmination of all the maturation I've done in my life, especially in the last few years. No, culmination is the wrong word. It implies an ending. This is not an ending, but a new momentum that is just now getting underway. For the first time in my life, I feel like I am moving toward the future.
I've decided that this is what I want to do. It's pretty much official. Teaching English overseas is what I want to do with my life, at least for a few years after college. I figure if I'm happy teaching at a not particularly good school, it's probably a good indication that I like the work. And I do. I enjoy teaching, and I enjoy traveling. I enjoy the challenge of adapting to a new culture. I like trying new foods and meeting new people. Of course, I'm not a naturally extroverted person, so I can only take so much at once; I think I hit my limit a couple weeks ago, after a straight month of almost constant interaction with new people, and had to hide in my room for a while. But I even enjoy that: trying to find the right balance. And I'm surprised at how long I went without needing time alone; this is about the farthest I've ever stretched the boundaries of my personality. The move was conveniently timed, though; apart from the initial move-in weekend, my life in District 10 has been much slower-paced. This has been a relief; I'm not sure how much more District 1 life I could have taken. Now I'm able to spend a few hours alone every day, which is nice.
I was going to write a long entry about how teaching English to preschoolers breaks the language down and builds it up again brick by brick, allowing the teacher to reexamine the language and it's intricate, frequently nonsensical construction through fresh eyes, but you probably don't want to hear about that.
I felt really, genuinely proud of myself.
It hit me after my second day of working at Aston's, the new job. I worked five hours in the morning on Saturday and four hours today, teaching children anywhere from 5 to 13 years old. I continue teaching in the evenings during the week. The class schedule is mind-boggling: teachers are shifted from age group to age group by the hour and by the half hour. Sometimes one class has two or three different teachers; usually when you arrive at a class they've already had a teacher before you, possibly two, and you have to assess what the students have already learned to even know where to begin with the lesson. It's an awful system, and I'm glad I don't have to stick with it for too long. But it's really not all bad. I'm paid $15 an hour. I have a Vietnamese teaching assistant in each classroom to assist me (they are all young and female, so this is even more of a bonus than it sounds). The kids are great. And today, after my final class, my assistant turned me and said, "The kids really like you."
"How do you know?" I said.
"They said it in Vietnamese, as they were leaving."
This made me feel great, yes. But it wasn't until I was walking home that it really, truly hit me. I am eighteen years old. I am eighteen years old and living independently in a foreign country. I am eighteen years old, living independently in a foreign country, and teaching English here, successfully. When I first left for Vietnam, I had some serious doubts about whether I could really survive such a huge transition. Well, I've survived it, and more. I've adapted to a new culture, quickly and without too many bumps along the way. I've found a job in this new culture, on my own, and so far, I seem to be doing my job well. It's not an easy job either; I'm teaching a new language to young, energetic children. And I'm eighteen years old. I'm doing this without a degree, without any sort of teacher's training, and with little experience.
Yes, I am proud of myself. It's even deeper than that, though. For the first time in my life, I feel like other people have reason to be envious of me. I'm truly privileged to be where I am right now. How many people can say they've taught English in a foreign country at 18?
This all must sound insufferable. I apologize. I can't keep it in. I'm really happy with my life right now, and I need to share. To me, this feels like the culmination of all the maturation I've done in my life, especially in the last few years. No, culmination is the wrong word. It implies an ending. This is not an ending, but a new momentum that is just now getting underway. For the first time in my life, I feel like I am moving toward the future.
I've decided that this is what I want to do. It's pretty much official. Teaching English overseas is what I want to do with my life, at least for a few years after college. I figure if I'm happy teaching at a not particularly good school, it's probably a good indication that I like the work. And I do. I enjoy teaching, and I enjoy traveling. I enjoy the challenge of adapting to a new culture. I like trying new foods and meeting new people. Of course, I'm not a naturally extroverted person, so I can only take so much at once; I think I hit my limit a couple weeks ago, after a straight month of almost constant interaction with new people, and had to hide in my room for a while. But I even enjoy that: trying to find the right balance. And I'm surprised at how long I went without needing time alone; this is about the farthest I've ever stretched the boundaries of my personality. The move was conveniently timed, though; apart from the initial move-in weekend, my life in District 10 has been much slower-paced. This has been a relief; I'm not sure how much more District 1 life I could have taken. Now I'm able to spend a few hours alone every day, which is nice.
I was going to write a long entry about how teaching English to preschoolers breaks the language down and builds it up again brick by brick, allowing the teacher to reexamine the language and it's intricate, frequently nonsensical construction through fresh eyes, but you probably don't want to hear about that.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Big Move (and the numerous and varied experiences that followed it)
Okay, I am officially moved in. I was officially moved in about five days ago, actually, but was unable to tell anyone about it due to problems with the new hotel's wireless internet (something to do with security settings). I managed to fix it somehow today. I'm not entirely sure what I did, and the internet connection is still a bit spotty, but it exists now, and that's what matters, right?
Internet troubles aside, the move went very smoothly. Not much effort was involved. I put together my three bags, flagged a taxi, and hopped in. The trip to District 10 was about 80,000 dong ($4.50), although it probably would've been a bit cheaper if I'd left at a better time; I left around rush hour without thinking, and we encountered some pretty heavy traffic along the way. Upon arrival, the cab driver helped me with my bags. Conveniently the new room is only up one flight of steps; this is an improvement over my old room, which was up about five (although I will get less exercise now). Unpacking was pretty easy. I set up my laptop on the desk, dumped most of my stuff in the desk drawers, and hung up clothes in the closet.
The new location has a few downsides. The hotel is not quite as nice as the old one; it has the same basic amenities and the room is roughly the same size, but the furniture is of noticeably lower quality, and certain things that were provided in the old hotel are not provided in this one. Like towels. This posed a problem that I will discuss later on. There is no laundry service here either, but I actually prefer being able to do laundry myself; the only problem is that in Vietnam they hang everything to dry, which would be great in a dry country, but is not really very convenient in a country with daily monsoon rains. Another problem is noise. Before I came to Vietnam I read a lot about how noise was a big problem for foreigners, often keeping them awake at night. I was initially puzzled by this, since I never had a problem with noise at all in my old hotel. It was a bit noisier than rural Minnesota, sure, but it certainly didn't keep me awake. I now realize I was extremely lucky. Since most hotels are in alleys, I think it basically comes down to the character of your alley: either you have a quiet alley, or a noisy one. The old hotel was in a quiet alley. The new hotel is not.
The noise starts around 6 AM, with trucks and motorbikes thundering past. The invention of the muffler does not seem to have spread to this part of the city yet. Dogs bark from morning to night (once I was sorely tempted to go out onto the balcony and shout, "Just shoot them and put them in a soup already!"). There is an unimaginably squeaky gate that, for some reason, must be opened and closed about eight times every morning, and then a few more times at night for good measure. A squeaky gate might not sound that bad, but you have not heard this gate. It produces the most excruciating sound you can possibly imagine.
But believe me, the move has not been all bad. Far from it. It was definitely a good idea, and a lot of good things have come of it. I'll begin a series of interesting dining experiences. I realized the other day that I haven't said too much about dining here overall, and since I had quite a few good meals recently, I figure now is a good time to talk about Vietnamese food.
The first thing I did after moving in was go out with a friend for dinner. She lives in District 10 and picked me up at the hotel. We went to a very "local" place. And by "local," I mean our meal was interrupted by a stray cat with a missing eye and half a tail leaping up onto our table. The food was great. Soup was served with these huge crispy rice cake things. The idea is that you crack off bits of the rice cake and put them in the soup. The meal also came with a plate of leaves (very common), which could be added to the soup for flavor, or rolled up in rice paper with these little . . . uh, things. I'm not sure exactly what they were, but they were good. You take a piece of rice paper, put one of these yellow cylinder-shaped things in, toss in some leaves, roll it all up, and dip it in a red sauce. It looked like ketchup, but was not ketchup. Very good, though.
After dinner we went to a coffee shop and bought what the menu advertised in English as "fruit ice," which turned out to be more or less accurate. It was a bunch of fruit pieces with crushed ice in a cup. And it was delicious. I'm not sure I could name all of the different fruits, and there were a lot of different kinds, but they were all good. There was banana, apple, watermelon, papaya, avocado, something that looked and tasted like cranberry that my friend assured me was not cranberry, mango, and a lot of other things. Thankfully no durian. Durian, as a lot of people here will tell you, is an acquired taste. All in all, it was a great night out.
The next morning was Saturday, my first full day in the new location. Of course, I immediately began the search for cheap food. I was afraid I would have to walk quite a bit to find the sort of quality and variety of cheap food that was easily available in District 1, but this was not the case at all. All I really had to do was walk out of the alley, and I was immediately bombarded. My first discovery was a woman who sells fried sesame rolls, which are believe it or not bread rolls fried in sesame oil, for 500 dong apiece. This is roughly 3 cents. I bought two, enjoyed them immensely, and having been going back to her stand every day since.
The next big discovery was a stand that sells an enormous bowl of hu thieu with a loaf of bread for 12,000 dong (75 cents). Loaves of bread here are like the kind you might see used in communion at church; they're about 10 inches long, rounded, and not cut into slices. You eat them by tearing off chunks. In this case of this stand, the chunks are then dipped into the hu thieu, which is one of the many Vietnamese varieties of rice noodle soup. As with any bowl of Vietnamese soup, you first toss in a few slices of hot pepper, a bunch of bean sprouts, a few mint leaves, and squeeze in a couple slices of lime (which everyone here calls "lemon" although there don't appear to be any actual lemons, as in the yellow kind, in the country). Then you test the broth with the spoon (held in the left hand) for temperature and flavor. If it's suitable to eat, you grab the noodles with chopsticks (held in the right hand), and hold the spoon underneath to catch any broth that might drip down onto your pants. Then you eat.
Hu thieu is apparently a breakfast food. At least, the stand is open mornings only. So hu thieu and banh mi (bread) is now a part of my morning routine. Another part of my my morning routine is coffee.
This may come as a shock to some of you, who know of my deep-seated prejudice against the beverage. It comes as a shock to me. In the past I have been quite vocal about my dislike of coffee. I have always considered it awful-tasting stuff inferior to tea in every way, and even went as far as to go my entire Freshman year of college without drinking a cup. But Vietnamese coffee has changed my mind on the issue. I drank my first cup because I felt it would be rude not to; I was with some friends at a coffee shop, and they bought a cup for me. I hesitantly drank it and was pleasantly surprised: it was good. Since then I have drank a lot of Vietnamese coffee. It's all good. I'm not sure why I like it so much more than American coffee, but I have a few theories. First of all, it's grown right outside the city, so it's very fresh. Second of all, they make it with a "slow drip" process that concentrates the flavor. Finally, they mix it with sweetened condensed milk, and serve it on ice (no one drinks anything hot here, and why would they want to?). Also it could be that tea is so common here, whereas in the States it always seemed like the underdog beverage. It's difficult to find water here that has not been infused to some degree with tea leaves; it's the only thing people really drink. This also means a lot of the time it's very watered down. So there might be something to the different coffee-tea dynamic here. Anyway, I found a place that serves a cup of coffee and a pot of tea for 6000 dong (35 cents). I mean, you get the coffee and the tea both. For 6000 total. It's pretty nice.
Anyway, for dinner on Saturday I went to I guess what you might call a house party with this girl I met and her friends, and her sister and her sister's husband (I think). We grilled shrimp, mussels, chicken, and pork on a miniature grill out back. Grilling the shrimp was a little disconcerting (they were still moving around on the grill), but it was a lot of fun. We had bread and salad with it (salad is eaten rather inconveniently by picking one item at a time with chopsticks), and watermelon for desert. My friend's older sister's husband (I think) was pretty good at English, so we talked a lot. It was a really nice evening.
On Sunday, I went with pretty much my only male friend to visit his university. Most college students over here, I've found, really want to show me their universities. I'm not sure why exactly. Anyway, I figured it was a good opportunity to experience the life of a Vietnamese college student, so I went with him. It was certainly an interesting experience. About 100,000 students attended the college (I gathered this by asking around), and they were all cramped in a space probably about 1/8th the size of the Morris campus, if that. The boys' dormitory resembled a military barracks; the rooms were lined with bunkbeds, and apparently each was supposed to contain 24 students. Most of the students stared at me, which took a little getting used to, but I talked to a few of them, and they were all very friendly. Very very friendly. I'm glad that in Vietnamese society it is acceptable for straight males to put their arms around each other while singing Backstreet Boys songs. If that's not a sign of social progress, what is?
I had lunch at the university. It was basically like college food, only Vietnamese. You got a bowl of rice and could choose some different things to put on it. I'm not quite certain what all of the different things were. There was fish in there somewhere, I think, and some things that resembled vegetables.
Immediately after the college venture, I went to English Club. English Club now meets on Saturday and Sunday evenings, so I have a bit more flexibility in when I choose to go. This week we actually had two visitors from Japan, tourists just staying for the week, so I spent most of the time talking to them. They taught me some Japanese, most of which I have forgotten already. They were impressed with my pronunciation, though. I don't see why Vietnamese pronunciation has to be so ridiculously difficult.
After English Club I went out with friends to another "local" establishment. We had a very interesting dish that I'm going to have some difficulty describing. It was basically like a fried egg with noodles fried in it. With papaya on top. It was difficult to eat but was good. I'm also starting to really like papaya.
Monday was back to school. On weekdays, I typically eat lunch at the same place. It's right across the street from the school, and most AIS teachers eat there. You get a plate of rice and a choice of three toppings (various meats and vegetables and things I'm too afraid to try), and a bowl of soup for 20,000 dong (about 1 dollar).
After school I planned a walk to the nearest department store. It turns out the nearest department store is about more than a mile away. Not that I mind walking. I was going to the department store to buy a towel. You may remember, near the beginning of this giant thing I said something about how the new hotel does not provide towels. Well, over the weekend I realized that I would need to buy a towel at some point, or I would be unable to shower. Or, well, I would be able to shower, but I would have to air dry, or find something lying around the room with which to dry, and I didn't really want to head down either of those paths, so purchasing a towel was clearly a necessity. Thus the trip to the department store. Getting there was simple enough. Finding a towel considerably less so. The department store had three floors, and so I went from one to the next, scouring each thoroughly. Alas, no towels. Finally, just as I was about to give up, I found some towels in the corner of the kids' section. Bright baby towels. I hovered around the towel rack for a while. I passed them, trying to look as though searching for something else. Finally I grabbed one and looked for a price tag. Unfortunately a woman working nearby saw me, and out of the goodness of her heart decided to assist me in the purchasing of my bright pink baby towel. She showed me the price tag, led me to the checkout counter, put the towel in a bag for me, and handed me the bag. A garish Mickey Mouse bag. I thanked her and quickly fled.
The way back home could have been better, I suppose. There was a huge traffic jam, and naturally, when the street is jammed, traffic will spill over onto the sidewalks. The problem is I was walking in the opposite direction of traffic. So I spent the majority of my walk home trying to navigate a maze of oncoming traffic . . . on the sidewalk. With my Mickey Mouse bag in hand.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. Somewhere during the weekend I went around passing out resumes at local language schools. Anyway, on Tuesday I got a call back, did an interview, and now I have a job.
And now I'm too tired to write any more.
Internet troubles aside, the move went very smoothly. Not much effort was involved. I put together my three bags, flagged a taxi, and hopped in. The trip to District 10 was about 80,000 dong ($4.50), although it probably would've been a bit cheaper if I'd left at a better time; I left around rush hour without thinking, and we encountered some pretty heavy traffic along the way. Upon arrival, the cab driver helped me with my bags. Conveniently the new room is only up one flight of steps; this is an improvement over my old room, which was up about five (although I will get less exercise now). Unpacking was pretty easy. I set up my laptop on the desk, dumped most of my stuff in the desk drawers, and hung up clothes in the closet.
The new location has a few downsides. The hotel is not quite as nice as the old one; it has the same basic amenities and the room is roughly the same size, but the furniture is of noticeably lower quality, and certain things that were provided in the old hotel are not provided in this one. Like towels. This posed a problem that I will discuss later on. There is no laundry service here either, but I actually prefer being able to do laundry myself; the only problem is that in Vietnam they hang everything to dry, which would be great in a dry country, but is not really very convenient in a country with daily monsoon rains. Another problem is noise. Before I came to Vietnam I read a lot about how noise was a big problem for foreigners, often keeping them awake at night. I was initially puzzled by this, since I never had a problem with noise at all in my old hotel. It was a bit noisier than rural Minnesota, sure, but it certainly didn't keep me awake. I now realize I was extremely lucky. Since most hotels are in alleys, I think it basically comes down to the character of your alley: either you have a quiet alley, or a noisy one. The old hotel was in a quiet alley. The new hotel is not.
The noise starts around 6 AM, with trucks and motorbikes thundering past. The invention of the muffler does not seem to have spread to this part of the city yet. Dogs bark from morning to night (once I was sorely tempted to go out onto the balcony and shout, "Just shoot them and put them in a soup already!"). There is an unimaginably squeaky gate that, for some reason, must be opened and closed about eight times every morning, and then a few more times at night for good measure. A squeaky gate might not sound that bad, but you have not heard this gate. It produces the most excruciating sound you can possibly imagine.
But believe me, the move has not been all bad. Far from it. It was definitely a good idea, and a lot of good things have come of it. I'll begin a series of interesting dining experiences. I realized the other day that I haven't said too much about dining here overall, and since I had quite a few good meals recently, I figure now is a good time to talk about Vietnamese food.
The first thing I did after moving in was go out with a friend for dinner. She lives in District 10 and picked me up at the hotel. We went to a very "local" place. And by "local," I mean our meal was interrupted by a stray cat with a missing eye and half a tail leaping up onto our table. The food was great. Soup was served with these huge crispy rice cake things. The idea is that you crack off bits of the rice cake and put them in the soup. The meal also came with a plate of leaves (very common), which could be added to the soup for flavor, or rolled up in rice paper with these little . . . uh, things. I'm not sure exactly what they were, but they were good. You take a piece of rice paper, put one of these yellow cylinder-shaped things in, toss in some leaves, roll it all up, and dip it in a red sauce. It looked like ketchup, but was not ketchup. Very good, though.
After dinner we went to a coffee shop and bought what the menu advertised in English as "fruit ice," which turned out to be more or less accurate. It was a bunch of fruit pieces with crushed ice in a cup. And it was delicious. I'm not sure I could name all of the different fruits, and there were a lot of different kinds, but they were all good. There was banana, apple, watermelon, papaya, avocado, something that looked and tasted like cranberry that my friend assured me was not cranberry, mango, and a lot of other things. Thankfully no durian. Durian, as a lot of people here will tell you, is an acquired taste. All in all, it was a great night out.
The next morning was Saturday, my first full day in the new location. Of course, I immediately began the search for cheap food. I was afraid I would have to walk quite a bit to find the sort of quality and variety of cheap food that was easily available in District 1, but this was not the case at all. All I really had to do was walk out of the alley, and I was immediately bombarded. My first discovery was a woman who sells fried sesame rolls, which are believe it or not bread rolls fried in sesame oil, for 500 dong apiece. This is roughly 3 cents. I bought two, enjoyed them immensely, and having been going back to her stand every day since.
The next big discovery was a stand that sells an enormous bowl of hu thieu with a loaf of bread for 12,000 dong (75 cents). Loaves of bread here are like the kind you might see used in communion at church; they're about 10 inches long, rounded, and not cut into slices. You eat them by tearing off chunks. In this case of this stand, the chunks are then dipped into the hu thieu, which is one of the many Vietnamese varieties of rice noodle soup. As with any bowl of Vietnamese soup, you first toss in a few slices of hot pepper, a bunch of bean sprouts, a few mint leaves, and squeeze in a couple slices of lime (which everyone here calls "lemon" although there don't appear to be any actual lemons, as in the yellow kind, in the country). Then you test the broth with the spoon (held in the left hand) for temperature and flavor. If it's suitable to eat, you grab the noodles with chopsticks (held in the right hand), and hold the spoon underneath to catch any broth that might drip down onto your pants. Then you eat.
Hu thieu is apparently a breakfast food. At least, the stand is open mornings only. So hu thieu and banh mi (bread) is now a part of my morning routine. Another part of my my morning routine is coffee.
This may come as a shock to some of you, who know of my deep-seated prejudice against the beverage. It comes as a shock to me. In the past I have been quite vocal about my dislike of coffee. I have always considered it awful-tasting stuff inferior to tea in every way, and even went as far as to go my entire Freshman year of college without drinking a cup. But Vietnamese coffee has changed my mind on the issue. I drank my first cup because I felt it would be rude not to; I was with some friends at a coffee shop, and they bought a cup for me. I hesitantly drank it and was pleasantly surprised: it was good. Since then I have drank a lot of Vietnamese coffee. It's all good. I'm not sure why I like it so much more than American coffee, but I have a few theories. First of all, it's grown right outside the city, so it's very fresh. Second of all, they make it with a "slow drip" process that concentrates the flavor. Finally, they mix it with sweetened condensed milk, and serve it on ice (no one drinks anything hot here, and why would they want to?). Also it could be that tea is so common here, whereas in the States it always seemed like the underdog beverage. It's difficult to find water here that has not been infused to some degree with tea leaves; it's the only thing people really drink. This also means a lot of the time it's very watered down. So there might be something to the different coffee-tea dynamic here. Anyway, I found a place that serves a cup of coffee and a pot of tea for 6000 dong (35 cents). I mean, you get the coffee and the tea both. For 6000 total. It's pretty nice.
Anyway, for dinner on Saturday I went to I guess what you might call a house party with this girl I met and her friends, and her sister and her sister's husband (I think). We grilled shrimp, mussels, chicken, and pork on a miniature grill out back. Grilling the shrimp was a little disconcerting (they were still moving around on the grill), but it was a lot of fun. We had bread and salad with it (salad is eaten rather inconveniently by picking one item at a time with chopsticks), and watermelon for desert. My friend's older sister's husband (I think) was pretty good at English, so we talked a lot. It was a really nice evening.
On Sunday, I went with pretty much my only male friend to visit his university. Most college students over here, I've found, really want to show me their universities. I'm not sure why exactly. Anyway, I figured it was a good opportunity to experience the life of a Vietnamese college student, so I went with him. It was certainly an interesting experience. About 100,000 students attended the college (I gathered this by asking around), and they were all cramped in a space probably about 1/8th the size of the Morris campus, if that. The boys' dormitory resembled a military barracks; the rooms were lined with bunkbeds, and apparently each was supposed to contain 24 students. Most of the students stared at me, which took a little getting used to, but I talked to a few of them, and they were all very friendly. Very very friendly. I'm glad that in Vietnamese society it is acceptable for straight males to put their arms around each other while singing Backstreet Boys songs. If that's not a sign of social progress, what is?
I had lunch at the university. It was basically like college food, only Vietnamese. You got a bowl of rice and could choose some different things to put on it. I'm not quite certain what all of the different things were. There was fish in there somewhere, I think, and some things that resembled vegetables.
Immediately after the college venture, I went to English Club. English Club now meets on Saturday and Sunday evenings, so I have a bit more flexibility in when I choose to go. This week we actually had two visitors from Japan, tourists just staying for the week, so I spent most of the time talking to them. They taught me some Japanese, most of which I have forgotten already. They were impressed with my pronunciation, though. I don't see why Vietnamese pronunciation has to be so ridiculously difficult.
After English Club I went out with friends to another "local" establishment. We had a very interesting dish that I'm going to have some difficulty describing. It was basically like a fried egg with noodles fried in it. With papaya on top. It was difficult to eat but was good. I'm also starting to really like papaya.
Monday was back to school. On weekdays, I typically eat lunch at the same place. It's right across the street from the school, and most AIS teachers eat there. You get a plate of rice and a choice of three toppings (various meats and vegetables and things I'm too afraid to try), and a bowl of soup for 20,000 dong (about 1 dollar).
After school I planned a walk to the nearest department store. It turns out the nearest department store is about more than a mile away. Not that I mind walking. I was going to the department store to buy a towel. You may remember, near the beginning of this giant thing I said something about how the new hotel does not provide towels. Well, over the weekend I realized that I would need to buy a towel at some point, or I would be unable to shower. Or, well, I would be able to shower, but I would have to air dry, or find something lying around the room with which to dry, and I didn't really want to head down either of those paths, so purchasing a towel was clearly a necessity. Thus the trip to the department store. Getting there was simple enough. Finding a towel considerably less so. The department store had three floors, and so I went from one to the next, scouring each thoroughly. Alas, no towels. Finally, just as I was about to give up, I found some towels in the corner of the kids' section. Bright baby towels. I hovered around the towel rack for a while. I passed them, trying to look as though searching for something else. Finally I grabbed one and looked for a price tag. Unfortunately a woman working nearby saw me, and out of the goodness of her heart decided to assist me in the purchasing of my bright pink baby towel. She showed me the price tag, led me to the checkout counter, put the towel in a bag for me, and handed me the bag. A garish Mickey Mouse bag. I thanked her and quickly fled.
The way back home could have been better, I suppose. There was a huge traffic jam, and naturally, when the street is jammed, traffic will spill over onto the sidewalks. The problem is I was walking in the opposite direction of traffic. So I spent the majority of my walk home trying to navigate a maze of oncoming traffic . . . on the sidewalk. With my Mickey Mouse bag in hand.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. Somewhere during the weekend I went around passing out resumes at local language schools. Anyway, on Tuesday I got a call back, did an interview, and now I have a job.
And now I'm too tired to write any more.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Decisions, decisions . . . (or, actually, only one decision, but it's big enough to deserve two plurals)
So my life could have gone down basically two different paths:
Path 1: Stay in District 1 but move to a slightly cheaper hotel (a hotel owned by the English Club people actually), start a private English tutoring business in the lobby of the hotel (the idea was proposed by the English Club people), and travel to AIS each day by bus.
Path 2: Move to a similarly priced hotel within walking distance of AIS, look for a job at the 10 or more English schools in the immediate area (it’s sort of a language school hub), and walk everywhere.
I decided a few days ago to go down Path 2. The decision has its pros and cons, but I think the pros outweigh the cons, or at least Path 2 has more pros and fewer cons than Path 1. Both options are better than “stay where I am and run out of money.”
The price of the living space wasn’t much of a factor in my decision. The two hotel options were roughly the same price—about $30 cheaper than what I’m paying now, either way I’m only saving about $100 in the long run. Much more important was the location of the living space.
Living in District 1 is nice, because there is tons of easily available cheap food, tons of easily available more expensive food, and I know lots of people who live in the area. I know the area itself, too; I’ve walked all around and basically know how to get everywhere. There are, however, a few problems with living in District 1, and most of them have to do with transportation. Getting to AIS by bus is cheap, but it takes about an hour, which is a hassle. Finding a job is also difficult, because while there are many language schools in District 1, they are all on the edges of the district, which means none are within walking distance; the closest school is probably more than a mile away, and believe it or not, I don’t particularly feel like walking a mile in tropical weather through nightmarish traffic two times every day. Especially if I’m only going to be working a few hours. Which leaves the bus option, but frankly I’m not a huge fan of getting places by bus. It’s extremely cheap and there are slower methods of travel in the city, but trying to figure out how to get anywhere is more or less impossible. I have a “bus map,” which from its name you might infer is a map of the city’s bus routes, but alas—it appears to be some sort of modern art piece. There are lots of colorful lines everywhere, and looking at it makes my head hurt. When I told the people who run the English Club about my job hunting difficulties, they suggested that I use the hotel lobby to house private tutoring sessions. They told me I could advertise through pamphlets handed out to local students at the end of the school day. I considered this idea pretty seriously, but eventually decided it was a bit too much for me at this point. I would essentially be teaching and running a business at the same time, and frankly, I’m not sure I can even teach. I certainly can’t run a business. I told them it was something I would consider in the future, but that in my current financial state I wanted to find something less risky.
Living in District 10 has a different set of benefits and problems, but in the long run I think it’s the wisest choice. The hotel where I will be living is, as I said, just a short walk from AIS—probably no more than five minutes—which eliminates the need for bus travel. The hotel is also in the middle of a language school area of concentration; there are usually a couple schools on each block. This environment is much more conducive to actually finding a job. I can set aside a day to travel from school to school until I find one that will hire me, without having to set aside an additional day to decipher the bus routes and map a long expedition from one to the next. I’m pretty confident that I can find something.
The downsides are that I don’t know the area, and I don’t know anyone who lives there—aside from AIS teachers of course, who are in general a pretty great bunch. But they aren’t local, and I was really enjoying getting to know the local people. I can still go to English Club every week, but I’ll have to take a bus. I’ll have to search for cheap food, for an ATM that works with my card, for new friends.
Anyway, I made my decision on September 14th. I asked a Vietnamese friend of mine that very day to ask the hotel staff (of the hotel where I am currently living) what date I had paid up to, so I could know when to move out. He asked, and they responded that I had paid up to the 25th of December. This seemed a little fishy to me, since I’d arrived on the 14th and only paid a month, but I figured if they wanted to give me ten extra days, who was I to deny them? Still, just to make sure, I inquired again today. It turns out the lady had read the wrong piece of paper, and that in fact I had only paid to the 14th—when I’d first asked. Thanks for that, hotel people.
So now I need to move out quite a bit earlier than I’d planned. Tomorrow, actually. I discussed this with the owners of both hotels and they seem fine with it. So tonight it'll be lots of packing.
Hmm. Anything else?
Weather's been very nice lately, up until today. Today reminded me that Vietnam is hot. I'd nearly forgotten. It's been raining a lot (more than usual during rainy season), which cooled things off for a while; we had 70 degree weather for about a week, and occasionally it might have even dipped into the 60s. I can't tell, of course, because everything's in Celsius. The locals didn't seem to mind the cooler weather. In fact, I think they enjoyed it even more than me. This makes perfect sense—when you live in a place that's hot all the time, you like a little cool weather now and then—but for some reason I found it surprising. In the classroom, the kids always want the air conditioning on full blast, so I guess I have no reason to be surprised.
I had one memorable rainy season adventure: trying to walk down a flooded street. In nice shoes I didn't want to ruin. Now, when I say flooded, I mean there was about a foot of water covering the entire thing. It was a river. Fortunately, all of the sidewalks are raised about a foot above the street, so there was walking space. Unfortunately, this space was not easily traversed. Remember what I said about sidewalks a few weeks ago? They aren't for walking. But it wasn't until trying to walk all the way down a sidewalk that I learned their true purpose: they are sadistic obstacle courses designed specifically to make a mockery of silly foreigners who wear shoes that aren't suitable for walking through a foot of water.
Yeah, it was bad.
Path 1: Stay in District 1 but move to a slightly cheaper hotel (a hotel owned by the English Club people actually), start a private English tutoring business in the lobby of the hotel (the idea was proposed by the English Club people), and travel to AIS each day by bus.
Path 2: Move to a similarly priced hotel within walking distance of AIS, look for a job at the 10 or more English schools in the immediate area (it’s sort of a language school hub), and walk everywhere.
I decided a few days ago to go down Path 2. The decision has its pros and cons, but I think the pros outweigh the cons, or at least Path 2 has more pros and fewer cons than Path 1. Both options are better than “stay where I am and run out of money.”
The price of the living space wasn’t much of a factor in my decision. The two hotel options were roughly the same price—about $30 cheaper than what I’m paying now, either way I’m only saving about $100 in the long run. Much more important was the location of the living space.
Living in District 1 is nice, because there is tons of easily available cheap food, tons of easily available more expensive food, and I know lots of people who live in the area. I know the area itself, too; I’ve walked all around and basically know how to get everywhere. There are, however, a few problems with living in District 1, and most of them have to do with transportation. Getting to AIS by bus is cheap, but it takes about an hour, which is a hassle. Finding a job is also difficult, because while there are many language schools in District 1, they are all on the edges of the district, which means none are within walking distance; the closest school is probably more than a mile away, and believe it or not, I don’t particularly feel like walking a mile in tropical weather through nightmarish traffic two times every day. Especially if I’m only going to be working a few hours. Which leaves the bus option, but frankly I’m not a huge fan of getting places by bus. It’s extremely cheap and there are slower methods of travel in the city, but trying to figure out how to get anywhere is more or less impossible. I have a “bus map,” which from its name you might infer is a map of the city’s bus routes, but alas—it appears to be some sort of modern art piece. There are lots of colorful lines everywhere, and looking at it makes my head hurt. When I told the people who run the English Club about my job hunting difficulties, they suggested that I use the hotel lobby to house private tutoring sessions. They told me I could advertise through pamphlets handed out to local students at the end of the school day. I considered this idea pretty seriously, but eventually decided it was a bit too much for me at this point. I would essentially be teaching and running a business at the same time, and frankly, I’m not sure I can even teach. I certainly can’t run a business. I told them it was something I would consider in the future, but that in my current financial state I wanted to find something less risky.
Living in District 10 has a different set of benefits and problems, but in the long run I think it’s the wisest choice. The hotel where I will be living is, as I said, just a short walk from AIS—probably no more than five minutes—which eliminates the need for bus travel. The hotel is also in the middle of a language school area of concentration; there are usually a couple schools on each block. This environment is much more conducive to actually finding a job. I can set aside a day to travel from school to school until I find one that will hire me, without having to set aside an additional day to decipher the bus routes and map a long expedition from one to the next. I’m pretty confident that I can find something.
The downsides are that I don’t know the area, and I don’t know anyone who lives there—aside from AIS teachers of course, who are in general a pretty great bunch. But they aren’t local, and I was really enjoying getting to know the local people. I can still go to English Club every week, but I’ll have to take a bus. I’ll have to search for cheap food, for an ATM that works with my card, for new friends.
Anyway, I made my decision on September 14th. I asked a Vietnamese friend of mine that very day to ask the hotel staff (of the hotel where I am currently living) what date I had paid up to, so I could know when to move out. He asked, and they responded that I had paid up to the 25th of December. This seemed a little fishy to me, since I’d arrived on the 14th and only paid a month, but I figured if they wanted to give me ten extra days, who was I to deny them? Still, just to make sure, I inquired again today. It turns out the lady had read the wrong piece of paper, and that in fact I had only paid to the 14th—when I’d first asked. Thanks for that, hotel people.
So now I need to move out quite a bit earlier than I’d planned. Tomorrow, actually. I discussed this with the owners of both hotels and they seem fine with it. So tonight it'll be lots of packing.
Hmm. Anything else?
Weather's been very nice lately, up until today. Today reminded me that Vietnam is hot. I'd nearly forgotten. It's been raining a lot (more than usual during rainy season), which cooled things off for a while; we had 70 degree weather for about a week, and occasionally it might have even dipped into the 60s. I can't tell, of course, because everything's in Celsius. The locals didn't seem to mind the cooler weather. In fact, I think they enjoyed it even more than me. This makes perfect sense—when you live in a place that's hot all the time, you like a little cool weather now and then—but for some reason I found it surprising. In the classroom, the kids always want the air conditioning on full blast, so I guess I have no reason to be surprised.
I had one memorable rainy season adventure: trying to walk down a flooded street. In nice shoes I didn't want to ruin. Now, when I say flooded, I mean there was about a foot of water covering the entire thing. It was a river. Fortunately, all of the sidewalks are raised about a foot above the street, so there was walking space. Unfortunately, this space was not easily traversed. Remember what I said about sidewalks a few weeks ago? They aren't for walking. But it wasn't until trying to walk all the way down a sidewalk that I learned their true purpose: they are sadistic obstacle courses designed specifically to make a mockery of silly foreigners who wear shoes that aren't suitable for walking through a foot of water.
Yeah, it was bad.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Fun with finances!
Many of you have probably noticed that my recent blog entries are coming farther and farther apart. I apologize, but it's a trend I'm having difficulty preventing. For whatever reason, I'm just not compelled to write the way I was my first few weeks here. I have a hard time thinking of things to write about. Even simple weekly updates are difficult; I find myself asking, "Did anything happen this week worth putting in the blog?"
It's certainly not that life here has ceased to be exciting. I still see things, usually on a daily basis, that I've never seen before. But I don't feel the same excitement I did when I first arrived. I have fallen, for better or worse, into a routine. Walking down the street is no longer a relevatory experience; it's simply another part of my life. When I ride a motorbike down the street, I don't feel the same wonder I did the first time. I've grown used to living here.
Routine isn't a bad thing; it's useful for daily life and can be comforting. But I don't want to be comfortable; I want to feel like I'm in a different country! Perhaps it's a good thing, then, that my current routine will soon be almost completely upended.
Frankly, I don't have enough money to live here as I am currently living for another three months. I need to make some major lifestyle changes to afford the rest of my stay. I can't keep eating on Bui Vien street, for one. You can get an incredible meal on Bui Vien street that would cost at least $15 in the US for about $4--but that's still unfortunately about 3 more dollars than I can afford. So the fine dining is out. I also need to start taking the bus to and from work. I am currently paying my xe om about $2.50 a day; in contrast, taking the bus would cost about 20 cents a day. Over a entire month, that's a lot of money saved. Over three months . . . well, you get the picture. It's a good idea.
I also need a job. The job opportunity I mentioned previously would have worked well under different circumstances (not having to volunteer 4 hours every day), but I think that, because of my arrangement with AIS, I'm going to have to back out. So it's back to the drawing board. There are plenty of language schools in the area, though, so I don't think I'll have too much trouble. Job searching will certainly give me more to write about.
Finally, I need to seriously consider a new housing arrangement. I'm currently paying roughly 5 million a month to stay at the hotel ($270), which is a good rate, but it's too much for my current financial situation. I'm considering a wide variety of options; if any leads look promising, I will be sure to keep you all informed. Location is an important part of life here; it affects almost every aspect of your life. If I make a big move, it could change my routine more than any of the things I've mentioned.
Oh yes, and regarding pictures. I've been experiencing problems with my camera lately, so until they can be solved, new pictures don't seem like a possibility. The camera itself is fine; the problem is with the batteries. I brought rechargable ones along with me but the charger I brought doesn't work with the Vietnamese power system. I went to buy new batteries, but they did not work with my camera. So once I sort out the battery situation, I should be able to start taking pictures again.
Finally, everything has been worked out with the English Club. Don't worry about it. All issues have been resolved.
So, I guess we'll see where things go from here.
It's certainly not that life here has ceased to be exciting. I still see things, usually on a daily basis, that I've never seen before. But I don't feel the same excitement I did when I first arrived. I have fallen, for better or worse, into a routine. Walking down the street is no longer a relevatory experience; it's simply another part of my life. When I ride a motorbike down the street, I don't feel the same wonder I did the first time. I've grown used to living here.
Routine isn't a bad thing; it's useful for daily life and can be comforting. But I don't want to be comfortable; I want to feel like I'm in a different country! Perhaps it's a good thing, then, that my current routine will soon be almost completely upended.
Frankly, I don't have enough money to live here as I am currently living for another three months. I need to make some major lifestyle changes to afford the rest of my stay. I can't keep eating on Bui Vien street, for one. You can get an incredible meal on Bui Vien street that would cost at least $15 in the US for about $4--but that's still unfortunately about 3 more dollars than I can afford. So the fine dining is out. I also need to start taking the bus to and from work. I am currently paying my xe om about $2.50 a day; in contrast, taking the bus would cost about 20 cents a day. Over a entire month, that's a lot of money saved. Over three months . . . well, you get the picture. It's a good idea.
I also need a job. The job opportunity I mentioned previously would have worked well under different circumstances (not having to volunteer 4 hours every day), but I think that, because of my arrangement with AIS, I'm going to have to back out. So it's back to the drawing board. There are plenty of language schools in the area, though, so I don't think I'll have too much trouble. Job searching will certainly give me more to write about.
Finally, I need to seriously consider a new housing arrangement. I'm currently paying roughly 5 million a month to stay at the hotel ($270), which is a good rate, but it's too much for my current financial situation. I'm considering a wide variety of options; if any leads look promising, I will be sure to keep you all informed. Location is an important part of life here; it affects almost every aspect of your life. If I make a big move, it could change my routine more than any of the things I've mentioned.
Oh yes, and regarding pictures. I've been experiencing problems with my camera lately, so until they can be solved, new pictures don't seem like a possibility. The camera itself is fine; the problem is with the batteries. I brought rechargable ones along with me but the charger I brought doesn't work with the Vietnamese power system. I went to buy new batteries, but they did not work with my camera. So once I sort out the battery situation, I should be able to start taking pictures again.
Finally, everything has been worked out with the English Club. Don't worry about it. All issues have been resolved.
So, I guess we'll see where things go from here.
Friday, September 4, 2009
August Summary
Believe it or not, I've been here for nearly a month now.
I was going to do a write-up on my various misadventures with the English Club this week, but recently I had a very strange experience there that changed my opinion of some of the people involved. It's not something I want to discuss in the public sphere and frankly I'm still trying to sort it all out, so instead I think I'll do one of these things:
Most unexpected sight: Two kids watching Barbie: Princess and the Pauper. Yes, I know exactly which Barbie movie it was.
Most saddening: Twilight lining bookstore shelves. Yes, all the girls here are obsessed with it too.
Actually most saddening: a lot of older people are disabled, presumably from the war. Lots of people with no legs getting around in makeshift wheelchairs.
Scariest thing I've seen: Two young children driving a motorbike . . . while carrying a baby.
Question I've been asked most frequently: Do you have a girlfriend? (When I say "no" the response is often giggling)
Most common reaction to "Minnesota": Where?
Most fun I've had: Clubbing with people from English club (clubbing . . . get it?)
Most people I've seen on a motorbikeat once: 5
Interesting foods I've eaten: whole shrimp, duck head (well, I was served this, did not actually eat it), squid tentacles, authentic Indian food
Things I never want to taste again: Coriander. They use it in everything here. It's almost impossible to eat without tasting it.
Things I never want to drink again: Vietnamese rice wine. Unlike wine in the US, it is 50% alcohol. I was told this after taking my first sip.
Saddest story I've heard: There is a boy who works for the restaurant I frequent. The restaurant is owned by a family, so I assumed he was part of the family. I was told later that he is not; he is an orphan. I'm not sure how his mother died, but his father died of appendicitis because they couldn't afford the surgery to have his appendix removed.
Most promising news: I'm pretty sure I have a job. It's at a new school that doesn't open for a couple weeks, but I was told they needed people to work in the afternoons, which I can do, and they're fine with my lack of a degree.
Things I am planning to do this weekend: travel, go to church
Things I will hopefully have in my next entry: Pictures! It's been a very long time since I've posted any pictures. I'll try to take some more.
CORRECTION: I seem to have confused my spices. The spice they put in everything over here is not coriander, but rather, cilantro. Cilantro has a very distinct flavor. If you want, try putting a little cilantro into every meal you eat for a day. Then imagine a week. Then imagine four weeks. This will give you a good idea of exactly how sick of it I am growing. Luckily I did find a restaurant today that serves sandwiches without cilantro. I am more grateful for this discovery than you can possibly imagine.
CORRECTION TO MY CORRECTION: I've just discovered that coriander and cilantro are, in fact, the same thing. So . . . nevermind.
I was going to do a write-up on my various misadventures with the English Club this week, but recently I had a very strange experience there that changed my opinion of some of the people involved. It's not something I want to discuss in the public sphere and frankly I'm still trying to sort it all out, so instead I think I'll do one of these things:
Most unexpected sight: Two kids watching Barbie: Princess and the Pauper. Yes, I know exactly which Barbie movie it was.
Most saddening: Twilight lining bookstore shelves. Yes, all the girls here are obsessed with it too.
Actually most saddening: a lot of older people are disabled, presumably from the war. Lots of people with no legs getting around in makeshift wheelchairs.
Scariest thing I've seen: Two young children driving a motorbike . . . while carrying a baby.
Question I've been asked most frequently: Do you have a girlfriend? (When I say "no" the response is often giggling)
Most common reaction to "Minnesota": Where?
Most fun I've had: Clubbing with people from English club (clubbing . . . get it?)
Most people I've seen on a motorbikeat once: 5
Interesting foods I've eaten: whole shrimp, duck head (well, I was served this, did not actually eat it), squid tentacles, authentic Indian food
Things I never want to taste again: Coriander. They use it in everything here. It's almost impossible to eat without tasting it.
Things I never want to drink again: Vietnamese rice wine. Unlike wine in the US, it is 50% alcohol. I was told this after taking my first sip.
Saddest story I've heard: There is a boy who works for the restaurant I frequent. The restaurant is owned by a family, so I assumed he was part of the family. I was told later that he is not; he is an orphan. I'm not sure how his mother died, but his father died of appendicitis because they couldn't afford the surgery to have his appendix removed.
Most promising news: I'm pretty sure I have a job. It's at a new school that doesn't open for a couple weeks, but I was told they needed people to work in the afternoons, which I can do, and they're fine with my lack of a degree.
Things I am planning to do this weekend: travel, go to church
Things I will hopefully have in my next entry: Pictures! It's been a very long time since I've posted any pictures. I'll try to take some more.
CORRECTION: I seem to have confused my spices. The spice they put in everything over here is not coriander, but rather, cilantro. Cilantro has a very distinct flavor. If you want, try putting a little cilantro into every meal you eat for a day. Then imagine a week. Then imagine four weeks. This will give you a good idea of exactly how sick of it I am growing. Luckily I did find a restaurant today that serves sandwiches without cilantro. I am more grateful for this discovery than you can possibly imagine.
CORRECTION TO MY CORRECTION: I've just discovered that coriander and cilantro are, in fact, the same thing. So . . . nevermind.
Friday, August 28, 2009
A Hodgepodge of Weekly Events
This is going to be very incoherent. Just a warning.
Maybe I should discuss teaching first. As many of you know, this was my first week acting as a teacher's assistant. It's been a fantastic experience so far. My role involves a lot of general classroom supervision (answering questions, controlling behavior, guiding discussion), but perhaps the most important part of my job is the Dialogue Journal. The Dialogue Journal is much like a traditional journal, only instead of the students writing to themselves, they are writing to me, and I write back. It's like a private conversation between myself and each of my students. It's a fantastic idea (not mine), and seems to be working brilliantly so far.
I also spend the week organizing some sort of activity for Friday, over which I have complete control. I took a risk by starting out this Friday with a very high concept game, in which the students interview crime suspects (fellow classmates) and try to find holes in each one's alibi. The crime was my own murder, of course. I was very worried that I wouldn't be able to get the various concepts across (suspects, alibi, proving innocence, etc.), but I was surprised at how quickly they caught on. The game went over really well. After it had finished, I was suddenly struck by the thought that I had more or less taught a class, on my own, for an hour. And the kids had enjoyed it. That was a huge confidence boost.
The kids are too much fun. One class activity had them in groups, drawing their own four panel cartoons. The subject matter of the cartoons was a bit alarming. One cartoon was about a two-timing lover who is brutally assaulted by his girlfriends when they discover his infidelity. Drawn in cute stick-figures, of course. Another was a parody of Titanic (I think) in which Jack pushes Rose off the boat because she demands expensive gifts. One particularly creative cartoon involved the Grim Reaper's son, who goes against his father's wishes and becomes an angel . . . so he can chase hot angel chicks. The students also wrote stories. One involved a family vacation in Hawaii. Ending with death in a tsunami.
All told, I think the first week went really well.
In other news, I have officially become the frequenter of a restaurant. It takes probably less than a minute to walk there from the hotel: just down the alley and across the street. Though if you didn't know it was a restaurant, it might be hard to tell. It's bascially a little space under a tarp with some tables and chairs, and a wide stove out front. They serve food of the quality you'd expect from a sit-down restaurant in the US, only it arrives within minutes, and costs about US$1. It's also probably a lot healthier, and the people are a lot friendlier. There are some things about Vietnam that I miss already, and I'm not even close to leaving yet.
When you frequent a restaurant it is only a matter of time before you meet someone else who frequents the same place, and this is what happened to me. I finally struck up a conversation last night with a woman who I'd seen eating there a couple times before. It turns out she is from Tasmania, and is teaching at the Australian International School here. But here's the exciting part: she runs a local English Club that meets weekly right in the area. And she invited me to their English Club party on Saturday. Apparently a lot of kids my age are in the club, and most of them speak English really well. This is exciting for me; it seems like a great opportunity to meet some friends. We'll see how it goes.
The last bit of news is about my job search. Throughout the week I've been looking for part-time work teaching English in the area. Not for the money, just as a means of branching out and meeting some people my age (most language school students are around my age). And for teaching experience. I've been using www.saigonesl.com to locate specifically "Backpacker Schools," which are schools that will hire anyone who can speak English, regardless of education. And I did locate a school nearby--one of several. I figured it wouldn't hurt to try it out. So after finishing up at AIS I gave my driver the address of the school.
It started raining along the way. I don't know if I've mentioned this, but it's currently monsoon season over here. Every day, at around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, it will rain for a couple hours. Or, at least, it's supposed to rain at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. The schedule has been a bit off lately. At any rate, it started to rain a little after noon. Nothing much changes when it rains; everyone just puts on a rain poncho and continues about their business. No one uses umbrellas. I'm not sure why, but I haven't seen a single one.
I had a rain poncho on this particular occasion, but if there is one thing that rain ponchos seem disinclined to do, it is protect you from the rain. I arrived at the school thoroughly soaked. Of course the school was also closed. I asked someone sitting out front, having lunch. They said the school would open in three hours. My driver seemed to understand this. He took me back home. I got off the bike and paid him. I held up three fingers.
"In three hours, right?" I said.
He nodded. "Three."
He arrived at three o'clock. About two hours later. I was taking a nap at the time. At about 3:20, I received a sharp knock on the door, from the maid. I realized in almost the exact instant that I awoke what had happened. I also realized it was more or less my fault; I had assumed he'd understood what I meant when I held up 3 fingers, a very poorly chosen gesture in hindsight. I frantically put my still-wet clothes back on (I had laid them out to dry), tied my tie in an effort to look presentable, and ran out meet him. I apologized profusely for making him wait. He didn't seem to mind too much.
And so we went off to the school again. I was worried that we would arrive before the school opened; the man in front of the building had, after all, told me at around 1 o'clock that the school would open in three hours. But we didn't leave until around 3:30, and there was a lot of traffic on the way. When we arrived, the school was open.
I presented myself to the front desk. "Hi," I said. "I'd like to be an English teacher."
Unfortunately, no one at the front desk of the English language school seemed to know English. We struggled for about fifteen minutes. The woman kept requesting some sort of document, but I couldn't understand what exactly what she was saying. My deep fear, of course, was that they were requesting a diploma. It had been a fairly dormant fear for the past few days; I had thoroughly convinced myself that, since it was a Backpacker School, they would be so delighted to see me walk in the front door that they would hire me on the spot, no questions asked. But now this fear awakened. And then she said it. That word. "Diploma."
I asked her, very slowly, if it would be alright for me to work without a diploma. She looked at me a moment, and left. This was distressing. Then she came back with a white guy. That was reassuring. The white guy and I talked for a while about the school, and I learned that the campus in District 1 was in fact much smaller than the other campuses, and taught mostly young children. But I would be given an interview if I brought a resume and photocopies of my passport and visa. I thanked him and left.
So this particular school didn't work out for me. Transportation out of District 1 every day (to get to a different campus) would get expensive, and as much as I like children, the main goal of this part-time work venture is to meet people my age. Still, it was a good learning experience and all that. Now I know generally the sort of thing to expect.
Here's to Week #2.
Maybe I should discuss teaching first. As many of you know, this was my first week acting as a teacher's assistant. It's been a fantastic experience so far. My role involves a lot of general classroom supervision (answering questions, controlling behavior, guiding discussion), but perhaps the most important part of my job is the Dialogue Journal. The Dialogue Journal is much like a traditional journal, only instead of the students writing to themselves, they are writing to me, and I write back. It's like a private conversation between myself and each of my students. It's a fantastic idea (not mine), and seems to be working brilliantly so far.
I also spend the week organizing some sort of activity for Friday, over which I have complete control. I took a risk by starting out this Friday with a very high concept game, in which the students interview crime suspects (fellow classmates) and try to find holes in each one's alibi. The crime was my own murder, of course. I was very worried that I wouldn't be able to get the various concepts across (suspects, alibi, proving innocence, etc.), but I was surprised at how quickly they caught on. The game went over really well. After it had finished, I was suddenly struck by the thought that I had more or less taught a class, on my own, for an hour. And the kids had enjoyed it. That was a huge confidence boost.
The kids are too much fun. One class activity had them in groups, drawing their own four panel cartoons. The subject matter of the cartoons was a bit alarming. One cartoon was about a two-timing lover who is brutally assaulted by his girlfriends when they discover his infidelity. Drawn in cute stick-figures, of course. Another was a parody of Titanic (I think) in which Jack pushes Rose off the boat because she demands expensive gifts. One particularly creative cartoon involved the Grim Reaper's son, who goes against his father's wishes and becomes an angel . . . so he can chase hot angel chicks. The students also wrote stories. One involved a family vacation in Hawaii. Ending with death in a tsunami.
All told, I think the first week went really well.
In other news, I have officially become the frequenter of a restaurant. It takes probably less than a minute to walk there from the hotel: just down the alley and across the street. Though if you didn't know it was a restaurant, it might be hard to tell. It's bascially a little space under a tarp with some tables and chairs, and a wide stove out front. They serve food of the quality you'd expect from a sit-down restaurant in the US, only it arrives within minutes, and costs about US$1. It's also probably a lot healthier, and the people are a lot friendlier. There are some things about Vietnam that I miss already, and I'm not even close to leaving yet.
When you frequent a restaurant it is only a matter of time before you meet someone else who frequents the same place, and this is what happened to me. I finally struck up a conversation last night with a woman who I'd seen eating there a couple times before. It turns out she is from Tasmania, and is teaching at the Australian International School here. But here's the exciting part: she runs a local English Club that meets weekly right in the area. And she invited me to their English Club party on Saturday. Apparently a lot of kids my age are in the club, and most of them speak English really well. This is exciting for me; it seems like a great opportunity to meet some friends. We'll see how it goes.
The last bit of news is about my job search. Throughout the week I've been looking for part-time work teaching English in the area. Not for the money, just as a means of branching out and meeting some people my age (most language school students are around my age). And for teaching experience. I've been using www.saigonesl.com to locate specifically "Backpacker Schools," which are schools that will hire anyone who can speak English, regardless of education. And I did locate a school nearby--one of several. I figured it wouldn't hurt to try it out. So after finishing up at AIS I gave my driver the address of the school.
It started raining along the way. I don't know if I've mentioned this, but it's currently monsoon season over here. Every day, at around 2 o'clock in the afternoon, it will rain for a couple hours. Or, at least, it's supposed to rain at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. The schedule has been a bit off lately. At any rate, it started to rain a little after noon. Nothing much changes when it rains; everyone just puts on a rain poncho and continues about their business. No one uses umbrellas. I'm not sure why, but I haven't seen a single one.
I had a rain poncho on this particular occasion, but if there is one thing that rain ponchos seem disinclined to do, it is protect you from the rain. I arrived at the school thoroughly soaked. Of course the school was also closed. I asked someone sitting out front, having lunch. They said the school would open in three hours. My driver seemed to understand this. He took me back home. I got off the bike and paid him. I held up three fingers.
"In three hours, right?" I said.
He nodded. "Three."
He arrived at three o'clock. About two hours later. I was taking a nap at the time. At about 3:20, I received a sharp knock on the door, from the maid. I realized in almost the exact instant that I awoke what had happened. I also realized it was more or less my fault; I had assumed he'd understood what I meant when I held up 3 fingers, a very poorly chosen gesture in hindsight. I frantically put my still-wet clothes back on (I had laid them out to dry), tied my tie in an effort to look presentable, and ran out meet him. I apologized profusely for making him wait. He didn't seem to mind too much.
And so we went off to the school again. I was worried that we would arrive before the school opened; the man in front of the building had, after all, told me at around 1 o'clock that the school would open in three hours. But we didn't leave until around 3:30, and there was a lot of traffic on the way. When we arrived, the school was open.
I presented myself to the front desk. "Hi," I said. "I'd like to be an English teacher."
Unfortunately, no one at the front desk of the English language school seemed to know English. We struggled for about fifteen minutes. The woman kept requesting some sort of document, but I couldn't understand what exactly what she was saying. My deep fear, of course, was that they were requesting a diploma. It had been a fairly dormant fear for the past few days; I had thoroughly convinced myself that, since it was a Backpacker School, they would be so delighted to see me walk in the front door that they would hire me on the spot, no questions asked. But now this fear awakened. And then she said it. That word. "Diploma."
I asked her, very slowly, if it would be alright for me to work without a diploma. She looked at me a moment, and left. This was distressing. Then she came back with a white guy. That was reassuring. The white guy and I talked for a while about the school, and I learned that the campus in District 1 was in fact much smaller than the other campuses, and taught mostly young children. But I would be given an interview if I brought a resume and photocopies of my passport and visa. I thanked him and left.
So this particular school didn't work out for me. Transportation out of District 1 every day (to get to a different campus) would get expensive, and as much as I like children, the main goal of this part-time work venture is to meet people my age. Still, it was a good learning experience and all that. Now I know generally the sort of thing to expect.
Here's to Week #2.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Fun with rent! (And a general update)
My supervisor informed me a few days ago that it was about time to pay my rent. I asked how much it was. He replied, somewhat enigmatically, that it would cost me “270” for the month. I didn’t think much of it until the next day, when I actually needed to pay. “Hmm,” I thought to myself, “270 dong doesn’t make any sense. That’s less than a cent. He must have meant 270,000 dong.” Which is roughly equivalent to about US$20. This also seemed bafflingly cheap, but at that point everything in Vietnam seemed bafflingly cheap to me. I also reasoned to myself that since I had arrived in the middle of the month, perhaps I was paying only for half the month. This all seemed to work out in my head at the time.
I practically skipped down the steps to pay. I was excited. I was only paying $20 for rent! Vietnam was fantastic! I proudly displayed my wallet to the hotel owner, and withdrew three 100,000 dong bills. She looked at my hand and stared for a while. Then she looked back up at me curiously, as if she did not understand. I did not understand why she did not understand. I said, “Rent,” hoping she knew the word. She did, and frowned.
“No no no no no.”
I frowned, and repeated. “No?”
“No.”
She lead me to her desk, and withdrew a calculator. I wasn’t quite sure where all this was leading. She typed into the calculator: 270. Then she looked at me. I nodded. Then she pressed the multiplication symbol, and typed: 17,800. Then she pressed the equal sign. A very large number appeared. Suddenly I understood.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh,” I said.
She looked at me and smiled. “Ohhhhh,” she repeated.
Of course. Once I realized, it was so obvious it hurt: the rent was $270 American dollars. That’s the exchange rate, by the way: US$1 is equal to 17,800 dong. So, I needed a lot of dong before the end of the day. Approximately 5 million. I had about a million on me at the time.
I went to the supermarket. It’s roughly a ten minute walk from the hotel, and there is an ATM right inside the building. So far, it’s the only ATM I’ve found that will actually work with my debit card; Vietnamese banks seem very picky about what cards they will accept. The ATM was my only hope.
I put in my card, typed in the PIN, punched some buttons, and finally ‘Withdraw.’ I entered 4 million as the amount. The machine beeped loudly. A message appeared on the screen: “We’re sorry. Please enter an amount below 2,000,000.” Hmm. I entered 2 million instead of 4. The money dispensed.
I went through the steps for the second time, entering 2,000,000 for the amount again. I was greeted with another loud beep. “We’re sorry. You have reached your withdrawal limit for the day.”
Hmm.
That was bad.
I walked back to the hotel in more or less a panic. I desperately prayed that I would not see the hotel owner on the way back up to my room. If she saw me and was expecting the money, how on earth was I supposed to explain my predicament? She would probably just think I didn’t have the money and kick me out.
I rang the doorbell. The maid came out and opened up the gate. I took off my sandals, left them on the shoe rack by the door, and dashed up to my room, locking the door behind me. I sat in my room for hours, dreading a knock at the door. Eventually I went to bed.
Unlike many stories this one has no dramatic conclusion whatsoever. The next morning I ran quickly to the ATM, withdrew another 2 million dong, and paid the rent. The hotel owner did not seem particularly upset that it was late. In fact, I’m not certain myself it was “late.” Vietnamese people have a much different sense of time than we do in the West; it could be that any day within a certain general time frame is acceptable. I’ve never paid rent before, so the experience itself is unfamiliar to me, let alone the fact that I’m doing it in an unfamiliar society.
In other news . . . well, the less said about planning week, probably the better. I’m just glad that we’re through with it and can start working with kids next week. I’ve gotten to know some of the staff really well, and they all seem to be really great people, so I’m excited to work with them. On Friday we had a staff banquet, housed in the ballroom of the nicest hotel in the city. Needless to say that was a new experience for me, probably the fanciest dining experience of my life. I don’t think I made too much of a fool of myself, so that’s good. It was all very overwhelming though, and trying to converse was intimidating. I thought I was actually doing really well until the end, at which point it seemed that everyone had found a group and were talking exclusively, and very animatedly, within that group. I didn’t feel comfortable trying to “inject” myself into the conversation, and I felt like an idiot just standing around listening to people talk. But that was only the last fifteen minutes or so; up to that point I had been conversing pretty steadily with a variety of people, so I felt pretty happy with the night overall.
Now that I’m actually working, new entries probably won’t come quite as steadily as they have been. But I’ll try to get a new one up at least once every week. And I'll continue taking pictures. So . . . bring on the education!
I practically skipped down the steps to pay. I was excited. I was only paying $20 for rent! Vietnam was fantastic! I proudly displayed my wallet to the hotel owner, and withdrew three 100,000 dong bills. She looked at my hand and stared for a while. Then she looked back up at me curiously, as if she did not understand. I did not understand why she did not understand. I said, “Rent,” hoping she knew the word. She did, and frowned.
“No no no no no.”
I frowned, and repeated. “No?”
“No.”
She lead me to her desk, and withdrew a calculator. I wasn’t quite sure where all this was leading. She typed into the calculator: 270. Then she looked at me. I nodded. Then she pressed the multiplication symbol, and typed: 17,800. Then she pressed the equal sign. A very large number appeared. Suddenly I understood.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh,” I said.
She looked at me and smiled. “Ohhhhh,” she repeated.
Of course. Once I realized, it was so obvious it hurt: the rent was $270 American dollars. That’s the exchange rate, by the way: US$1 is equal to 17,800 dong. So, I needed a lot of dong before the end of the day. Approximately 5 million. I had about a million on me at the time.
I went to the supermarket. It’s roughly a ten minute walk from the hotel, and there is an ATM right inside the building. So far, it’s the only ATM I’ve found that will actually work with my debit card; Vietnamese banks seem very picky about what cards they will accept. The ATM was my only hope.
I put in my card, typed in the PIN, punched some buttons, and finally ‘Withdraw.’ I entered 4 million as the amount. The machine beeped loudly. A message appeared on the screen: “We’re sorry. Please enter an amount below 2,000,000.” Hmm. I entered 2 million instead of 4. The money dispensed.
I went through the steps for the second time, entering 2,000,000 for the amount again. I was greeted with another loud beep. “We’re sorry. You have reached your withdrawal limit for the day.”
Hmm.
That was bad.
I walked back to the hotel in more or less a panic. I desperately prayed that I would not see the hotel owner on the way back up to my room. If she saw me and was expecting the money, how on earth was I supposed to explain my predicament? She would probably just think I didn’t have the money and kick me out.
I rang the doorbell. The maid came out and opened up the gate. I took off my sandals, left them on the shoe rack by the door, and dashed up to my room, locking the door behind me. I sat in my room for hours, dreading a knock at the door. Eventually I went to bed.
Unlike many stories this one has no dramatic conclusion whatsoever. The next morning I ran quickly to the ATM, withdrew another 2 million dong, and paid the rent. The hotel owner did not seem particularly upset that it was late. In fact, I’m not certain myself it was “late.” Vietnamese people have a much different sense of time than we do in the West; it could be that any day within a certain general time frame is acceptable. I’ve never paid rent before, so the experience itself is unfamiliar to me, let alone the fact that I’m doing it in an unfamiliar society.
In other news . . . well, the less said about planning week, probably the better. I’m just glad that we’re through with it and can start working with kids next week. I’ve gotten to know some of the staff really well, and they all seem to be really great people, so I’m excited to work with them. On Friday we had a staff banquet, housed in the ballroom of the nicest hotel in the city. Needless to say that was a new experience for me, probably the fanciest dining experience of my life. I don’t think I made too much of a fool of myself, so that’s good. It was all very overwhelming though, and trying to converse was intimidating. I thought I was actually doing really well until the end, at which point it seemed that everyone had found a group and were talking exclusively, and very animatedly, within that group. I didn’t feel comfortable trying to “inject” myself into the conversation, and I felt like an idiot just standing around listening to people talk. But that was only the last fifteen minutes or so; up to that point I had been conversing pretty steadily with a variety of people, so I felt pretty happy with the night overall.
Now that I’m actually working, new entries probably won’t come quite as steadily as they have been. But I’ll try to get a new one up at least once every week. And I'll continue taking pictures. So . . . bring on the education!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The One-And-Only Exclusive Saigon Motorbike Video Tour
WARNING: the title may make the actual video a tad anticlimactic.
Anyway, I wrote an entry on walking, so I figured it was only appropriate that I follow up with another transportation-themed entry. This time I will discuss the motorbike. There are an awful lot of motorbikes in Saigon. It is, in fact, pretty much the only thing anyone drives here. And everyone drives them. It's not uncommon to see what appear to be ten-year-old girls cruising around town on these things.
There are numerous practical reasons why the motorbike is so popular here. It's small: cars are simply too big to navigate the streets very freely, or navigate the alleys at all. It's also light, fuel efficient, and all that stuff. But the real reason everyone drives them, I've discovered, is that they're way more fun.
I have yet to drive one. I've ridden them several times now. My supervisor has taken me out a few times, on quick tours of the city. I'm also riding with him to school in the mornings. Today I took a xe om or motorbike taxi, for the first time. I didn't have the right change, so I ended up overpaying the driver, but at least this way he didn't try to extort me after the ride, which is apparently a common problem.
This cathedral was brought over brick by brick from France during the occupation.
Riding a motorbike through the city is a completely different experience than walking through it. You might experience the city more intimately on foot, but when you're cruising along on a motorbike, you feel like a part of the city. It's like you're one of thousands of little blood cells, flowing through the veins of some enormous . . . thing.
Rest assured, this building is very significant.
If you see a car, it's usually a taxi, or it's owned by a company of some kind. But the car for personal use is growing in popularity, despite its ridiculous impracticality. A car in Vietnam means, "Look at me, I'm rich!" As such a lot of people who want to appear wealthy are buying them (most of whom actually are very wealthy, since cars are extremely expensive over here). It's actually getting to be a bit of a problem: cars clog the streets and lead to traffic jams. Personally I don't know why you'd want a car when you could be crusing along on a motorbike, having a near-death experience every five minutes and getting caught in the rain during monsoon season.
I apologize for the horrible wind noise in the second half of the video. You might want to turn the volume down/off.
Anyway, I wrote an entry on walking, so I figured it was only appropriate that I follow up with another transportation-themed entry. This time I will discuss the motorbike. There are an awful lot of motorbikes in Saigon. It is, in fact, pretty much the only thing anyone drives here. And everyone drives them. It's not uncommon to see what appear to be ten-year-old girls cruising around town on these things.
There are numerous practical reasons why the motorbike is so popular here. It's small: cars are simply too big to navigate the streets very freely, or navigate the alleys at all. It's also light, fuel efficient, and all that stuff. But the real reason everyone drives them, I've discovered, is that they're way more fun.
I have yet to drive one. I've ridden them several times now. My supervisor has taken me out a few times, on quick tours of the city. I'm also riding with him to school in the mornings. Today I took a xe om or motorbike taxi, for the first time. I didn't have the right change, so I ended up overpaying the driver, but at least this way he didn't try to extort me after the ride, which is apparently a common problem.
This cathedral was brought over brick by brick from France during the occupation. Riding a motorbike through the city is a completely different experience than walking through it. You might experience the city more intimately on foot, but when you're cruising along on a motorbike, you feel like a part of the city. It's like you're one of thousands of little blood cells, flowing through the veins of some enormous . . . thing.
Rest assured, this building is very significant. If you see a car, it's usually a taxi, or it's owned by a company of some kind. But the car for personal use is growing in popularity, despite its ridiculous impracticality. A car in Vietnam means, "Look at me, I'm rich!" As such a lot of people who want to appear wealthy are buying them (most of whom actually are very wealthy, since cars are extremely expensive over here). It's actually getting to be a bit of a problem: cars clog the streets and lead to traffic jams. Personally I don't know why you'd want a car when you could be crusing along on a motorbike, having a near-death experience every five minutes and getting caught in the rain during monsoon season.
I apologize for the horrible wind noise in the second half of the video. You might want to turn the volume down/off.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Walking
In Minnesota I never did much walking. I think it had something to do with the amount of space. Sure, I would walk around the house, or across campus, or about town. But more of my time was spent driving between home and school, or home and town--or school and town, I guess, since I have to drive through town to get home. There's just too much space between everything.
In Vietnam there is no space. Anywhere. At all. No space between buildings, no space between people. Walking has become a part of my life. If I want to eat, I have to walk. If I want to buy anything, I have to walk.
Yesterday I walked from my hotel to a park which is pretty much in the center of town. It's the farthest I've walked alone. I was starting to feel trapped by the vastness of the city; how was I supposed to go anywhere without getting lost? Then I told myself to buck up. I had two legs and maps were available. I could walk wherever I chose. All it would take is a little planning.
Allow me a brief paragraph to rave about www.diadiem.com. It was recommended to me by my supervising teacher, and, when translated into English, is probably the most useful website I've encountered in my life. It's a detailed interactive map of Saigon. You can use it to see where in the city I'm currently staying: type in "171 Co Bac" and click "Find" (you'll have to translate the website into English first), and there it is. Go a little north from there (well, up—I'm not sure if that translates to north), and you'll find a big patch of green that says "Cong Vien Tao Dan." There's the park.
A view of the pond.
Walking in Vietnam is different from walking in Minnesota. It takes some getting used to. The first couple days I experienced intense "Crushed Toe Anxiety," an unpleasant period during which I was constantly afraid of having my toes crushed by passing vehicles (people tend to drive within half an inch of you). I also learned quickly that sidewalks are usually not meant to be walked on. More often they are for street vendors, or for the family dinner table. Occasionally you can hop onto the sidewalk to get out of the way of a vehicle, but usually you're walking right in the street, sometimes in the middle of it.
More park.
This is with smaller roads, of course. You definitely do not want to be walking in the middle of the big roads. You will die. You do, unfortunately, have to cross them quite frequently, which is another challenge. My travel guide frequently told me: "Whatever you do, don't stop! Just keep walking, they'll drive around you." This, it turns out, only applies in certain situations. There are a lot of situations in which stopping briefly is necessary to weave around vehicles, like when a van pulls out an inch from your nose. It's other situations, like when the road seems clear, so you start to cross, but then the light changes and you realize you have a massive wall of motorbikes thundering toward you--that you don't want to stop. As long as a vehicle is not coming straight at you, pausing is okay.
Here's a good example of the kind of hodgepodge architecture that is really common here; all over town there are shiny new modern buildings right alongside old dilapidated ones. It turns out the reason the buildings are all so skinny is not due to problems with space, but because during the French occupation, tax was based on how wide your house was. Silly French people.
The only thing restricting how far I go now is the heat: it's so hot here that walking even a short distance can be really draining. But yes, walking is good for you and all that. Builds character, good exercise.
The cleaning girl was changing my bedsheets when I came back from my walk. The balcony door was open. I should elaborate: there is a "mystery door" in my room that I have long suspected leads to a balcony (there is a photo of the door in "Pictures!"), but I could never seem to get the door to open. After the cleaning girl had left, I inspected the open door. How had she done it? It turns out the door opens by pushing out—not by pulling in.
Views from my balcony.
In Vietnam there is no space. Anywhere. At all. No space between buildings, no space between people. Walking has become a part of my life. If I want to eat, I have to walk. If I want to buy anything, I have to walk.
Yesterday I walked from my hotel to a park which is pretty much in the center of town. It's the farthest I've walked alone. I was starting to feel trapped by the vastness of the city; how was I supposed to go anywhere without getting lost? Then I told myself to buck up. I had two legs and maps were available. I could walk wherever I chose. All it would take is a little planning.
Allow me a brief paragraph to rave about www.diadiem.com. It was recommended to me by my supervising teacher, and, when translated into English, is probably the most useful website I've encountered in my life. It's a detailed interactive map of Saigon. You can use it to see where in the city I'm currently staying: type in "171 Co Bac" and click "Find" (you'll have to translate the website into English first), and there it is. Go a little north from there (well, up—I'm not sure if that translates to north), and you'll find a big patch of green that says "Cong Vien Tao Dan." There's the park.
A view of the pond.
Walking in Vietnam is different from walking in Minnesota. It takes some getting used to. The first couple days I experienced intense "Crushed Toe Anxiety," an unpleasant period during which I was constantly afraid of having my toes crushed by passing vehicles (people tend to drive within half an inch of you). I also learned quickly that sidewalks are usually not meant to be walked on. More often they are for street vendors, or for the family dinner table. Occasionally you can hop onto the sidewalk to get out of the way of a vehicle, but usually you're walking right in the street, sometimes in the middle of it.
More park.
This is with smaller roads, of course. You definitely do not want to be walking in the middle of the big roads. You will die. You do, unfortunately, have to cross them quite frequently, which is another challenge. My travel guide frequently told me: "Whatever you do, don't stop! Just keep walking, they'll drive around you." This, it turns out, only applies in certain situations. There are a lot of situations in which stopping briefly is necessary to weave around vehicles, like when a van pulls out an inch from your nose. It's other situations, like when the road seems clear, so you start to cross, but then the light changes and you realize you have a massive wall of motorbikes thundering toward you--that you don't want to stop. As long as a vehicle is not coming straight at you, pausing is okay.
Here's a good example of the kind of hodgepodge architecture that is really common here; all over town there are shiny new modern buildings right alongside old dilapidated ones. It turns out the reason the buildings are all so skinny is not due to problems with space, but because during the French occupation, tax was based on how wide your house was. Silly French people.
The only thing restricting how far I go now is the heat: it's so hot here that walking even a short distance can be really draining. But yes, walking is good for you and all that. Builds character, good exercise.
The cleaning girl was changing my bedsheets when I came back from my walk. The balcony door was open. I should elaborate: there is a "mystery door" in my room that I have long suspected leads to a balcony (there is a photo of the door in "Pictures!"), but I could never seem to get the door to open. After the cleaning girl had left, I inspected the open door. How had she done it? It turns out the door opens by pushing out—not by pulling in.
Views from my balcony.
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