Hello everyone, and my apologies for taking so long to post an update, I’m sure you have all been waiting with bated breath for news. Ha. I’ve always thought of blogging as a bit pretentious – but at the same time, the thought of sending mass emails on a regular basis seems both impractical and ridiculous, so here goes.
So I’ve now been in Vietnam for (a little over) a week, and I’m finding it hard to sum up in a few paragraphs just how many things I’ve seen and how many jumbled thoughts have been running through my head. I’ve spent hours playing with exhaustingly adorable Vietnamese orphans, burned incense at a pagoda, and traveled by boat down the river to a traditional death anniversary celebration in the countryside (read: jungle) of Hau Giang province, where I met a 68-year old man who hadn’t encountered a foreigner since the war. I’ve killed 25 cockroaches in my house in one afternoon, had a touch of the “Welcome to Vietnam” stomach troubles, and experienced the torrential rains of the tropical wet season most unfortunately on my way home from my first class. I’ve eaten dragon fruit and chum-chum, sticky rice and fried bananas, frog, mouse, snails and (out of nowhere) fried chicken, and tons and TONS of pho and bun and any kind of noodle you could imagine. I’ve played Love Doctor to a 21-year-old Buddhist nun over coffee. I didn’t even know Buddhist nuns could date. Needless to say, it has been a week of highs and lows – I’ve had simply intoxicating days when I can see myself truly falling in love with the place, and days when I just wanted to crawl back under my mosquito net and cry to the geckos on my walls. Such is life in the Delta, or so I have heard. But I’m slowly but surely feeling at home…
On that note, it never ceases to surprise me how quickly some things become normal. Like the traffic – whereas a week ago I had knots in my stomach and held my handlebars with an iron grip every time that I ventured out on the roads, I now find myself tooling along enjoying the scenery, even humming or practicing Vietnamese as I ride. I have also grown accustomed to finding sustenance at street-side food stands where the furnishings consist of plastic kiddie chairs and where you wipe down your chopsticks with a complimentary roll of toilet paper before eating (don’t worry, the food is good!). Sweating, pantomiming in order to communicate, hopping on the back of a motorbike, generally playing the Western fool – these have all become daily activities. A lot of times I just kind of look around and laugh to myself, “Where am I?”
So far I’ve found the Vietnamese people to be fascinatingly different. In many ways, the culture here remains steadfastly traditional – particularly in the Delta – grounded in gracious hospitality, stoicism, diligence, and devotion to the common good. It is actually rude to say thank you to your friends and family – taking care of your own is not optional but expected, and vocal gratitude is more like a vote of no confidence. I cannot tell you how many invitations to meals and coffee I’ve received or how much free food I’ve been given, all within about 2 seconds of meeting someone. At the same time, coming from a place where people are actively encouraged to formulate and share their own ideas and opinions, the somewhat reserved nature of the Vietnamese is quite a contrast. The paramount importance of the appearance of accord and homogeneity can sometimes mask individuality. It’s intriguing – it seems like everyone has a story that they’re not quite willing to share, and makes me want to dig a bit deeper.
In this respect, Vietnam is a really interesting collision of East and West, of first and third worlds at the moment. Just riding around Can Tho alone you will see a dinky little food stand next to a bright and shiny electronics store, or a woman driving a motorbike in a business suit next to an old guy pushing watermelons in a wooden cart. When we took a trip into the country, we visited houses that had satellite TV and cell phones but no running water (read: squat toilets, yum). There are coffee shops here that are nicer than Small World, but also whole families living in one-room houses. It is so bizarre. And everyone is very conscious of the fact that Vietnam is on the fast track to “development.” Whatever the hell that term really means, I have yet to discover. But in practice in Vietnam, it means that everyone here is DYING to learn to speak English. On the first day of class, I asked my students to tell me why they studied English. Their almost universal answer was “to help me get a good job and make a lot of money.” There is very much a sense of wanting to move up and out of the delta in Can Tho. Learning English seems to be the best way to accomplish that, so foreign teachers are very well respected and sought after. There is such curiosity about America and American culture, and everyone wants to “speak with foreigner” around here. At a coffee shop today, in fact, my status as a native speaker launched me into the position of featured attraction for the afternoon – I quickly became the object of a group interrogation. As a Westerner, I’ve found that I am sometimes seen as having superhuman capabilities and all the answers (thus the Love Doctor nun coffee date). Ha, such a different feeling from Africa. It is nice to feel respected and useful, but sometimes the special treatment bothers me. Like when we’re fed before the orphans at the Pagoda, or when people who are working to provide for their whole families insist on paying for my meals. Or when I remember the My Lai massacre. Oh dear.
But mostly, being a foreigner in Can Tho keeps the hilarious incidents coming fast and furious. Case and point #1: Last week when Alice and I had spotty Internet access, we went most mornings to an Internet café across the street. As soon as they saw us walk in, they would smile, say “Hello!” excitedly and start BLASTING techno. Just for us, how delightful. Case and point #2: For the past few days, we’ve been curious about the mysterious banana-leaf-wrapped food sold everywhere on the streets. Tonight we decided to buy some, thinking it would be some sort of delicious sticky rice or pastry. We start opening it at the dinner table, but are so inept that the shop keeper comes over and does it for us, miming slicing it and eating it to show us how it’s done. Only then do we realize that we have not bought sweets but instead a big fat roll of pork. Yum! Case and point #3: Based on the advice of PiA, before I left home I made sure to stop by my local Harley store to purchase a top-notch American helmet to wear on motorbikes. Little did I know that I would own the biggest helmet in all of the Delta. Most people wear helmets that cover the crown of their head. Mine engulfs my entire head and even has a nifty chin guard. I’ll post a picture – it’s pretty intense, probably like the size of a small child. When people see it, they laugh and point and say “Whoaaaaaaa.” I tell them it has to be big to hold all of my big hair ☺
On that note, I think I’ll wrap things up for now – more to come later on teaching and my newly acquired Asia-speak. I’ll try to post on this as often as possible, and hopefully I’ll even learn how to post pictures along with these large blocks of long-winded text. In the meantime, everyone take care – love to all!
