A Little View of the Hood

Tonight Nam stops by his house…right next to the Bum Bum Salon (Katherine and my new favorite neighborhood establishment – we both went back for $35,000 dong massages and they were equal to the $180,000 dong ones by the hotel) to introduce me to his sister, his mother, his nephew (who is able to translate a little bit of English) and his sister’s granddaughter.

His mother keeps asking me questions (so this is where he gets it), pointing to her ancestor shrine and crossing herself. The nephew translates a few things, like: She has ten children. Nam is number five. The other eight are scattered all over the city. She wants to know how many foreigners live in the house and where we are from. Are any of us married? We must seem so so so strange to them. It's nice to meet his family (I think his kids are grown, cynical ESL Amy) and I think it's pretty cool now that if I need a ride, I can just walk down to his house to see if he's available. Evidently, he didn't show last night at the carnival because he lost his cell phone. I'm not sure how those two things relate, but I feel badly for him, he seems so completely bummed about it.

I am taking the above picture from a stand across the street where I am eating chicken and rice. This stand holds a huge flat wok with a bunch of ingredients in bowls...the closest thing I've seen to Stir Fry Street in Shaoxing, China, but it's nothing amazing like it always was there. The alleyway you see from the street-- if you look behind the big blue sign, you will see the small sign that says "Bum Bum." Nam lives right across from there. If you take a right at the Bum Bum, you walk just three blocks down the alley to our house. The second picture is of that view. Our house is at the end of the alley, right near the gold colored house. Oh, and the stand to the right of the alley entrance in the picture is one of about ten on the street serving Pho Ha (the noodle soup) and to the left of the entrance is one of many fruit juice places. Everyone sits at the low plastic chairs. All day long. Noodles, noodles, noodles.

And here is our cake lady. She is on the street so infrequently that she is worth text messaging about. Tarn loves her the most, and she is here tonight, so I will write him a message as soon as I'm done with all of you. I've been reluctant to take pictures in my neighborhood, but oh well, here she is... And one of my favorite treats at her stand reminds me of that green Slime we used to love as kids. It's jello-like with a custardy filling. Here is a terrible picture of it:

This morning as I walk through the market, I decide to try something new for breakfast. There is a woman who makes all kinds of sweet rice-- red, red with beans, white with a bunch of stuff I don't recognize--

so I order the red. She puts it in a plastic bag, pours cream on top, and just like everything else here, it is rubber banded so tightly that I will fight for hours to get it off when I arrive at school. It's delicious.

I'm off to see a concert tonight at the Conservatory in District One...it's called "Impulse: Crackling Bamboo" and it's an international percussion festival. You will get the review tomorrow...

Nam

Map work: I live in the southwestern part of District One, the orange section) almost in District 5 (in pink)...Electric Avenue (in Chinatown) is in District 5. The high school is in District 10 (yellow), right near the green park...kind of in the middle. The green park is the carnival area where my gym is (and where I keep getting lost and disappointing Nam).

Written yesterday, when I could not connect to the internet:

Red Shirt Blue Helmet has a name. It's Nam. I'm glad I know his name now because he wears a different shirt this morning, it's red and yellow. When he picks me up after school, I try to tell him that I want him to take me to the tailor across town in the north part of District One, the one I went to with Alice, to pick up my dresses. I have a card with the address on it, and am making it as clear as possible. He doesn't understand.

Then one of my students, Alex, who actually reminds me very much of my nephew Devon (therefore making him one of my favorites), pulls up on the back of a motorbike with his mom. He wants to introduce us. After talking with her, I take the opportunity to ask Alex to translate between me and RSBH about the destination. He does this, then I find out Nam's name(by the way, I plan to start learning Vietnamese basics soon if only to communicate with my driver) and Nam then asks him to translate something for me. He says to Alex "Tell her I don't understand a word she says." That's what Chatty Kathy wants me to know. He doesn't understand when I draw an arch and write 6:30 and point to the arch two blocks away as clear as anything, but he can chat and chat away at me no problem. The other thing he wants me to know...if he's not there right away, he wants me to wait for him...he will be there shortly.

He takes me to the tailor through horrendous traffic and he goes up on the sidewalk a few times. But he always seems to be in control, nice and steady, so I don't really mind. I want to get through the traffic, too. When he does some impressive manouevers, I say, "Nice job" and by his smile I think he does understand at least a little. When we drive back through the part of District One that is the "Paris of Vietnam," he points at all of the attractions and wants to know, have I seen them? Have I walked around the Reunification Palace? Have I seen Notre Dame? When I nod yes, he seems pleased. He waits for me to get a fitting with my dresses, then takes me home. We are past the bargaining phase; I just ask him what I owe him and he gives me a fair price.

By the way, the dresses are beautiful. Maybe you'll get to see them someday.

Written today:
When I walk to the street today, Nam is waiting with his wife. I could be wrong, but I think she is there only to meet me. We shake hands and she is lovely; it's pretty cool. I can only speculate, but perhaps landing a steady customer--maybe especially a foreigner-- is a big deal. Today Nam is supposed to pick me up at the arch at 6 after the gym. When I come out, I think I know a short cut through the carnival, but as is often the case with my sense of direction, I am completely off. I get so lost, and the motorbikes and lights and buildings that all look the same confuse me. I get to the arch at 6:15, wondering if Nam has been patient. He's not there. I'm a little relieved because I forgot to bring long pants to cover my shorts, but I'm also anticipating a scolding tomorrow. I have to hire someone else to take me home, and I feel insecure the whole way. I hope Nam will forgive me!

Direct and CRAZY

People in Vietnam eat tons of rice and greasy food. They eat noodles, noodles, noodles, morning noon and night. Yes, they eat pho in the morning, too. So carbs, carbs, carbs. How do they stay so skinny? Their eating habits are directly opposed to what America has been telling us for the past ten years or so, and yet they have much less fat per capita.

I finally find the answer to at least this one mystery tonight, my first night at a gym (finally!). The answer is: The CRAZY EXERCISE machine! The gym I go to has some treadmills, some eliptical machines, free weights, weight machines, and--what I guess I will refer to as "fat jigglers." There are two kinds: one you put a strap around your belly and it jiggles your belly fat. The other you just stand on and it jiggles all of your fat. They both have the label "CRAZY EXERCISE TM" on them. So that is why people are so skinny here (after all, only very skinny girls are using them).

Some other gym differences: instead of an aerobic step, a girl is doing aerobic stepping on a dresser with a drawer in it. A bunch of guys are standing around a TV watching a competition between female video game players; the women on TV are playing karate. Buddha cutouts, the ones with Buddha and looooong fat earlobes, are posted all over the mirrors. Out at the pool area, people lounge around eating noodles. Carbs, carbs, carbs. Thank goodness for CRAZY EXERCISE.

A side note: I feel really good after exercising today. I'm going to join the CRAZY GYM. And I'm going to just watch that fat fall off as I stand there exerting no energy. I can't wait.

OK, now, my motorbike guy. He has become kind of a Chatty Cathy. He talks my ear off every time he sees me. Slight turn of a smile, an emotionless, slow pace of talking, but he just carries on as if I understand every word and gesture. A few times I have beckoned American International School students over to translate if he starts chatting when he drops me off at school -- other times, I am at a loss and just listen and hope he's not telling me that someone in his family has a terminal illness. The other day he takes a plastic bag off of the handlebars and opens it up. It's a banana leaf filled with sticky rice and some kind of custard. He gestures to me as if he's going to give it to me. He points to himself. I say, "Oh, for me? Your wife made this for me?" only to have him wrap it back up and put it on his handlebar. I think he just wanted to share what he was having for breakfast.

This morning I try to tell him that I want to be picked up three blocks away, under the arches where the creepy carnival entrance is -- the gym is located inside a carnival area that looks like it could be a movie set for "Halloween III." I have already thought this through: I draw a picture of the arches and write "6:30." But no matter how many gestures I make, he doesn't get it. Finally, a man walks by who speaks English and through translation we come to an agreement: don't pick me up at the school at five, pick me up under the arches at 6:30. However, after my workout I have a hard time finding my way back through the carnival in the dark. I run into many dark alleys and circus clowns meet me on more than one occasion in those alleys. I begin to panic, because I'm late. Finally I see the arches, but they are far away, so I run with my backpack on, in the sweltering heat, to meet Red Helmet Blue Shirt on time. I get there at 6:35 and he's nowhere to be seen. My heart sinks. All kinds of taxi drivers are around. "Motorbike, Miss?" But I want my guy.

Suddenly, I see him wave from across the street and he makes his way over, slowly. Slight upturn of a grin. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his cell phone, opens it and points to the numbers: it says 6:37. I tell him I'm sorry, but that's not all-- he has another problem with me: he doesn't like it that I'm wearing shorts. I can't figure this one out. I wear dresses on most mornings and just hike them up, to a place that is higher than the shorts, like everyone else does. But he points and shakes his head. He's disappointed, and thinks it's not safe. He takes me across the street and points out my bare legs to the friend he made while he waited SEVEN whole minutes for me. They both shake their heads. I'm not sure what to do, but suddenly, he stops shaming me and starts his bike. When he drops me off, he pulls out his cell phone again. He wants to know what time tomorrow. Am I going to be late again? And then he counts, in English, "One two three four five six? Am I picking you up at six?" I count to seven. You're picking me up at seven, like you have now for two weeks. I have gotten the message, and I feel so badly for being seven minutes late that I pay Chatty Cathy 20 thousand instead of fifteen. Suddenly, I have a mother here in Ho Chi Minh City. I have to be on time, I can't wear short shorts...what could possibly be next?

Yesterday I get to see both the Reunification Building and the War Remnants Museum. The Reunification Building used to be called Independence Hall; it used to be the symbol of the South Veitnamese government and is preserved almost as it was on that day in 1975 when the Republic of Vietnam ceased to exist. The story of the VietCong takover on that day is worth reading about, it's very dramatic. But I won't go into it here. It is classic 60's architecture (the openness of the column structure lets so much sun in) and furniture-- the conference rooms and the receiving rooms are stately and beautiful; however, I really loved the president's living quarters. This room, especially...the gambling room(right next to the cinema). Doesn't it look like it could be straight out of Mary Tyler Moore? She should be holding a cocktail party here. (Ann, did I get the reference right this time?) Also interesting is the basement, with its network of tunnels and war room. There is a direct route from the president's room to the basement in case of attack. A ballroom and bar area are on the top, as is a military helicopter. Ho Chi Minh himself never saw Independence Palace. It was one of his regrets when he died.

Then there's the War Remnants Museum, which used to be called "The Museum of Chinese and American War Crimes." Only go to this one if you have a strong stomach. It's a collection of planes, artillery vehicles, and weapons, but what's most striking is all of the photographs of slaughtered families, victims of Agent Orange and napalm. Wall after wall shows the atrocities committed against them by the US, with quotes from surviving family members. In the very first panel, too, is a quote from the Declaration of Independence "...we hold these truths to be self evident...all men are created equal..." It's a museum of victims telling their side of the story, and quotes from many other leaders of so many other countries speaking out against the war.

I'm not sure it's the best choice for me on this day, and I'm not sure about the strength of my stomach, the day after the castle warming party. I'm overtired and don't feel like seeing the Tiger Cages or the guillotine used by the French or the torture chambers. One interesting room is one dedicated to the "Everlasting Friendship between Cuba and Vietnam." It has many pictures of Castro and Che, uniting with the people of Vietnam. But I don't stay very long at this one; I'll come back another day when I feel like reading lots more. One room is covered with pictures and stories from Life Magazine.

On the way back, I see my first accident. We (a different driver) turn the corner to see a man on the ground next to a crumpled bike. He stands up and blood pours from his ear. It looks like he was already crippled, but he can barely move. He just stands there in the street looking at his bike. Finally, a man gathers him up and helps him to the sidewalk, leaving a trail of blood. He just keeps looking at his bike. I'm sure it's all he had. By this time I feel so sad that I go back to the castle and sleep, sleep, sleep.

Speaking of sleep, I guess I had better get some now. After all, I now live in fear of letting Red Helmet Blue Shirt down; I had better not be late...

A Tour of the Castle, from the Top Down (keep in mind it's really diffcult to capture)

(Castle warming party highlights posted below):

The finished deck:

The balcony outside my fourth floor room (note the awning) and the ladder to the deck:

My room. (The landlords picked the bedspread). Here is my boring room lamp, Amy. And I have my own bathroom with the shower over the toilet (deluxe).

The guest Balcony Room:

The living room, from the top of the stairs (I've left out two staircases and K and T's room), and the livingroom from below. The kitchen is in the background, and the balcony is above the kitchen, but you've already seen that numerous times. And that concludes your tour of the castle!

Castle Party Highlights

1. We have the neighborhood cater it: the turmeric rice cake lady makes fifty cakes and a fresh spring roll lady we like makes twenty rolls.

2. We buy two big cakes from the local cake lady for birthdays: one angel food-like cake with layers of jello and one plantain cake that we mistook for rhubarb. Cakes are not Vietnam's best selling point, but they are OK.

3. Since we have yet to hire a cleaning lady, we get up at six a.m. and mop all of our decks (three) and all of our stairs and floors (we've been walking on grimy floors for two weeks). We are dripping with sweat.

4. My two roommates work for hours on their DJ playlists. Tarn, especially, concerns himself with four lists of music to go with any direction the party moves.

5. We're so exhausted from working all day, going to stores -- and getting my orange lamp wired by a personal electrician down the street-- that when I see it's 6:30 and people are coming at 8, I decide to walk two blocks down the alley to get my hair washed (I didn't want to get my bathroom dirty...the showers are over the toilets and you track dirt and water everywhere when you shower). Now I know we have been paying tourist prices: a hair wash (basically a half hour head massage), a condition, a cucumber facial (just like the ones I've had at the Korean Spa), blow dry and style at the Bum Bum salon costs me 40 thousand, or $2.40. We've been paying at least double that. I'm going back for a $2 massage tomorrow. Nice, nice people, too. These salons are everywhere: a hair wash/massage is part of the culture, just like in China.

6. Not a cloud in the sky all day...but while I am at the salon, it starts to pour and it rains harder than I've seen it yet (Yes, Megan Gallagher, like Costa Rica rain!) We have worked all day getting the roof ready...

7. Our first guests are a half an hour early. They are Vietnamese girls from the office and library. They don't eat anything before coming because Vietnamese parties always include dinner food. They chop up their watermelon and look very uncomfortable until other Vietnamese people come. We hear later that they are thrilled to be included in a "mixed" party.

8. Over fifty people come.

9. Franco the third grade teacher from Portland brings his mandolin and Linda the art teacher from Pennsylvania brings her violin. They take the balcony and play "Happy Birthday" to four September birthday people while we light candles for the cakes, then they stage a concert, beginning with "Red-Haired Boy."

10. The police come three times to tell us to lower our voices (our neighbors complained) and to tell us that some motorbikes could be stolen if left outside. A veteran teacher, Chris, says they do that kind of thing to foreigners all the time and that we can ignore them. The worst thing that happens is that Linda's shoes are stolen and she has to wear Tarn's flip flops home (just like Carrie in Sex and the City). Did the police steal her shoes? All the shoes sat in the foyer...

10. Katherine has placed the picture of me and Lyle Lovett on the mantel. A few girls see it, gasp over it and say "How do you know Lyle?" K is standing next to me and I can't help putting on a show. "We dated for a while." They believe readily. I hate their first question: "Before or after Julia?" For some reason, probably because it is very entertaining to K, I keep it up and have them going and just can't bring myself to tell them that it's not true. At the end of the night, K asks me, "Did you ever tell them the truth?" Oops.

11. The night ends on the roof, when the rain stops. "Ends" means that for two hours, between midnight and two, the ten remaining guests swing in the hammock or lounge under the palm. Four people sit on the rainbow bench, each with an instrument: Linda with her violin, Franco with his mandolin, Tarn with his harmonica and Chris with a plastic bottle and a kazoo. They play blugrass songs at Franco's direction. The only bad part about the night is that Alice is very very sick and can't come. This would have been her thing, completely. And even though Cynthia is out of the hospital and working, she doesn't make it either. She's still not feeling great.

12. This morning I am a bit sheepish when I step outside. All of our neighbors are out; the recycling lady is collecting our cans and I give a nod to everyone. Do you still like us? I am saying with my nod. A man who lives kitty corner comes over. I know he can speak English because Tarn talked to him the other day-- he is in charge of quality control for seafood exports to the US and Canada. He explains about the recycling system (the lady is paying me for all of the beer cans and I'm confused) and then he says, "So you had a party last night."

"Yes. I hope we didn't keep you awake."

"Well, we go to sleep early...but it's OK. The neighbors that called the police, they are in the house right there (he points about three houses down). They will be OK tomorrow, don't worry. Sometimes I have parties and they call the police on me, too. Did you have a good time? Was it your birthday...?" I find out that seven people live in his stack: his mother, wife, kids, brother, brother's wife, their kid.

Then I walk past the seamstresses. They come to the door, smiling. They speak no English, but they motion, "You had a party last night! Was it your birthday? Was it fun? Is that a rash on your shoulder? What is it from? You should put some lotion on it."

I ask if we kept them awake. "It's OK. You were having fun!"

I move on to the morning market. Everyone waves hello and offers to sell me eels, frogs, cakes, noodles, vegetables, jello. I love my neighborhood. The castle is open for business. Everyone asks if they can call and come over to hang out on the roof. Life is good. Think I will do something touristy today, like go to the Reunification Palace or the War Museum. Good night!

Blind Faith and Security

Katherine and I are waiting to cross the street to get massages today after school. We wait and wait for an opening to merge with the motorbikes. Sometimes it just takes faith, like I said, and sometimes, maybe on a Friday afternoon after a loooooong week at work, you just aren't as up for playing Frogger as usual. So we're waiting and waiting when we notice a man crossing from the other side. He's got one arm straight up and he's tapping a cane back and forth with the other--back and forth. He does not hesitate one bit. While Katherine and I wait, a blind man has crossed the road. Ponder that.

And this: our PE teacher from Ecuador named Daniel, who moonlights as a manager of La Cantina - a Mexican restaurant/salsa (as in dance) bar, sends an email out about celebrating Mexican Independence Day there, so K and I decide to go straight from massages/pedicures to the party. We order tacos and margaritas.

You know how some things just create a special secure spot in your mind, so that even when you have taken a crazy teaching job in Vietnam and every day something bizzarre happens-- like maybe a kid puts a snake in his nose and it come out his mouth and you just don't know what to do with that--so at those moments you can go to that special secure place and your whole world feels right again? Well, the tacos...the tacos. They make their own tortillas. They make fresh salsa. They roast pork for carnitas. They serve them with lime wedges. We are in heaven... I have to say: they are better than the taco bus tacos (but not cheaper). K and I decide we will go once per week; it will be my special secure spot, whether I am there physically eating the tacos, or in my mind, just knowing that I can go there and eat the tacos.

And as for Daniel, that Ecuadorian can salsa! We did not come dressed for dancing, but next time, he says, he will give us lessons. I work with some interesting people. They are all coming over tomorrow. We have a very long to-do list, so I think I will sleep now...

Sixth Graders Swallowing Snakes and Stomach Stew

Sixth graders love to act things out. They love to make funny noises. They love to draw and play games. They are absolutely mad about the word "toilet."


Aren't they cute?



In Ancient History we are becoming gods and goddesses of Sumer and reading Gilgamesh.


In English, we are reading a teleplay called "Herbie" by Rod Serling of Twilight Zone fame, so I You-Tube the episode "It's a Good Life." Both stories are about boys with extrasensory powers. The class loves to make the Twilight Zone sound (of course they had never heard it before...) and today we act out the play. We have an earthquake in slow motion and an injured girl (played by a boy in each class which makes it exreeeeemely funny for them) saved by a helicopter. The boys have been running into class asking "Twilight Zone?" because I can only download it in ten minute increments.


So, yes, it's fun for a change.


Other news: my guy waits for me in the mornings and after school now; it's a done deal. Today he brings me home all the way to the castle (I meet him out on the street by the sandwich cart in the mornings) and he points down the alley to tell me he lives there; we are neighbors. He must be talking to his friends, because I sure didn't tell him where I live; he just suddenly knows. I notice today that his red helmet has a little cartoon Tweety Bird on it. And today, he corners of his mouth turn up the slightest bit when he sees me after school.


Tonight K, T and I decide to go to Seafood Alley to try another place (T is mostly vegetarian but indulges in seafood sometimes to get his protein). A waiter meets us on the street and ushers us in, sits us down, then beckons us to follow him (the hand gesture is a palm down, waving motion). He leads us down the alley and into a stack house with a very long hallway. At the end is a kitchen, and down the hallway are pots and tanks and coolers. He wants to know what we want, even though he already presented us with a translated menu. He takes a live shrimp out of the tank and we nod a yes-- he takes it over to the pot: do you want it boiled? then he takes it to the grill: or do you want it grilled? We want it grilled. We point at long-necked clams (remember those from China?), regular clams (they come in a lemongrass saffron broth), squid (fried in a tamarind chili sauce, and, I don't know...we just keep pointing. We want everything. He takes us back to the table and within minutes our fish starts to arrive. Evidently, we pointed at eight different critters. Each dish costs about $1.80 -- the same price as the place across the street, so we each pay about $6.


In the middle of dinner, we hear "Hey!" Tarn and I turn around (Katherine is already facing the street) and we see two boys, also probably sixth grade age, dressed in silk costumes. One of them has two sticks of fire and he is swallowing them, over and over. He keeps yelling "Hey!" before swallowing the fire and after a few minutes of watching, T and I turn back around to eat. Suddenly, K goes white and puts her hands to her mouth. Because when T and I turned around, the other boy (not the fire eater) puts a thin, long green snake in his nose, which reappears seconds later through his mouth. K has to put her forehead in her hands for a minute; she has lost her composure and appetite. Tarn is disappointed. When they come around for money, he asks them to do the snake again, but of course they don't understand.



What did we pass up on the menu? Well, mixed intestine salad, grilled intestine, pig marrow, fried bird, fried frog, sapo duck tongue, stomach stew, cow ball, wild boar, and tons of snails. Can I put an order in for you?



Before we head out to dinner, our neighbor comes over to scold us about not using our padlock when we are in the house. The people here are crazy about padlocking their doors. The castle had four padlocks when we found it; its got an outer gate, an inner door and bars on all the windows. We want to be like everyone else in the evenings and leave our door open, but our neighbor, who is pantomiming in frantic gestures, tells us that someone will come in and do damage. So we are going to listen to the prophetess. We are very very careful about padlocking when we leave, but now we wonder how much of a target we are, living in this huge place. At least we have neighbors who are looking after us, but we keep hearing..."make sure you padlock your upper door (right by my room)" and now this from our other neighbor.


It's just a little disturbing, ya know?


Tomorrow is Friday, thank goodness. We sent out an email for the castle warming and everyone is coming. We think we could have a hundred people...so stay tuned for lots of pictures when we get everything ready on Saturday!