"You Inspired Me to Eat"

I'm writing from the Seoul airport because we chose a 23-hour layover here. I should say "we" chose it; Shea is crazy about Korea, and when her eyes lit up over the thought of spending even a day here, I couldn't resist it. I'm not allowed to tell you the details of her craze for this country, but I'm pretty sure this day will be the highlight of ten days of highlights for her. I thought that maybe, even though I have never chosen this always-available option, I would be in the mood to explore after ten days of exploring and gorging myself in Vietnam. But I'm not. Why doesn't Korea interest me? I mean it does in the way that anything interests me - like I should know a little bit about everything. But no. Indonesia, fascinating. The Philippines, Cambodia, Malaysia, Japan, yes. All of Europe and Africa. Antarctica, But not here, and not really Thailand.

What is it that makes you fall in love with a place? And why am I so head over heels for Vietnam? Those can only be rhetorical questions.

So since I explored a little bit around our hotel area last night and this morning (I ate two Korean meals during these two outings), I came to the airport two hours earlier than the two-hour early check-in. Because even though I don't love Korea, I do love the Incheon airport - one of the nicest I've ever seen. And here I will write some posts about my own highlights over the past ten days.

To begin - the most surprising highlight: bar hopping with my grown-up sixth grade students. Yes, the sweetest eleven year-olds on earth in 2008 are now scattered all over the US, Canada, Australia and the UK in pretty impressive colleges, pursuing the high-level educations all of their parents dreamed of, although not one of them is going to Harvard (seemingly the gold standard when I taught here).

Because I was posting on Facebook instead of here, some of my former students who were home for break saw my posts and suggested meeting for coffee (or beer) during the week. I met some students five years ago, too, but I was expecting it that time since they were still attending the American International School as juniors and seniors.

This time, our first meeting was at a coffee shop and I brought Shea, of course, because, weirdly, she is pretty much their age. It was beyond fun to hear stories of what they have been up to these past ten years.

From left: Terry, who is going to college at Amherst and who is passionate about coaching boys' soccer. He's getting a degree in Sports Management. Then there is Lan, who just majored in Psychology at the University of London. She's just excited not to write any more papers. Then there's David, going to the University of Melbourne and studying Real Estate Development. And next to him, the one that looks so different I didn't even recognize his Facebook picture, is Truong.

While we were talking, David and Truong reminded me that they were in my International Club. When you teach at an American International School, you are required to run an after-school club that meets once per week. "You really inspired me," Truong said at one point. In English? I wondered. Maybe I inspired him with how I taught ancient history, by making all of them into gods and goddesses? But no. "You inspired me to eat," he said.

You see, at first my International Club studied all things culture-related: food, traditions, festivals, dance. But at the end of the first quarter, we had a club discussion and they were honest with me...the only thing they wanted to do from there on was to eat. So our Eating Club was born. Each student paid $20 and we ordered in and ate out. We made quesadillas and salsa, we ordered in Mediterranean, and went out to Mexican. I even wrote a post about it, and you can read it here. It features Truong. So even though Truong is going to complete a triple major at John Hopkins University next year and despite the fact that his father is the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court in Vietnam, when I asked him what his dream job was, he answered, "All I really want to do is eat." Currently he writes for Eater - an online food site for Washington DC. And he knows chefs. Famous ones, like David Chang and Blaine Wetzel of the Willows Inn. "I really want to go to Lummi Island," says Truong, which is where his friend, Blaine, is famous.

That meeting was so enjoyable that we decided to do it again so a few others who heard about the reunion could join us. Truong chose one of his favorite bars, and I really regret not getting a picture because now you all can't see Emily or Maria. Emily is going to Irvine, and Maria is finishing up in North Carolina and spending a semester in Madrid in the fall.

After the first bar, Terry was anxious for us to try his favorite bar, so we went there and ordered the spiciest chicken and a flight of beer. Both times Truong picked up the bill. After the second bar, we walked on "walking street," and I mostly talked to Truong about food and his grandmother's cooking, and where he always takes guests to eat traditional Vietnamese food in HCMC. "I would like to take you and Shea," he said, but at that point we only had one day left and that day was reserved for Thuy and Thanh. But oh man, you bet the next time I come, I am using the former student who claims I inspired to EAT as a reference.

The teaching profession is pretty darn cool sometimes.

And here is the new American International School, of which I was not allowed to take a picture, even though I told the guard I knew Bill Gates. It's a soul-less school (those of us who met decided) and it's out in the middle of nowhere and kids have to be bused from all over the city. I wouldn't work here for a million dollars. Well, maybe. But I loved our converted business building and our ad-hoc faculty. I'm not sure how we made it work, but it sure was fun. And the kids made it despite the aesthetics.

Apologies

Apologies to anyone who is trying to follow our trip on this blog...we have had too many issues with internet and my old school computer to waste precious time messing with it. I will post some entries when I return! For now, everything is on Facebook :)

Reunion Day Highlights

1) T and T

Our flight was delayed, making our arrival 1 am instead of 10 pm, which meant I had to wait one more day to see T and T. Shea and I walked around the dark neighborhood while my heart was practically bursting to see them. We took sleeping pills, then I got up at 6:30 to make my way to the stand -- again, with my heart beating so fast. Their sister-in-law saw me first, and she gasped - she sells shoes next to the fabric - and Thanh was standing with her back to me. "Maggie!" she said when I hugged her from behind. Thuy was sitting on top of her fabric, still putting the finishing touches on the display. We all laughed and hugged for a long time, then I made my way around to say hi to the surrounding vendors and their mother. After about twenty minutes of reunion, Thanh says, "We go get pho, then rice cakes at 9 am." We went back to get Shea, then headed to a new pho stand. What a lucky person I am to have this family across the world.

And Thuy's son - what a character. So full of personality.

2) The Vendors

Thanh came with me for my red-carpet walk through the alleys - red carpet is the only way I can describe the feeling I get when eyes light up with recognition and heartfelt welcomes are exchanged after so long (which is actually quite different from the red carpet, I realize). I brought chocolate bars for some of my favorites:

Garlic Lady, Towel Lady, Pig Feet Lady (the three who always fought to say "hello" to me first when I walked down the market each morning). Chicken Soup Couple is still there, Banana Lady is gone. Pomelo Guy now sells durian. For the most part, the market is unchanged. The sounds and the smells brought me right back. And actually the air was kind of cool -- comparatively. Again, how lucky am I to have this neighborhood all the way across the world?

2a) Rice Cakes!
Just as good, maybe better, as the ones in the alley. This vendor only makes cakes about three days per week, according to Thanh. But yesterday she requested that rice cakes would be on the menu for me, and of course they were. The shrimp were bigger, and Thanh peeled them for me as Shea and I sat in the home of the vendor next to her two kids on the floor. They truly are the best taste in this world.

4) Tran

After rice cakes Thanh took me to see Tran, Katherine and my favorite masseuse. She gasped..."Marjie!" (She's one of the only people here who pronounces my name correctly). I thought we were just saying "hi" but I ended up getting a massage directly following rice cakes, which is what fantasies are made of. And after that, a mani-pedi.

Tran now owns this business with her cousin, and she is very proud of that...they were both Bum Bum employees, but...the Bum Bum is gone!! It's OK, though, because this salon is just like the Bum Bum - the people are what made that place. Tran is one of the most generous, warm people on earth. As I sat for my mani-pedi, she had pineapple juice delivered by motorbike. Again, fantasy times one hundred.

5) Ms. Hao

I went to see Ms. Hao, our former seamstress neighbor, but they indicated that she had moved. Later, Shea and I were making our way through the neighborhood and we just accidentally passed her house. She was standing in the doorway and we both did a double take, then hugged and greeted each other. That was awesome.

6) Shea



Sharing all of this with this cool human being who just goes with the flow and appreciates everything made the day all that much more special. Later, after a quick tour of Ben Thanh market, the church and the Continental Hotel, we had just gotten to our fourth floor hotel room when the rain came. And it RAINED. Shea went out on the deck to get soaked in it.

7) Thuy and Thanh's meals.

Of course they showed us the royal treatment. "You come here for lunch and dinner," Thuy demanded. And so we obeyed. Lunch made by Thanh - seafood rolls and seafood stir-fry. Dinner made by Thuy - my favorite soup: thick noodles, shrimp, squid and eggplant. Fantasy times a thousand.

Return to Rice Cakes, 2018

Tomorrow I will be sitting on a tiny blue plastic chair eating rice cakes in the best market in Ho Chi Minh City with my two sisters, Thuy and Thanh, and Thuy's little boy, who is now six, and the person in the picture with me above (more on that in a minute). Thuy's son was one when I last saw him -- but it really doesn't seem like five years have passed. My sisters and I have kept in close touch... between my friend Pam and me, we have sent them approximately 50 visitors for deluxe food tours through the market and the outer city (although in my opinion (Katherine shares this), paradise is within the market grid and there is no need to go anywhere else, ever.)

T and T's father passed a few months ago, so in that way I will certainly feel the movement of time.

My sixth grade students are all studying in universities in either the States or Canada - they are all doing amazing things and I keep up with many of them on Facebook. Two of my teacher friends still live in the city, but they are now home for summer break. From what I hear, the buildings are taller and the development over the past five years has been crazy. Thanh even sent a video showing how to get to the alley hotel because the street looks so different.

And the original rice cake stand is gone - the laughing women who peeled my shrimp when they saw me coming have moved on. Thanh was afraid to give me that news, but I bought a ticket anyway. And you know what? Two nights ago I got a picture message from her - there is a NEW rice cake stand in the market. Reports to come in approximately one day :)

The person in the picture -- that's a story. Shea is coming with me, I guess you could say, as a testament to the power of stories. Shea wrote a story about their history with psychosis and depression in Scriber's book two years ago, and then helped me edit last year's book in a way that not many teenagers could. Shea was a star, never saying "no" to a speaking event - in fact the word "yes" was always stated before I even gave the opportunity. Anne Kutay of Wildland Adventures was in the audience at one of those events. Anne had wanted to give the gift of travel to someone for years, and when she heard Shea speak, she asked if Shea would be a good candidate. I answered "yes" before Anne finished asking the question. One of the first things Shea said to me when we met was about their desire to travel. And here we are, in the airport about to board a plane to Seoul, then Ho Chi Minh. Shea is deserving, completely. And a ton of fun.

I'm excited to be back. I can't wait to see my sisters and eat my way through the market every morning. I will love swimming in the ocean for a few days when we go to a beach hut near Hoi An. But being able to show this place to this person adds such a special element to the trip.

Because I was (and still consider myself to be) Shea's teacher, I assigned airport homework. Requirements: memorize all of the names and all of the food descriptions of the market map Thanh and I drew for her business. This is what we're doing during our time here with a flight delay. But that just means more time to dream about those rice cakes...

Hen Gap Lai Feast

"Hen Gap Lai" means "See you again." Thuy and Thanh want to have my See You Again Feast at the new barbecue place right on Nguyen Canh Chan - about a block from where the stupid sushi restaurant opened and closed two years ago. So we stake out a spot and call Ms. Hao and Ut to see if they can join us. They can. Thuy's husband, Dung, is on his way too.

Vietnamese celebrations include lots of "Mot, hai, ba, YO!" (One, two three, YO!"). At the end of each toast, I add "Hen gap lai!" and this makes them laugh every time. (You have to stick with what works when there's a language barrier.)

We begin with deep fried squid and lotus root salad with shrimp:

















Then it's grilled shrimp - they are so sweet and sticky:




Then a fire pit is brought to the table and a stone plate is placed on it. We wait about fifteen minutes for it to heat. While we're waiting, Thanh translates this conversation: Thuy and Dung are saying that in China, they put heroin in their food so that after you eat it you want more more more of...something. I kept asking, "What? What do they want more of?" I think they want more food, but who knows? Maybe they just want more.

They have so many funny opinions about the Chinese. I tell them they've already had too much beer.

Anyway, here is the beef and okra waiting to sizzle:

Sizzling:








(You dip it in a salt, pepper and lime mixture.)







After this course, there is animated discussion at the table; they all want Thanh to ask me something. She laughs and asks, "Do you want baby duck in egg?"

I have experience with this. When teaching in China, on an ordinary day during lunch at the grade school, baby duck in egg was on our lunch trays. None of us could eat it...all furry and beaky and...a baby duck.

"Sorry," I say. "Americans have no courage."

They have figured on this, so they scour the menu and come up with the grande finale: deep-fried whole fish. It was hard to capture its immense beauty:

You wrap the delicious morsels of this fish in rice paper along with rice noodles, star fruit, basil, greens and cucumbers and dip it all into one of Vietnam's many amazing sauces.

The best part of this fish is its crunchiness; you eat the scales and all. I may not eat baby duck in egg, but I will eat fish scales if they are done properly.

Here is Ut, the bag designer:












And we're done.

Here is Dung with Huang. Every night he comes over for a few hours after work, and this is all he does. He looks at his son, plays with his son, makes sure his son is comfortable. At dinner Dung hardly ate anything because he was so enraptured with this child.

Huang has a village that caters to every single need he has before he has it. I have heard him fuss a little, but I haven't heard him cry. Not once in ten days.

We are done with our feast by 8. I drop by Tran's salon to see if she's there for a final massage. I'm in luck. She insists on touching up my lashes and says, "I hope your mother doesn't say 'Marjie, you look terrible!' when she sees you at the airport." They are so cool-looking. I give Tran a big hug when I leave and she kisses me on the cheek. She is, possibly, the purest soul on the planet.

And as I'm walking back to T and T's house - which is just across the street - Ut and his friend are passing on a motorbike. Ut stops and hands me a sugarcane drink that he had just bought for me. See what I mean about the timing in this place? It's like "cue massage." Or "cue eyelashes." "Cue grandma's amazing lunch." Or "cue sugarcane drink after your massage while walking across the street."

Earlier, Ms. Hao gave me a one-of-a-kind bag, too. She put a note inside that read, "I made this for you. I hope you think it nice."

"How can one person receive all of this love?" you might be asking.

I don't really know. I'm almost embarrassed to write about it.

When I get to their house, grandma and Huang are asleep on a make-shift bed on the floor. Thuy will join them here and Thanh will climb a ladder where she will share the loft with her father, two brothers, sister-in-law and nephew.

Part of me wants to join the slumber party, but I take the computer back to the hotel and write this final post instead.

We've already decided that we will say "Hen gap lai" at the hotel tomorrow- none of this "goodbye" stuff is going to happen. I'll eat my rice cakes, get my hair washed, play with Huang, get in a taxi and get ready to go to work tomorrow.

What do I do for work again?

Hello!

So much happens in the market each morning that I could write about just that. Here are a few stories from this morning:

I'm walking through the main strip as usual when a tiny woman carrying a basket on her head filled with rice, coconut and sugar spots me.

"Hello!" she says, and smiles an almost-toothless grin.

I return her hello and she laughs and laughs. Then she grabs my hand and grips it tightly, pulling me alongside her as she strolls down the alley, talking all the way.

All the vendors are laughing because she is so small and is gripping my hand so tightly that I'm bent over just trying to keep up with her. She does this for a long while - to everyone's extreme entertainment.

Then she lets go and says, "Goodbye!"

It really is rare for the older people here to know English, let alone speak it with confidence. She's pretty cool.

Another scene: Kids all over Vietnam absolutely love to say "hello" to foreigners. Sometimes the hello is joined by "how are you?" and we are constantly returning these very sweet greetings.

Today while I'm walking past the temple, two boys - about ten or eleven - see me and one whispers something into the other's ear. They both look at me and the one who was just dared (I'm guessing) blurts out "F**k!" (I censored that for my mom.) They are both a little horrified at their own courage, and they take off giggling down the alley, turning to catch my reaction. But I'm just laughing, so I'm sure that is a little disappointing.

Kids are so endlessly sweet here...I'm sure if an adult had been there, these boys would have been in big trouble. I know that some kids will grow up to be motorbike cowboys here, but I have yet to meet a good candidate for that.

Better?

On Spaghetti-with-Soy-Sauce-Night, I tell Thanh I want to do the dishes.

"No!" (emphatic). "No work for ten days!"

"But what about you?" I respond. "You work every single day."

Thanh just shrugs and says, "We different."

And my hair-washer, Trinh (also my age), during our hour-long conversation I learned that she sleeps on the same bench I recline on during a hair-wash...she and three other girls who work at Salon Mimi all sleep in a row on the salon beds. And they share a tiny bathroom with a squat toilet and a shower head next to a bucket. 

"It's OK," Trinh says. "It's not bad."

I am never more aware of my privileged life than when I'm here, and the fact that I have these friendships at all...well, it has to do with acceptance on many levels. Unconditional understanding of where we are from, who we are, etc. Mostly, though, these are content people. Filled with generosity, love and humor.

I think about these things a lot. So much, in fact, that I haven't been able to read the three books I brought. Too distracted with it all...I've seen too much behind the curtain these days.

What I think about:

My many freedoms: political and personal. Educational opportunities. Career choices. The ability to travel freely around the world. Maybe more importantly, being able to afford to travel freely around the world. Car ownership, home ownership. The time to think about what makes me happy and the means to make those things happen.

And that four years ago I (freely) answered a Craigslist ad that brought me here - to a place where I feel even more free. But in this place the people are not free. They do not have political freedoms and they are captives of poverty and bound by family responsibilities; no one else is going to take care of them if they get sick. So they have each other instead of insurance and pension plans. It would take them a lifetime to save enough to travel to America, but by then they would have hospital bills to pay.

So they accept it. They have enough. They have food, shelter, family and community. I know a lot of rich people would give anything for that.

Last night as I'm teaching Thanh how to use Facebook, she says, "So much freedom in America."

During our Nha Trang get-away, she confessed to me that she would like to be independent, but that it will never happen.

"It's hard," she said.

But loyalty and care-taking is so ingrained into her being that she couldn't go out on her own, even if she had money. At this point, anyway.

"Do you want to come to America?" I ask, hesitantly. I kind of have to ask. But I can't picture her there without the rest of "her."

She thinks for a moment, then says, "No. I don't."

I'm relieved. Because we have way too much, and with that comes so many problems. I want her to have a good life. I want all of them to have "better" lives. But what, exactly, does "better" look like? Does it make this market look like the shopping mall of my recurring nightmares?*

What a strange, strange world. None of it makes sense. I was born there, they were born here.

And the strangest part of all? "Contentment" exists somewhere outside of circumstance.

On Wednesday, a time-machine will take me back to my life. I will be happy to return to it (although today I couldn't remember what I usually eat for breakfast). A few people have predicted that I will come back here to teach - based on my obvious love for this place. The answer is a definite "no" to that. Just thinking about it causes me nothing but anxiety. I hate the heat, and I only endured it because I loved it here so much. But that was a different time, under different circumstances. This place changed me and offered me more than I ever thought possible. But I am content in Seattle.

Nevertheless, I do think that it will be a bit confusing to return after these two weeks. (I think I usually eat eggs for breakfast.)

OK. Now, for some final food wrap-ups:

*1. Speaking of that recurring nightmare, I keep meaning to mention this: the sushi restaurant that caused me so much worry? It closed after only one month. "Very bad," said Thanh.

2. I saw Pomelo Guy the other day, but he was just walking through the market and was not selling pomelo. Today a woman who HAD to be his twin was selling it in his spot. It was dry and very disappointing. I'm hoping for a miracle the next two mornings.

3. Deep-fried Spring Roll Lady closed her cart two years ago and moved back to the Mekong Delta, her home. I finally dragged Thanh to her area of the market this morning to make inquiries, and that's the story. So she closed up right after I left. I probably gave her the majority of her business.

Everyone else sells and sells, day after day. And they will be selling to me for two more days. Nothing could be better, from my perspective...