Week Two.

Not surprisingly, I’ve had another wonderful week in Hanoi. My time here is passing so quickly, and I can’t believe that I’m already half-way through my month here. I love being in Hanoi—despite the heat, humidity, and poor air quality. My impending departure from this city feels strangely like the time leading up to my leaving the US two weeks ago. I feel like I’ve been in Hanoi forever, and my memories of the US come back to me like flashes from pleasant dreams….

The week has been busy. Work/orientation from 8-5 everyday leaves little time in the evenings for activities, especially when leaving our cozy little distrist (called Cau Giay) requires waiting variable amounts of time for the bus. Nevertheless, nearly every night we’ve managed to at least go out for dinner somewhere. On Monday evening, Meghan, Kevin, David, Jahmila and I left immediately after orientation to go over to the Old Quarter/Hoan Kiem Lake area of town, to eat dinner and see a water puppet show. (We’d planned to see a water puppet show last week but dinner took too long.) The four of us had dinner at a little place called Little Hanoi. It looks quite French from the outside—even offering a walk-up counter to grab a sandwich or something—and has delicious food. My favorite is the cheese veggie, with gouda, lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, and cucumber on a fresh baguette…. It’s a bit pricey by Vietnamese standards, but its reliably fresh, tasty food and speedy service makes the $5-8 worth the expense.

Between dinner and the water puppet show, I discovered something that improved my quality of life immensely: Bubble tea. In Nashville, I had bubble tea almost every day, leading me to christen this summer “My Summer of Bubble Tea”. (Last summer was “My Summer of John Mayer and HGTV”, and the summer before, “My Summer of Ice Cream”.) I’d assumed that bubble tea would be everywhere here, but the first week passed without a single cup of milk tea and tapioca. I was getting bummed, especially since I’d seen empty bubble tea cups on the street. I became determined to find some—it became a sense of purpose. And that night, after my cheese veggie sandwich at Little Hanoi, I spotted a young girl sipping bubble tea. I was ecstatic! I her asked in happy, broken Vietnamese where I could find some, and she pointed to the store I was standing beside. Yes, I was standing right beside it. With a deep sense of relief, I walked up to the counter, ordered a “large” taro bubble tea, handed over the 18,000 dong (about $1.09, and the same thing would cost $4 at home) and walked away feeling rejuvenated. Mission accomplished. I spent the next hour before the water puppets show wandering by myself—I needed some alone time--through the twisting streets of the Old Quarter. It was one of my favorite moments since I’ve been here. The area is beautiful at night, full of locals selling various wares and Western tourists deciding between them, and with my comforting cup of bubble tea, I felt confident and happy as I strolled along and dodged motorbikes.
(In fact, I was especially careful of motorbikes that night, because earlier that evening I’d been lightly hit by one. The guy was going the wrong way down a one-way street. I forget sometimes that traffic rules here are virtually non-existent, regardless of whatever the signs say, and I just didn’t look the other way. Luckily he slammed on his breaks and just kind of rolled up on my left ankle a bit. It didn’t hurt much and provided me with a good lesson in looking both ways before crossing a one-way street.)

The water puppet show was lovely, offering us 17 little skits about various rituals, customs, and legends. And for 40,000 dong (about $2.50), it was well worth it. Here’s a video I found on youtube:


Starting on Wednesday, we’ve had language lessons all day, every day. Of course, I love it. I can think of few things I love more than learning a new language. The lessons have been a little disorganized at times, and I would benefit from a textbook or something, but I’m learning. I’m anxious to know much, much more, though. I remember a part in the book Eat, Pray, Love where Elizabeth Gilbert, the author, is learning Italian. She says that she yearned for the language to magically take up residence in her. I have the same desire—for this language to be fully functional in my mind. It’s frustrating to not be able to read 99% of things I see, or communicate with people efficiently, or express my thoughts. And I hate being “that American” who doesn’t speak the language. But at this point, I can ask directions, tell time, construct choppy, often incorrect sentences, tell my waiter that I’m a vegetarian and want my noodles without meat. I even gave directions in Vietnamese to my taxi driver the other night, and today I haggled to knock a few thousand dong off the price of a vase I wanted. I’m a long way from saying that I can truly speak Vietnamese, but at least it doesn’t sound like gibberish anymore. When people speak, I generally have no idea what they’re saying, but I can distinguish individual words in the mix. It’s comforting to feel that maybe, possibly, perhaps, somehow one day in the future I might be able to have a normal conversation in this language.

One night this week we also ventured into KFC. Yes, KFC. I ended up eating French fries, mashed potatoes in a soup of gravy, and iceberg lettuce with no dressing. Not very tasty, and definitely overpriced. But it was worth a fairly comical incident. I needed to use the restroom, and I was directed to the third floor bathroom. When I got up there I couldn’t open the door to the girls’ room. I pulled, and pushed, and wiggled the handle in vain. Finally I decided to just use the boys’ room. No one was up on the third floor and I assumed it wouldn’t be a problem, despite the fact that there were 2 urinals in addition to the one stall I was using. Wrong. Right after I sat down, I heard the door to the bathroom open and a guy walk in. I tried to see if it was a fellow Fulbrighter, but I couldn’t tell. There I was, stuck in a stall in men’s bathroom in a KFC in Hanoi, Vietnam. I hoped maybe the guy wouldn’t know I was there, but it would have been easy for him to figure me out with my cute white sandals and pink toe nails. After a few minutes, he left, and after waiting what I thought was enough time to let him safely return downstairs, I tried to sneak out undiscovered. Failed. He was out in the hall, washing his hands. He looked surprised to see me walk out of the men’s bathroom he was just in, so I flashed a smile, waved innocently and ran down the stairs, hoping that he’d write me off as a confused tourist.

Thursday nights are English Club. From 7:30 to 9 or so. Between orientation and English club, we have to find something to occupy our time. Last week we walked to a big coffee shop several blocks away (which was pretty miserable as it was raining heavily). This week though, we made our way to BIG C supermarket. Think Vietnamese Walmart on the 2nd floor with a nice pizza hut, Legends Beer hall, Highlands Coffee (aka Starbucks of Vietnam) and an expensive mall on the first floor. We’d heard that the Pizza Hut tasted a lot like the stuff at home, which was an exciting prospect when nothing else tastes quite like you expect it to. And to our pleasant surprise, we found the pizza hut rumor to be correct. Hot, cheesy, greasy slices of home served to us in the nicest Pizza Hut I’ve ever seen. After eating we all went up to the Big C, but several of us didn’t go in because we had to check our bags—which had our computers inside. We waited in Highlands coffee, where I enjoyed a cold Mango smoothie before heading back to campus for English Club.

The club is run by an American girl named Kristin, who’s a volunteer teacher at the university this summer. She’s wonderful. Earlier that day she met us for lunch, took us to one of her favorite places near campus, and then introduced us to a tasty drink made with sticky rice, sweetened condensed milk, yogurt and crushed ice. She’s been leading the club all summer, and apparently doing a great job. About 25 to 30 students, ranging in age from 13 to 30, show up to practice their English every Thursday night. Apparently the university had to work very hard for us to be “permitted” to go to the English club, and we feel honored to be invited. Last week we just broke up into groups and talked with the students. This week, though, we played the game Mafia. (Any Transy grads reading should know what I’m talking about.) It’s a group game involving accusations, defenses, sheriffs and “murders” of townspeople by the local mafia. I would have never thought to use it as a teaching tool, but it’s really a great idea. It forces the students to make arguments and creative stories. Unfortunately I was the first townsperson to be “killed” largely thanks to (from what I hear) the shy little Vietnamese girl I befriended and who was sitting beside me. I had to sit out the rest of the game, but that I got to see who was who in the game, and I got to chat with the other “ghosts.” And, I got to observe Kristin’s teaching methods, which will no doubt be helpful to me in a few weeks.

This weekend has been pretty exciting, too. After work on Friday, we met Dr. Thao and another guy from Fulbright for dinner and beer. As a reminder, Dr. Thao is the god-like director of Fulbright, and the guy who excellently recommended that we go to Legends Beer to drink and watch the opening Olympic ceremony last week. It was also his idea that we all go out for bia. He took us to a more “authentic” place, where everyday people go to drink. Apparently Legends is a bit expensive for the average pocketbook. The place was incredible, almost a big tiki hut, with giant fans that spritzed out water. We ordered a round of beer and several dishes for all of us to share. Soon we were also joined by one of our Vietnamese teachers, Thuy, who’s young, spunky, and keeps us all laughing. (She had also eaten lunch with us that day, during which time she “read our faces” and gave the boys advice on dating Vietnamese women. She reminds me of Tinkerbell from the Peter Pan movie—tiny, adorable, wide-eyed, feisty, sometimes a bit abrasive and always hard to control. She’s quite a pistol.) I don’t like beer, but I dutifully drank the one given to me and actually enjoyed it to some extent. It’s called “bia hoi”, a local draught that brewed daily is only served the day it’s made. It was tolerable as far as beers go—everyone else seemed to love it—but I nevertheless switched to Coke after one glass.
The evening passed with a pleasant breeze, great company and lots of laughing at my end of the table. At the other end of the table, though, where Dr. Thao had relocated half-way through the night, was quite somber. I heard the next day (over brunch at Little Hanoi) that Dr. Thao had been telling them stories of his time during the war. David recounted them to me. I won’t repeat them here—I couldn’t do them justice, for one, and also they’re Dr. Thao’s stories to tell, not mine—but after hearing them I was partially relieved that I wasn’t at his end of the table. I would not have been able to sit through his stories without crumbling into tears. Apparently he said would tell all of us more stories eventually, and I’m trying to prepare myself for that, but even thinking about what he told the others that night almost makes me cry. The man is unbelievable. Unfortunately, though, the story of that part of his life can’t be unique. Nearly everyone his age probably has a multitude of tragedy behind them, and every time I see an older man with scars, I wonder how he got them.

On a more cheerful note, Friday evening also brought the arrival of Becca, the 10th person in our program. She’s two weeks late due to VISA delays. I’d talked with her a bit before leaving the US. We’re all so excited for her to be here, and she seems to be as well. I put together a little gift bag for her arrival, with some yogurt, juice, oreos, pocket tissues, a notebook a few other staples. I was also pleased to remember that she’d brought me a tube of my favorite face soap that I’d forgotten to bring with me!

We woke up early (6:45 am) on Saturday to go see Uncle Ho. More accurately said, we visited the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum complex, which is really an impressive site and demonstrates how much this country loves the man. After surrendering backpacks and cameras, we walked in a silent, single file line through a marble building where his body is displayed. He looks pretty good for a guy who’s been dead for 4 decades, and apparently he’s sent to Russia for 2 months a year to have “work” done. The whole scene was a confused mixture of respectfulness, shock, and the eeriness of viewing a long-dead body, but I must say that I hope I can go back before I leave the city. The grounds of the complex are beautiful, with tree-lined avenues, a beautiful lake, a pagoda, and the “house on stilts” where Uncle Ho lived. There’s also an entire museum dedicated to him. I was shocked to find the museum very modern—almost post-modern. It was as much an art museum as a Ho Chi Minh museum, with several Picasso images and even a whole room dedicated to Guernica. But it was full people—mainly Vietnamese—again revealing how dear Uncle Ho is to this country.

Our morning sight-seeing was followed by brunch at Little Hanoi, where I enjoyed scrambled eggs with herbs and tomatoes, some toast, and a bit bottle of ice water. We got scammed by a taxi with a rigged meter on the way home, though. I wanted to tell off the driver in the little Vietnamese that I know—which is enough to express that I’m angry and that it was “too expensive”—but ultimately I couldn’t muster enough bitchiness. We stopped the cab several kilometers before the hotel and walked the rest of the way. It’s the first time I’ve been scammed since coming here, and I guess with was bound to happen sometime. I made up for it by buying 2 nice cotton blouses for 90,000 dong, or $5.45, on the walk home.

We also tried to go to a jazz club last night, but dinner took forever and we ended up missing it.
Today (Sunday) was another big day, with Hiep (the son of the hotel owners) taking us to a local pottery village. The bus ride out to the village reminded me again that I am really in Vietnam. Sometimes—like when I’m eating herbed scrambled eggs in French-like restaurant—it’s easy to forget. But driving through rice patties, fields crumbling shacks, and herds of cattle was a stark reminder that I’m in a developing country. The pottery village was beautiful—unfortunately I forgot to take photos but I’ll steal some from Kevin, the photographer of the group. I bought a vase, a tea set, and a tea cup with an infuser for about $8.75. And I haggled in Vietnamese. If that’s not 9 dollars well-spent, then I don’t know what is.
The wifi at the hotel has been out for days, which is frustrating. Day and Night Café, which has free wireless, is a five or ten minute walk from the hotel, but after a long day at orientation and whatever excursion I’ve made for dinner, I’m exhausted when I get home. Plus, I always hope that I can “borrow” some wifi, but even that’s been impossible lately. I’d like to be posting more frequent, but shorter, blogs, but that’s just not going to happen until wifi comes back at Quan Hoa (‘mandarin flower’) Hotel. In the mean time, I’ve been journaling a bit. I’ve also been writing mostly in Spanish, for a couple of reasons. One, I just miss Spanish. I’ve really been regretting not bringing a Spanish book along. Second, I don’t want to lose my Spanish. Sometimes I can’t remember words I used to know—like cesspool, for example—and it’s very discouraging and sad for me.

This week we’re starting lessons on pedagogic methodology. We’re only having language lessons in the mornings, which is a bummer, but I’m sure I’ll benefit from methodology lessons as well.

Next week we’re taking a trip, on Fulbright’s dime, to Dien Bien Phu for a historical and charitable visit. This weekend was my last in Hanoi…

Also, I’ve learned that I’ll have a week off in Nha Trang before I start working on September 8. I’m really excited about that. Everyone who’s heard that I’m going to Nha Trang says the same three things, almost invariably in the same order: Oh, it is very beautiful there! It has the best beaches in the country! You are very lucky! Boy, don’t I know it.

Despite the length of this post, I’ve only said about a third of what I want to say….this place, and these people, are still just so magical to me….