new years celebration. we ate outside constantly attacked by mosquitoes from the air and red ants from the land. it was a wonderful dinner.

afterwards jack, charles (an older scottish man who’s doing research here for his doctorate) and a large group from the agriculture department went to have a small party in one of their sheds.

these sheds house large tanks of water full of all types of fish. they’re doing experiments on them that i didn’t bother to understand. i’m sure lots of poking and prodding. the tanks are blue like candy and are as high as my bellybutton. the fish swim and dart in the dusty water. there was a turtle in one bucket that walked around aimlessly. his webbed paddles couldn’t grip the plastic bottom well.

we had three watches among the group of about ten of us. one watch was ten minuets fast, the other ten minutes slow and the third somewhere in between. we chose to follow the middle watch.

at midnight charles shouted, “happy 2003!” and we all stood up and shouted. charles, jack and i started to sing, “let old acquaintances be forgot and…” something else. i sure didn’t know the words but knew the tune quite well. our vietnamese friends quickly picked up the tune and sang loudly, without words.

we sat down and soon went to bed.

new years are a peculiar event. nothing really changes and it all feels like it should. today i feel as i did yesterday.

in any case, happy new year to all.

tonight i ate chicken feet. they were covered with some vegetables and spices. some onions and something else.

the man who ordered them said we were ordering chicken legs. i though, “um, chicken legs.” there were about eight of them.

i ate them after following the example of others. you put them in your mouth, bite off the toes and chew. there are three main toes and then the thumb. it’s hard to pick up a chicken leg with chopsticks. they are slippery and taste like rubber coated metal.

it’s hard to bite off the toes too. the ligaments and tendons get in the way and you end up chewing and gnawing around until chicken foot juice drips off your chin. you can hear when you’re successful. there’s a distinct crunch sound when you bite through them.

i was riding to my friends house on my bicycle when my pedal fell off. not the part you put your foot on either. the whole left side fell off in mid-stroke. i almost toppled off my bike as it clanked and skidded on the road. everyone stopped and laughed. i don’t know how many times that happens to someone in their lifetime. hopefully only once.

outside my house there is a manila colored wall with shards of glass embedded in the top. on the other side of the wall there is a small swamp. lately a man has put himself to work digging up the earth from the swamp and clumping it on the shore.

he wades out in the middle of the murky water with a cylindrical piece of metal. about as wide as his head and about as long as his calf. he wears only peach colored shorts dirtied by the water. his skin is a dark shade of chocolate. he’s been toasted by the sun. the man bends down and places the metal cylinder in the waist-deep water. he stands on it and jumps up and down.

after sufficient jumping he pulls the cylinder out of the water and heaves it to shore. it is full of mud and dirt. he dumps it out in neat rows along side his house. all day long he went about pulling mud up from the swamp and placing it around his house. all day long i read and watched him.

why is he working all day in the scorching sun to pile dirt around his house? i have no idea but i’m sure it’s a good reason. watching him toil in the afternoon heat makes me thankful that i’ve had such a wonderful life. i won the lottery of birth. it also makes me frustrated. this frustration has no direction and leads to cynicism. initially i want to hide from his strain. i could shut my curtains and read inside but i’d rather be fascinated by it all. i want to watch him long enough so that his bent brown body is forever scarred in my memory.

home is where most of your clothes are. i’m back home.

today jack and i strolled around long xuyen watching everything. people’s stares followed us like late afternoon shadows. it really is nice to be back.

we got our haircut today and it was quite an ordeal. the barbershop is equipped with eight red chairs with eight middle aged barbers lounging in them. four chairs face one large mirror and the other four chairs face a mirror along the opposite wall.

a very large man with a crew cut and a cigarette hanging limply from his mouth decided he would cut my hair. he hopped out of the char and fastened a large towel around my neck with a large metal pin. it was so tight that i could feel my own pulse.

i sat looking at myself in the mirrors. i could see jack sitting behind me and we both smirked at each other. the two large mirrors facing each other created a succession of reflections. they were slightly warped though and as you looked further and further back into the reflections things became more and more obscure. about three reflections back i looked like quite a fat man.

after giving sign-language instructions (my vocabulary for barbershops is limited in vietnamese) the man set off with the cigarette still slowly burning in his mouth. his stomach rubbed against my shoulders as he circled me chopping, snipping and buzzing. he finished and i looked like i was a twelve year old boy. i smiled, said he did a wonderful job and jack and i headed off again.

a

our last full day of christmas vacation. jack and i took to our borrowed bicycles and left heading nowhere.

we drove across the river pedaling through chaotic traffic. my bicycle had a bell on it and i enjoyed ringing it endlessly like a child. the bridge was wide and the air was thick with exhaust. we stumbled on the industrial section of saigon.

everything was a deep shade of grey. the normal sporadic white face was no where to be found. we randomly picked small side streets and headed down them. sometimes not having anywhere to go allows you to find the most interesting places.

in the middle of our trek it started to drizzle. we parked out bikes and huddled under a large coca-cola umbrella to wait out the storm. the sky opened up and screamed and roared with thunder and lightning. we ordered coffee.

we sat and sat and watched the streets flood with water and motorcyclists. people covered in pastel ponchos seemed to ignore the downpour. the rain lasted for hours and hours. we sat and sat.

it rained and rained and poured. we had an appointment so we bought ponchos and mounted our bicycles. we had waited long enough. the rain soaked through my jeans and the wind blew my pink poncho in every direction at the same time. i could hardly see the road through the pounding rain. my eyes were sealed shut. cars narrowly missed me and i could hardly make out jack in his yellow poncho only a few feet ahead of me. we made it home after what felt like an eternity. our hearts were beating through our chest.

christmas eve.

we went out to a buffet in a large hotel. the large ball room was decked out in christmas glory. pillars were covered with red and green ribbons. gold trim was a must. the middle of the room was decorated with a small, pyramid made out of mirrors. to the back of the mirrored monument was a large ship made out of ice. it had three sails and was carefully constructed. there was a stage to the front of the pyramid. the back of the stage was covered with balloons. there were three balloons that said, “good luck”, one balloon with a picture of harry potter on it, one balloon with tweety bird on it and a large balloon shaped like a heart that said, “happy valentines day.”

the buffet was a combination of oriental and occidental. ribs, sweet and sour fried fish, rice, potatoes, turkey and stuffed tomatoes.

we sat down to eat and the music began. there were two men playing keyboards, one man on the drums, a lady in a tight red shirt singing and a tall, thick man with odd facial hair playing the bass. the music was loud enough to end any conversation. the songs were all christmas songs. “rudolph the red nosed reindeer”, “silent night” (quite a loud version), “santa clause is comin’ to town.” the singer left and the rest of the band continued to play. they played, “summertime.” fitting because it felt like summertime outside. they also played a rousing version of, “tequila.”

we left after eating because conversation was an impossibility.

the streets of ho chi minh city were packed with people. throngs and throngs of people moving slowly on motorbikes and walking. they threw confetti and carried large, red balloons. we moved up towards the cathedral and enjoyed a cup of coffee. the music was much quieter and we caught up on what was going on in our lives.

outside people were packed as i have only seen them in times square during new years. people were yelling and shouting. jack and i moved our bicycles against the flow of the crowd. people easily singled us out for a nice dousing of white confetti. our faces were damp with sweat and the confetti quickly stuck to them. i was particularly doused by a group of young highschool aged girls. they giggled and one shouted, “merry christmas.”

the sea of people laughed and shouted and had a wonderful time celebrating. we broke away from them and pedaled to our hotel covered with small bits of white plastic and paper. somehow it did turn out to be a white christmas.

the vietnamese people were yelling at the television. they screamed and pumped their fists in the air. we couldn’t see the television but we could tell exactly what was going on. a loud scream was a close shot. a sigh meant a goal for the other team. people standing and dancing in euphoria was a vietnamese goal.

jack and i were both in spain so we both know the universal soccer chear. oh lay, oh lay oh lay oh lay! we sang loudly but no one joined us.

saigon is a wonderful change from long xuyen. people have frosted hair here. no one has frosted hair in long xuyen. people don’t stare at us here. people gawk at us in long xuyen. there’s nothing better than being able to go out and feel anonymous.

tomorrow the rest of the mcc team comes down and we all will celebrate christmas together. it will be the closest i get to a western christmas. it will be wonderful.

the vietnamese people were yelling at the television. they screamed and pumped their fists in the air. we couldn’t see the television but we could tell exactly what was going on. a loud scream was a close shot. a sigh meant a goal for the other team. people standing and dancing in euphoria was a vietnamese goal.

jack and i were both in spain so we both know the universal soccer chear. oh lay, oh lay oh lay oh lay! we sang loudly but no one joined us.

saigon is a wonderful change from long xuyen. people have frosted hair here. no one has frosted hair in long xuyen. people don’t stare at us here. people gawk at us in long xuyen. there’s nothing better than being able to go out and feel anonymous.

tomorrow the rest of the mcc team comes down and we all will celebrate christmas together. it will be the closest i get to a western christmas. it will be wonderful.

saigon is bustling with activity this holiday season. it feels like christmas finally. small white lights cling to trees and large banners proclaim “merry christmas” in vietnamese and english.

today a friend of mine let me borrow his motorbike. i used to drive an old motorcycle back home so speeding around the saigon streets was no problem. me and jack piled on and people starred and starred as we flew past.

we went to the bank to exchange money and i waited outside. the bike is an old, baby-blue piece of junk that makes loud popping noises. the headlight is broken and the turn signals don’t work. the horn sounds like a very old goose trapped in a plastic bag.

i parked along the side of the road with the xe om drivers. a xe om driver is a relatively poor man who operates as a taxi. they sit on their parked motorcycles and wait for people to hop on the back and haggle a price. there were three of them waiting outside the bank and they all smiled broadly as i approached.

one man was missing his two front teeth. another man was drinking something out of a cup. the third man was lounging on his bike; his back on the handlebars and his feet stretched along the seat. he was smoking.

i told them that i was a xe om driver too. the man with the missing teeth came up and asked me if i would take him to the ben thanh market. he asked how much it would cost. i named a price and he hopped on the bike. we all laughed and it was wonderful. the rest of my time was spent yelling at people and asking them if they wanted a ride somewhere. the other drivers were trying to find some work for me. it was quite a fun game. i wouldn’t want to do it for a living though.

we left the bank and drove the long way back to our hotel. the light blue bike would lurch and pop and the wind tore at my shirt and hair. christmas in saigon.

christmas away from home.

i was going to leave for the big city yesterday but i was told that i could go for free on the college’s van. no one told me that it was going to can tho on the way. that’s about an hour and a half tacked onto the already excruciatingly bumpy, bouncy 6 hour ride.

the van is packed with people and my knees feel each lurch on the metal bench frame in front of me. the sun beats down on my right side and causes my neck to sweat. the left side of my face is blown ice cold by an air conditioner. the radio blasts some crazy, traditional vietnamese music. music that doesn’t seem to have a melody and that seems to be played by people just randomly plucking strings. the singer’s voice floats around like a wounded bird.

there is a small boy sitting on the first bench right in the middle. he is probably thirteen years old and his hair is greasy and combed to one side. he still wears his backpack even though we’ve been traveling for the past three hours and sits on the edge of his seat with sweat beats holding fast to his forehead. he keeps vomiting. someone will hand him a clear plastic bag (why they make them clear i’ll never know) and he places it firmly against the sides of his cheeks and heaves and moans and pukes. the sound of someone else vomiting makes my throat dry. it’s not the same feeling i get when i’m thirsty, it’s more like the bitter taste of stomach acid creeping up my esophagus. i fight the urge to follow the boys lead. his father takes the bag and gently tosses it out of the window. i would guess the boy just ate a big bowl of rice and pork.

i’m still under the assumption that his sickness has less to do with the driving and more to do with with music.

going to saigon to spend christmas. living in long xuyen makes ho chi minh city feel like home to a certain extent. it at least feels much more western. in long xuyen, there is nothing resembling western culture and it’s tough living somewhere where you eat rice every day and virtually every meal. it’ll be nice to have some pizza again. it’ll be nice to watch cnn in my hotel room. it’ll be nice not to be stared at (well, at least not all the time).

when i was younger christmas was the most exciting time of the year. the time when we all would be a family: baking cookies with my mother, playing in the front yard with my brother, watching football with my father. the night before christmas eve (you see, we opened presents on christmas day) was always a night when i couldn’t sleep. i remember feeling pure anticipation, the feeling that turned my stomach and made me curl up in a little ball under my thick warm blankets. i remember being so happy that i couldn’t help but smiling as i strutted around the house in my pajamas.

i’m so far away from that childhood glee. i’m in a van that’s one minute hot, the next minute cold and there’s a little kid puking into clear plastic bags as we bounce, swerve, stop, start and honk all the way ho chi minh city. i guess this is as close as i’ll get to that feeling of pure anticipation this chrismas. i can’t wait to get there.

i left my plush room late this afternoon and mounted my bicycle. the road leading from my apartment to the main campus is rough. it is a dirt path that is covered with small potholes. when it rains it fills with water and, if you walk, you must take off your sandals and lift up your pants. there are rocks and crushed bricks mashed into the dirt and they provide obstacles when driving. you can’t drive much faster than you can walk and you have to avoid all of the walking students. coming up on a group of students fanned out on the makeshift road is a challenge: bicycles make no noise. you have to deftly coast behind them until your shadow gives away your presence. then you bounce past them silently and slowly.

i only went to print out something i had typed and make some photocopies of it but, like usual, i was swarmed by friendly teachers and students.

on my way out of the campus i bought a small sandwich full of peppers and cucumbers. it’s delicious. one of the heads of the foreign language center stopped me and asked if i wanted to have a cup of coffee. i sat with him and his fellow workers for over an hour talking about the similarities between mandarin and vietnamese. what an interesting conversation and what a fascinating man.

i went to make photocopies.

the photocopy shop is set alongside the dirt/rock road. inside there are always a number of teachers to talk to. the old man working there speaks english wonderfully. he wore a pink mask and was working underneath a photocopy machine with his shirt off. he rose to greet me saying, “hello jon. how was your day today?” how many photocopy technicians do you know that are bilingual?

he started introducing people to me in the shop. he pointed to his daughters and told me their names. he pointed to a man fixing an air-conditioned who had one good eye. his other eye was glass blue. he said that he was an engineer. i think he meant air conditioner repairman.

i returned to my apartment down my rocky, dirty road. i felt happy to be here. i didn’t even mind that i was sweating through my shirt.

with jack gone the students really have reached out to me. they continually visit and tell me not to be lonely. they are so very concerned. it’s like i’m sick and they’re my mother.

we sat by the lake talking. three male students and me enjoying the warm night air. the first student has a frog’s face and is always smiling. his english is wonderful and he comes up with the most wonderful ideas: original and thoroughly creative. the second student has wide eyes and high eyebrows. he always looks inquisitive and is from the north. he’s very homesick and we talk together about the difficulties of being so far away from home. the third student is built like a broom handle. his hair peaks on the top of his head like a mountain summit and his english is slow and drawn out. i listen patiently as he explains the ins and outs of vietnamese dating life. he always seems to be pursuing someone.

the lake is a hole in the ground surrounded by four sloping concrete sides. it rests directly beside the river and the water is stagnant at the same height. it is a perfect habitat for mosquitoes. for a moment you wonder if it wasn’t constructed for their very survival.

we talk about traveling and visiting other countries. we talk about stereotypes and fear. i told them about how many people were truly concerned that i would be unsafe over here and how drastically far from the truth it really is. i feel more safe here than i do in my mennonite, suburban enclave. the students were shocked that people feared my coming here. the student who is built like a beanpole said, very emotionally, that, “you should go home and tell them all how nice it is here. we don’t mean anyone harm.”

i told them everywhere that i had been in the world. they sat in their chairs riveted as i described country after country. i told them about the tin roofs of st. thomas in the virgin islands. i told them about the sheep roaming around on the emerald green hills of northern Ireland. i told them about the winding streets of Seville and the baby blue alleyways of morocco. they wanted to see everything i had seen. they had as much of a thirst for adventure as i do. they would have trekked all over this globe if they would have had the same opportunity. i’ve been so very lucky.

“why don’t more people travel?”, they wondered. “if they have the money and the chance, why don’t they go?” well, i couldn’t really give a good answer. i couldn’t stop reflecting on how lucky i was to be here. how many other places in the world are there where people feel that you’re qualified to teach based on your mastery of your mother tongue. how lucky we are all and how few of us take advantage of it all. we know so little about this vast world and we have our whole lives to roam around wide-eyed. what are we afraid of?

they all wanted me to tell you that vietnam is a wonderful country and i couldn’t agree with them more. they wanted me to tell you that it’s safe over here. they wanted me to tell you that people in vietnam are generous and friendly. they just wished that they had the money. if they had the chance they wouldn’t hesitate for two seconds.

palm trees, fresh coconut juice, exotic fruits picked this morning, sandy beaches, perpetual sunshine. the constellation orion is on his side here. when i was a child my mother always pointed him out to me. his belt, his sword, his arms and feet. he was a soldier standing upright and at attention. here, orion is on his side. he looks like he has just woken up from a nap and is stretching. he looks less like a soldier and more like a lazy security guard. i love all of the diversity and difference. i love waking up to roosters crowing in the morning. i would be living in paradise except for one incredibly annoying vermin.

it’s the scourge of vietnam. it’s the uninvited guest ruining my party. it’s that piece of food stuck in your back teeth. it’s that person who chews with his mouth open. it’s the feeling you get when you’re stuck in a traffic jam when you have somewhere to go. it’s the headache that never goes away no matter how much aspirin you take. the mosquito.

you see them everywhere. they swarm in packs and seem to float like specks of black dust through the air. your first reaction is to try to kill them by swatting at them. you violently attack them with your hand but they only seem to float harmlessly past. it’s like trying to catch air.

then you finally kill one of them. maybe it perched somewhere on your wall and it caught your eye. you slowly walk over to it and wallop it with all your might leaving a black and red miniature carcass on your wall. you feel elation, joy, success. that’s the next stage. soon enough you see another and another and another. you realize that trying to kill them one by one would be like trying to eat a bowl of spaghetti o’s with a needle. you give up.

the next stage is acceptance. you learn to live with the constant itching. the moments where you’re sitting around enjoying a cup of coffee and you notice an unexpected twinge of pain on your bare feet. you itch and itch and swat and swat knowing that any one of these bites could carry with it malaria or the dengue. it’s a game of russian roulette on a miniature scale.

living with a perpetual pest is nothing but a random annoyance once you’ve given up. just accepting the fact that every night you go to bed with itchy feet. just knowing that you’ve been robbed of your blood by a tiny winged vampire. just learning that there’s really no such thing as paradise.

jack is gone for the week and i’m a lonely soul. i spent the day having coffee, reading and preparing our version of romeo and juliet.

the english festival will be held at the end of january. everyone is to prepare something and all of the english majors will participate in some way. it’s to be a big event and i’m more than excited to participate. i’m going to fufill two roles: adapt and direct romeo and juliet and organize a line dance.

the play is going to be based in rural vietnam about one hundred years ago. it’s going to be full of capulets, montagues and tragedy. tonight i met up with some of the students to talk about how they thought the play should be changed. they were full of ideas and strange compliments.

two male students from the third year and two female freshmen greeted me at my door around seven o’clock. they were bright eyed and eager to talk. they had many suggestions and we talked long into the night about the logistics of having juliet’s burial. the girls didn’t speak english as well as the boys and the one girl kept complimenting me strangely. “you are lovely.” “you are beautiful.” “you speak vietnamese and that makes us closer.” i just smiled and moved on and talked about mercutio.

the line dance is going to be quite an event. i’ve never line danced in my life but witnessed it a number of occasions on the country music television station back home. where are my dad’s cowboy boots when you really need them?

line dancing and a vietnamese version of romeo and juliet. no one said i was to be a choreographer and a playwright but it’ll all be quite interesting.

a friend of a friend said that it would be a good idea. a long, relaxing boat ride. they got half of it right.

my alarm was set for six thirty in the morning and i was excited. this friend of a friend was going to pick me up at seven. i woke up to loud thumping at six. the friend of a friend, mr. moi, decided that we should go out to eat breakfast early. i woke-up, showered, changed and was out the door in a matter of minutes. my hair hadn’t dried when my coffee arrived.

the sun had just broken out across the sky. everything it reflected on was fresh and new.

our boat was docked along side a large concrete wall at the edge of one of the parks here. it looked like a large hotdog: six feet across and about twenty feet long. it was made of unvarnished wood and the belly was hollow. it normally carried loads of sand up and down the river but today it was to carry human cargo. our boat was powered by a large engine placed to the left of the rudder. it was connected by a large shaft to a small propeller which could be raised and lowered at will. the “captain” would control the height of the propeller with his foot and the rudder with his arm. the engine made a terribly loud noise and we all got accustomed to shouting. the back of the boat was a large shell where the “captian” sat. he sat on a large wooden box above a small hammock.

our “captain” was a small, stout man who didn’t say much. his face was very red for the morning and he staggered as if drunk. his left eye jutted towards his nose and was abnormally blood-shot. it looked like it was hurt badly and, when nothing interesting was happening, i found myself casually staring at it. he wore a peach colored bucket hat and a loose fitting shirt. he chain smoked.

the boat was waiting for me an mr. moi early. we stood around and soon enough the rest of the troop formed. it was an adult english class. there were ten of us in all: four women, five men and one small boy. the boy was the son of one of the ladies and he kept trying to subtly attract my attention. they carried a variety of food and drinks aboard the boat and we were ready to push off.

the boat was stuck. no one could move it and, worse than that, no one had any idea what to do. these were not country folks. they all had nice, cushy jobs and no one really understood boating. our “captain” didn’t have any opinions so we sat glued to the mud bottom. the boat sat at a bank in the river and the current pushed it towards a concrete wall. we were trapped on all accounts.

we asked a small boat docked next to ours if he would help us. he obliged and tied a rope to his boat and set off. the boat still didn’t budge and his small dingy was also forced against the concrete wall by the current. by this point, three of the men had undressed and were in the water pushing, swimming and cursing. there was another larger boat casually floating down the river that we flagged down. the husband and wife team quickly came over to us and tied a rope to our sad ship. they pulled and tugged but, soon enough, they were pressed up against the concrete wall too. it was quite a sad sight. i had been up for about three hours at this point and was ready to go back home.

the smaller boat tied a rope to the larger boat and pulled it away from the concrete wall. now both boats were tugging at ours but to no avail. it seemed as if our boat was destined to die and decompose right there. maybe it could become a restaurant but never would it sail again.

the large boat had a good idea. it got up a good head of steam and sputtered and putted away from us. the rope was about to become taut when the smaller boat realized that it was still connected to the larger boat. the rope connecting the smaller boat to the larger boat tightened and the captain of that dingy quickly dived overboard. the small boat thudded into the side of the larger boat just as the rope became taut and our boat was pulled free from the mud. by this point there was a crowd and they cheered.

so, we were off. we chugged and putted up the river and the women grilled all sorts of meat in the hull. the men sat next to the engine and yelled at each other and laughed. we were heading to some island and everyone kept talking about finding some corn. they said that they would like to grill some fresh corn and that we were heading into the countryside. i didn’t know what to expect and just looked wide-eyed at all that was around me.

what do you see traveling up one of the nine dragons? the mekong river separates into nine tributaries and they are called the nine dragons. you see a great number of boats and people fishing. you see large nets connected to the land that are lifted high out of the water. they sparkle in the morning light and fish flop helplessly.

we arrived at some random farmer’s field. we had passed a great number of fields that all looked very similar in my opinion but this was the one that we would stop at. mr. moi got out and went to see if we could have a picnic.

the farmer obliged and we set off for the nearest shade tree to set up camp. the girls had cooked up a number of wonderful foods and we were all quite hungry. the field was hoed into thin, high rows. the dirt was wonderful: somehow it was a perfect combination of clay and sand. it was firm under your feet and yet would crumble when you touched it. it seemed as if anything would grow there. i felt like i was growing just standing there. i felt so wonderfully alive.

two farmers came over to watch us eat. they sat off at a distance for a bit but that would not do. we invited them over and they sat quietly as only farmers can. the older one was maybe fifty years old and wore a tired, white hat. he didn’t say anything and looked at me peacefully. the younger one reminded me of what my mother’s father must have been like when he was younger. he looked at me thoughtfully and sincerely. he had the peace and patience that are required to grow good crops. years and years of waiting for food to ripen. this gentle man had learned to wait and watch and i could plainly see it in his eyes. the earth not only gives us food, it also gives us the wonderful temperament of a farmer.

we ate and talked and i was tired. it was already four in the afternoon and my arms were as red as fall leaves. we headed back and returned to a setting sun. the day was beautiful but long. i can’t adequately express how happy i am to be here.

last night another wonderful group of students came to visit us. it was a group of five guys from a variety of jack’s classes. they just wanted to chat. their maturity and friendliness impressed me greatly. all smiles, all bright-eyed and all with tufts of dark hair cropping out of the tops of their heads.

we sat and talked on the roof of our building. we recently bought two chairs and a small table that we use to enjoy the warm, night air. jack always says they are periwinkle blue and i don’t know enough to disagree. being free from the influence of girls, we were able to lounge about and talk about our deepest desires. it really was interesting.

we asked them about their love interests. they all had stories and girls that struck their fancy. one boy had been “in love” with one of the girls since they first met. you could hear the passion in his voice tell he was being honest by how quickly his eyes darted around the table. his story was the most tragic because, even though he was handsome and outgoing, this girl paid him no attention. another boy said that he had just found another girl. she was everything he needed and she liked him because he was a good guitar player. one very small, thin boy said that he liked one girl very much. he was serious but, to his chagrin, the other boys thought it wouldn’t work cause he was too short and thin and she was too tall and fat.

dating here is something that i do not fully understand. the students establish a mutual attraction and decide to pursue a relationship. they go out to various coffee houses and karaoke bars and find out whether or not they think it will work. every night they are back in their rooms by, at the latest, 10:30 (that’s when the front gates closes). there don’t appear to be any ulterior motives here as we seem to have in droves back in the states. a peck on the cheek here and a hold of the hand there, that’s about as physical as it gets.

i could have listened to their stories all night. everyone had their own odyssey. the one girl that makes your heart beat a little more quickly for some reason. the girl who always was the fastest to answer even the most difficult questions. the one that would make the perfect friend, mother and wife. that’s what these boys were after and they were all tormented. someone had them under their spell and they knew it. they could not resist because any subtle glance or gentle compliment would have them crawling back.

story time ended because it was getting late. it was already quarter after ten and the gate was closing soon.

so, i live in the international guest house and it’s a marvelous place. there are two floors and a roof covered in stone. the night air is musty but clear and the sky is dotted with stars. flood lights guard the four corners of the building and they disrupt the would-be perfect atmosphere.

my room has a balcony that looks out over a swamp. there are eight large coconut trees that grow beyond a small wall. four of them are lined up perfectly and the remaining four are clustered together but just as tall. their growth is inhibited by a large growth of coconuts that hang on fiercely.

beyond the coconuts is a small swamp. after it rains it looks like a brown pool of water. after a hot spell you can see small clumps of ground jutting through. it looks like a perfect home for the millions of mosquitoes that plague us. beyond that is a row of homes that seem to have fallen from the sky. thin, tall and made of brick or concrete and sit plainly in the mud. they are all two stories tall and you have to use a small, wooden bridge to move between them. they are surrounded on all sides by murky water.

to the right of these rigid houses is a cluster of coffins. people are buried in large, pale, stone coffins which are placed in the middle of these murky pools. they look as permanent as the stone houses. grey stone boxes filled with grey weathered bones. they face off in a crooked direction and there are five of them for all i can see. some may be hidden by some tall grass.

beyond the stone coffins and stone residents for the living there are three tin-roofed houses. at first they looked like temporary homes but now i’ve noticed families roaming around. an older man without a shirt walks out and stretches. a small girl runs and laughts. small ducks roam around in a dangerous pack.

further along in the background you can see eleven tall antennas stretching towards the sky. they’re attached to houses that are obscured by jungle growth. the antennas are fastened to large bamboo poles that sway violently in the wind. they stretch up at least twenty feet and some higher. television: the opiate of the masses.

beyond that is sky. blue and bright today. it was a vibrant day. a day that reminded me of spring saturdays when i was in middle school. no responsibility. nothing to do but roam about enjoying the freshness of everything. that’s what jack and i did today. just enjoyed the freshness.

another wonderful display of affection from the students.

jack couldn’t make it to their last class. it was the last class that they would have together before jack went on vacation. they said that they would come up to our room and say goodbye to him there. mind you, jack’s going to be away for a whole two weeks.

they said they were coming at seven o’clock. they didn’t show till ten minutes after. they marched up our stairs like a troop of soldiers. there were about thirty of them in all. round faces, beautiful smiles. twenty five girls, the rest boys.

they all piled in my room and we moved their furniture into the other room. in their dorms, they sleep eight boys to a room. four sets of wooden bunk beds in the size of my living room. i have a bedroom too.

the girls brought up all kinds of fruits and candies. they put them in dishes and placed them in a neat row on the floor. one girl swept my room and another organized my desk. the rest were hurdled around pictures on my wall. they were especially curious about my parents and a picture of rachel kissing me on the cheek. they giggled and pointed and spoke vietnamese quickly and beautifully.

another girl passed out balloons shaped as hearts and we all spent the next minutes blowing them up and batting them around. some boys spent the time popping them. the loud thunder pop was always followed by a blood curdling squeal from a girl that echoed off of the blank walls and tile floors. they wanted to wish jack off on his trip and they were more than happy to speak with me.

we sang songs, learned vietnamese words and generally talked about life. it was real and refreshing. i can’t believe how wonderfully receptive the students are. they don’t see me as someone trying to act older than i am (that’s how i feel, you see). they treat me like a demigod.

last night i went out with some vietnamese friends and fell into some social booby-traps.

the first one that i fell into was setting my glass down loudly on the table. it hit the table with a thud, one i didn’t notice, and tri quickly glared in my direction. i didn’t know what was going on but felt very uncomfortable. i shifted my weight and waited.

tri later told me that i put my glass down too hard on the table and people thought that i was either angry or bored. for a culture that has no problem eating with their mouths open, slurping noodles with the vigor of a 10 year old and openly picking one’s nose in public, forcefully setting my glass down seems like a misdemeanor in a world of first degree murder.

the second social landmine that i triggered occurred right after the first. we were with a large group of friends and, after tri shot a glare in my direction, i asked him what i had done wrong. he looked sheepishly off to the side and said no. everyone stopped talking and looked at me. i asked again what i had done in a very sincere way. i really wanted to know so that i could change my behavior.

after the meal tri told me that it wasn’t proper for me to ask him what i had done wrong at the table. there were other friends there and if it was something important he would have told me. i learned two lessons last night.

i headed home fairly frustrated with the culture. it wasn’t as if either one of these issues were important, it was just that i was exhausted after so much assimilation. trying to be like them. trying to eat like them. feeling frustrated when none of it works and never having anyone to help you along.

there was a group of students waiting for us when jack and i returned. they had out christmas gifts for us. mine was a thin, rectangular box covered with bright silver and blue wrapping paper. i opened it to find a nice, tan shirt. jack received the same gift except his shirt was a bit more mustard.

the night went from frustration to elation. my faith was restored in a culture that i still didn’t understand.

i’ve been going to class with jack to observe. it’s been interesting and rewarding.

the classes are in large, square, stone rooms surrounded by grass and trees. the windows are covered with metal grating and have no glass to allow air to smoothly pass through. the walls are painted brownish-white and the floors are brownish-maroon. the front of the room is equipped with two large black boards. they are not stone but black plastic and you write on them with long stems of white chalk.

the students sit on dark, wooden benches behind long desks. they sit four or five to a row and there are three rows with four benches in each row. they all dress nicely. some of the girls wear the ao dai dress and the boys all wear button up shirts neatly tucked into their creased pants. they’re all smiles.

the front of the room is elevated about two feet off of the ground. it’s a grey concrete platform that snakes around the front of the room following the black boards. the teacher’s desk sits on it. it allows all of the students to easily see.

the students gather early for class and sit casually talking. they all seem excited to learn and have been very happy to meet me. before each class they buy me and jack a bottle of water. it’s a nice gesture.

the activity today centered around having the students design a “student center”. they were to draw the lay-out and present their proposal to the class. they did a wonderful job and had many questions. jack and i floated around the room listening to people argue over where the bathrooms should be located and firmly telling people to stop speaking in vietnamese and start speaking in english. one group named their center the “puppy club”.

the class ends with a large bell. it is manually rung outside and sounds like a large, rusty cow bell. the students all listen for final instructions and then most of them stand up and let jack and i leave. it’s really a humbling experience to have a room of twenty five students stand for you silently as you pass by them. it always makes me want to smile.

i’m thoroughly looking forward to teaching next semester. the students are wonderful and i’m falling in love with this place. vietnam has truly been a wonderful experience.

a

breakfast today with mr. tri.

we ate at a small road-side stand on the other side of long xuyen. we ate and chatted and had a wonderful time. we practice learning phrases and words and he listens patiently while i explain my questions and i listen patiently as he asks what such-and-such means. we get along famously.

while you eat you’re constantly bombarded by small children and handicap people selling lottery tickets. today i counted and there were a total of 32 people that came to our table pushing their goods.

a typical situation: a small boy/girl walks up to the table with a bag slung around their neck. they hold a small wad of thin tickets in their outstretched hands. their faces look blank but i try not to make eye contact. usually, there is an oversized baseball cap towering above their heads and pushing their ears out a bit. you feel their hands gently touch your arm as only a child can. you really feel compassion. here is this small bundle of life, so much potential, and their here selling you a small, thin slice of fate. they could be out playing little-league baseball like i did when i was their age.

the handicap lottery ticket vendors are just as compelling. today there were two notable cases: there was an old lady who hobbled in on one good leg. her right foot was only a nub and she had it wrapped in a special shoe. she could still walk, but did so with great difficulty. he face was shadowed by a large conical hat and her skin was thicker than leather. my insides melted. there was a man that was wheeled up in a wheelchair. it was wheeled by a small girl who had problems pushing him up the small ramp to the sidewalk. her hair was long and matted and her close hung lifelessly on her frail frame. the man was plump and had no legs. he deftly climbed off of his wheelchair and proceeded to move through the restaurant. he moved by shifting his weight from one side of his hips to the other. it made an odd scraping noise on the ground that was impossible to overlook even with the roar of the traffic outside. a large hat was perched on his head and a cigarette hung limply from his lips. he ambled by on the other side of our table. he was too short to see over it and all i could make out was his hat bobbing along like a bottle lost at sea.

there were a group of young construction workers sitting at a table next to ours. a man reached over and tapped me on the shoulder and asked what time it was. i told him poorly and crudely. the man once again tapped me on the shoulder and showed me a 200 bill. it’s not really worth anything here but he told me that it was worth 50,000. he said that i should trade him for it. he got quite a kick out of it and his table burst out into laughter. i couldn’t figure out if he though i was actually that stupid.

a small boy walked up to his table and asked if they wanted lottery tickets. he looked like all of the other youngsters: large eyes, matted hair, towering baseball cap. the men were leaving and the boy was not persistent. he stood off and watched them stand up. the same man who had asked me to trade him a 200 bill for a 50,000 bill grabbed his left over water and tossed it on the boy. the boy stood there in shock as he watched the men walk off to their motorcycles.

tonight jack and i jumped on our bikes and headed off to mr. tri’s house. they invited us over again for a round of fish curry.

the traffic was thick it was already dusk. people were moving in all directions like a disturbed school of fish. we giggled and talked as we pedaled.

tri’s house is behind their small sporting-goods shop. tri was slouched over on the curb playing with one of his roosters. the rooster was well proportioned and ambled carelessly near the street. its feathers glisten and it’s black with patches of red. it walks as only a bird that can no longer fly does.

we strolled in past the man with terrible teeth who was still stringing rackets and said hello to everyone. everyone was happy and it felt nice to be there. supper was the world famous fish curry. it was served in a thin, white bowl. it consisted of tomatoes, fish and lots and lots of curry. it’s rather good, once you get past all of the bones.

we spent the meal talking about food from different countries. they wanted to know what kind of fish we normally ate where i was from. i said we didn’t normally get good fish. the one we were eating was breathing only this morning.

after the meal was over we went to see tri’s roosters. he said that we could only see one of them tonight. the others were sleeping and it wasn’t appropriate to wake them. this morning he was forced to say goodbye to one of his roosters. it was much too old and he exchanged it for a younger one. he said it was very sad.

we walked out to the street and the rooster was still walking around on the sidewalk. i was surprised that it hadn’t run away or gotten killed. mr. tri has a habit of boasting about his roosters. he says that they are very, very intelligent and that they are very, very loyal. he told us about a trick that they know: he snaps his fingers and they turn around in a circle.

i was impressed. i had never known that chickens were able to perform tricks. i imagined mr. tri snapping his finger, smiling and laughing as a beautiful rooster danced in a small circle. i was eager to see.

mr. tri bent down and put his finger next to the rooster’s head. he snapped his fingers and the rooster turned towards the snapping. mr. tri moved his fingers a little further along and snapped his fingers again. the rooster followed. snap, turn, snap, turn, snap, turn.

mr. tri was very pleased. he stood up and smiled broadly. “you see, he turns wonderfully.” the rooster had bored of our simple conversation and went to the side of the road to inspect a small, brown puddle. it hopped off the curb dangerously close to traffic and began to drink out of it. mr. tri smiled, “he’s thirsty.” the rooster walked into the middle of the puddle and stood mindlessly.

the night ended and we went home. i went home happy to be in vietnam. i love this place: the people, the food, everything.

long xuyen is a small, rural city. it's home to a couple hundred thousand vietnamese people and two americans. the center of town is blessed with a large light tower covered with hundreds of white globes. it is turned on at dusk and some of the lights have quit working. the light tower stands in the center of a traffic circle. bicycles and motorcycles circle below.

there is a large, stone cathedral set off a bit in the distance. it's grey, hard cross looks down on the city below. it can be seen from most anywhere and is by far the tallest structure. the building looks cold and more threatening than inviting.

jack and i normally ride out bicycles around town. his bicycle is shorter and rigid. he sits very straight when he rides it and it's fashioned with a large, black basket in the front. my bicycle is an old mountain bike who's handlebars are crooked. i ride it hunched over and have a hard time feeling comfortable. it's also red and black. when we ride around people stare at us. children scream, "hello!" at us as we pass. teenage boys all laugh at us and slow down to take a good look. old women give us cold, blank stares. one time, when jack was stopped at a stoplight a boy hopped on the back of his bicycle and he had to shoo him away.

today we had one of my tires fixed at the local bike shop. there are about a hundred local bike shops littered all over this great metropolis all equipped with air compressors, a bucket full of wrenches and a tub full of water designed to help find the holes in a leaking tire. the mechanic wears what i would call shower-shoes and was born with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. while we were waiting a small boy approached us. he wore a small, pink, sleeveless shirt and looked mischievous. he couldn't have been more than thirty pounds.

he asked jack what his name was. he ran away. he came back and asked me what my name was; ran away. he turned out to be relaying messages about us to a group of older girls. he came back and asked jack how old he was. jack said, "twenty-three." the boy turned around and made a two and a three with his fingers. his face was very serious and so were the faces of the on looking children. he asked me how old i was. i told him and he quickly turned around to tell everyone else. he finally came up to jack and asked him if he was fine. jack said he was and the boy relayed the message. guessing that i was fine too, he turned away. i guess we had either satisfied their curiosity or they had simply run out of english questions.

that is only one of a hundred similar stories. it's impossible to describe what it feels like to walk down the streets here. imagine a small road covered with loose, grey gravel. the sides are full of countless people and hundreds of small food carts. me and jack are the only people here who are not vietnamese. eyes pierce us from all sides. you can feel them on the back of your neck. they're not malicious, they're curious.

imagine not being able to leave your home anonymously.

it's incredibly uncomfortable to be stared at so much. you try to keep your head up and do your best to ignore them but it's unrelenting. it saps your energy and makes you long for home. the stares have been abating recently.

every day at 11:15 we go and eat at ms. nga’s house. it’s a small house at the end of the old guest house. the old guest house is an assortment of small apartments surrounded by high grass and jungle. ms. nga always wears pants and shirts made from the same printed fabric: either geometric shapes or tall, long stripes. her hair is cropped close to her ears and she exudes energy. she’s quite an attractive middle aged women.

lunch is served in the midst of a group of old, guest professors that the college invites to teach here. they come from all over vietnam and are here to teach a number of courses. they like to either practice their english on us or talk about us in vietnamese. me and jack like to talk in spanish. we talk about the other professors and how sick of fried fish we are.

fried fish, fried fish and more fish. every day it’s another variety of fried fish. it’s always devoid of its head and that makes it much easier to eat. it’s greasy and spicy and we always have problems picking the carcass free from bones. no one else seems to have the same problem. we eat the fish in a bowl of white rice. it’s moist and bland as is most good white rice. it’s a blank template for the cook to paint whatever flavor she chooses.

ms. nga’s husband is a man with a tall forehead. he has a small belly and wears his pants high. his eyes are caring and his glasses are thick and flat. they seem like distinctly different people.

ms. nga has a tall, thin son. he speaks wonderful english. his hair is frilly and he always rolls his eyes to the right when he’s thinking. he picked up his english from the wide variety of guests that the college has hosted.

i’m sure i’ll eat more and more fried fish as ms. nga’s house. i’m sure i’ll see her husband again and wonder how the marriage came to be. i’m sure i’ll see her son and be impressed with his english. just another group of people in the new cast of characters that’s become my life here.

a

last night was going to be fairly quiet. we (me and jack, as always) simply wanted to head out and get a bite to eat.

on our way over to the restaurant, jack saw some people he knew. they worked in the information technology department and one of them had recently returned from a trip to the states. jack thought he knew where they were going so we followed.

we met them in a restaurant that looked like someone’s home. there was no sign outside and children and dogs were everywhere. we sat under the warm night sky eating and enjoying each other’s company. geckos covered every wall and my feet were a buffet for the mosquitoes. we were right next to the bathroom. two pieces of tin propped up around a hole in the ground.

the man jack recognized was mr. nam. he just came back from a few months of studying in boston. he had quite a straight smile and nice teeth.

mr. nam ordered the food: frog and corn. i had never eaten frog but was willing to give it a try. it’s very boney but the meat has a way of falling apart in your mouth. the corn was good though. we ate and talked. i couldn’t stop thinking about how wonderful my life was here. i really kept wanting to smile.

the first course ended and the next one was brought to the table. it was a pot full of snake meat. snake meat and vegetables. i have never eaten snake either and had no idea what to expect. it was as thick as a broom handle and cut into half inch cylinders. when you eat this type of snake you eat it with the skin on. the skin is mostly black with light white freckles. it was slippery between chopsticks and seemed to wiggle in your mouth. you had to chew around the spinal cord which presented a number of problems. i couldn’t quite pick the bones as clean as everyone else but gave it my best effort. the skin was too thick and felt rubbery and bumpy in your mouth. the flavor is very similar to what earth must taste like. they kept feeding me more and more and by the end i must have eaten seven or eight rubbery links of snake.

we asked mr. nam what he thought of america. he said that it was very modern and that he ate at mcdonalds often. i asked him what he liked the least and he said, “

a

mr. tri celebrated his thirty-first birthday last night. me and jack were invited and we hopped on our bicycles and headed off.

mr. tri is half indian. his father is from india but lived most of his life here, in long xuyen. he married a pretty vietnamese girl and they now live comfortably in a house right near the center of town. the front of their house is less than ten feet from the road. the constant hum of traffic sooths. the bottom floor of their house is a sporting-goods shop. they have all sorts of tennis rackets, badminton rackets and running shorts. there is always an old, silent man with wrinkled skin and terrible teeth stringing rackets. he seems to work at all hours of the day and night. i never would have thought there were that many rackets to string in all of vietnam let alone lowly long xuyen.

mr. tri’s father is a small, thin man with a large nose. his hair is whispy white and his skin is reddish-brown. he always smiles and speaks four languages: vietnamese, french, english and cambodian. tri’s mother is a small, plump vietnamese woman. her face is very round and flat and she always smiles. tri’s sister is young and energetic. her skin is dark and her hair always seems to be wet. tri’s older brother doesn’t talk. i haven’t ever heard him say a word and i didn’t notice when he got up to leave the table even though he was sitting next to me. i only noticed that the seat was empty and he was no where to be seen.

tri’s mother and father sat next to each other across from me. i looked at them, one with dark, reddish-brown skin and wide eyes and the other with pale skin and thinner eyes. teir children sat on either side of them. they looked like they could have only come from this pair. they all inherited the thin eyes and the dark, reddish-brown skin. they all have such wonderful smiles that seem to be so familiar.

we ate chicken curry and bread. i haven’t eaten curry in months and it was a wonderful change from rice. it was light and spicy and my eyes watered. i couldn’t help but smile.

tri’s mother kept looking at me and i kept practicing my vietnamese on her. she kept saying that i was handsome. she said it so much that i was almost annoyed. (but how can you really get annoyed at such a compliment?) she also said i spoke vietnamese wonderfully. she was just full of compliments and kept staring at me and giving me more curry. tri’s father wouldn’t stop teaching us vietnamese. the word for spoon, toothpick, powder, bad smell, anything you could think of.

the meal ended and they brought out a large cake. it was heavily decorated with flowers. tri’s mother wondered aloud why it wasn’t decorated with roosters. tri had a few roosters up in his room that he raised since they were chicks. his mother thought that flowers were for girls and that roosters were for boys. his father said that if anyone every played with them that tri would hit them. i was keeping my distance.

before we cut the cake tri’s mother asked me to say a prayer. she asked me to pray that tri finds a wife before the new year. i didn’t know what to do so i prayed, “dear god, thank you very much for my good friend tri. i hope that before the year is over he will find a beautiful new wife.” what else could i possibly say?

everything ended and tri was teary-eyed. we walked out through the sporting goods shop and the old, silent man with wrinkled skin and terrible teeth was still stringing rackets.

i was wondering what tri’s new wife was going to look like.

a

what am i to do with myself until tet arrives? the lunar new year falls on the first of february this year and that’s when this semester ends. i’m not going to be able to teach any courses until then so i guess i have the next two months off.

no one knows what to do with me. i ask people and they all keep referring me to someone else. it’s one big game and i don’t know whether to be frustrated or whether to just sit back and enjoy my time. i guess i’ll just enjoy it while it lasts.

oh, today they did find something for me to do: check over a document that was translated. it’s pretty basic but it made me feel like i was working.

what is this place like? well, i’m beginning to find out but am not sure i’ll ever completely know.

what an introduction to long xuyen! last night was incredible. fifty to sixty students threw a huge party for me. i’ve never had such a party thrown for me and it was an incredible experience. socially, however, i faced hurdles.

they assembled in front of our modern guest house. at the beginning of the evening i introduce myself to the students. they were all dying to meet me. (especially the girls) i walked from group to group of students and talked to them in my most professional voice. slowly, powerfully, and with compassion in my eyes. because i am a teacher, i’m required to convey some semblance of authority. for the first time in my life i had to pretend to be an adult. it feels like i have to hoodwink them into believing i’m older than i really am. they don’t know i’m just as old as them and i’m not about to tell them. in a culture where age implies wisdom, being a young foreign teacher is a challenge.

they laid out a large tarp on the concrete and placed ten or twelve small stoves and lots of small plates of food. we sat on the ground and people asked me question after question. where was i from, what had i been doing before vietnam, why was i over here, did i have a girlfriend, how long would i be here, would i be their teacher, did i like Vietnamese food, did i think it was hot… i could easily continue.

there personality is excited and innocent. when i spoke in vietnamese everyone clapped loudly. i said simple things like, “i know how to use chopsticks”, and they would all laugh and clap. the boys always were separate from the girls. the random enthusiasm and segregation of genders reminded me of middle-school.

there was a sea of people and hundreds of new names. these would be my friends for the next two years. we’re all kind of on the same journey: they’ll be graduating when i leave for home. we all want to see what the future has in store for us but we’re also dying to live right now.

my eyes were half opened the whole trip. the van bumped and braked and honked and it all seemed normal. an giang university sent mr. tri to pick me up. he’s a small man with a very large forehead. every time i see him his hair has retreated a bit more. he likes tennis very much and has very sincere eyes.

i was starting my new life in the south. everything was vibrantly green and the world felt cool.

we made it all the way to the ferry and were about to board when a large thunderstorm appeared. all the lights went out and life stopped. people sat along the road in their shops looking dimly out at the cars waiting to board the boat. the only light was coming from the setting sun behind a mass of clouds. everything looked especially foreign. the rain poured down like rushing curtains of water. children ran everywhere laughing.

there was a large cascading funnel of water pouring from one of the sides of a tin-roofed building. it arched down from ten feet in a thick stream. a group of children all tried to stand under it at once. there was much pushing, falling and laughing. no tears. it was a wonderful game for them. all were barefooted and they all wore light colored clothes. someone came along with shampoo and everyone lathered up.

in my life i have never watched people take showers, fully clothed, from water pouring off of a tin roof. they all washed their hair and pushed each other around laughing. one small girl in a tan suit kept pushing much bigger children then running away giggling. she would sneak up behind them as they showered and give them a good shove. everyone was falling and everyone was laughing.

the children washed their hair, faces and arms. it all seemed quite normal.

the rain lasted for a long time and the ferry was late. i sat, exhausted, and watched these children play. i’ve never had to take a shower in the rain. when we were little, my brother and i always took baths before we went to bed. maybe it’s wonderful. in a world where the air is as thick as corn syrup, a torrential thunderstorm presents an escape.

as we were pulling towards the ferry i saw something absurd. it was one of those events that makes you look twice and then furrow your brow in disbelief. there was an overhang in front of the fountain of water. a small boy walked casually under it and observed the children taking a shower. he was anywhere from six to eight and held a lit cigarette in his left hand. his hair was cropped close to his head and he looked off thoughtfully. he seemed quite calm. he would slowly puff on the cigarette, not inhaling, but taking the smoke in his mouth. he would release it a moment later and it would cloud his face.

i was tired and confused as we drove on the ferry. i was excited too. the ferry looks like a hallowed out marshmallow. it’s white and as long as it is tall. we traveled safely in its womb to long xuyen where i begin my new life. it’s a different world down here. i’m sure i’ll have lots of stories.

my last night living in ho chi minh city. i spent the time with ms. uyet, ms. loan and mr. quy. they took me out to a nice restaurant and we all talked and smiled and took pictures. it was wonderful and uncomfortable.

i was wearing jeans for the first time in a while. it was raining and wet and my pants stuck to my legs and were heavy. the night was thick and the air was thicker. i felt heavy. it didn’t help that ms. uyet told me that she thought my face was fatter than normal. people are fairly up front here and, at times, it’s refreshing.

the restaurant was open and the tables were thick and glossy. everyone ordered for me and it was a strange assortment of food. a little chicken, a little rice, a small bowl of something white. we ate and talked and it was wonderful. i guess it was my thanksgiving meal: they are the closest thing i have to family here.

the meal ended and they drove me home. everyone was sad and mr. quy was on the verge of tears. his eyes were swollen and he kept staring off in the distance. i shook their hands heartily and smiled. “i’ll see you in a month. i’ll be back here for christmas.” they said things like, “i hope you never forget us.” and, “life is not the same without you.” and, “forget-me-not.” and, “i like very much being your friend.” and, “you are special to us.” i couldn’t stop smiling. i felt all warm inside like i was really at home.

mr quy handed me a small box and then turned away. he was noticeably shaken. they left and i crawled up to my room. the box held a small gold pen and a note. the pen is heavy and metallic. i’ve never been a fan of fancy pens. i like cheap plastic pens that i can chew on. the note said, “for your friendship. love, quy.”

so, i leave for long xuyen. thanksgiving has past by quietly and i didn’t have the opportunity to watch the macy’s day parade. (it’s not all bad being over here.) i’m thankful for so many things. i’m thankful that i have a wonderful family back home supporting me. i feel wonderfully close to them. i’m thankful for friends in the states. i’m thankful that i’ve had the opportunity to experience this new land. i’m thankful for all the mistakes i’ve made in my life. i’m thankful for vietnamese friends who have embraced me in such a short time. sincerity is so disarming.

well, now i travel down to the mekong delta. the land with rice fields as bright as jade and skies as large as the ocean. what a wonderful, wonderful world.

tonight’s the last night me and mr. khoa spend together for a while. i told him i would be leaving for long xuyen on friday. i think he understood. tonight we met at our usual restaurant. it was really wonderful.

we ate and left. he said we should see something at his house before we went to some large party. his house is a hole in the wall. it’s a hovel. it’s a small box that you couldn’t fit two coffins into side by side. it’s nothing. he’s not proud of his house but he is proud of his new vcd player. he’s connected it to his television and his stereo. it’s very loud and that always seems to make him smile.

we watched some old rock videos that i had never seen before. he asked me if i knew them and i had to admit that i didn’t. long hair and bizarre videos. i was ashamed.

we left for the “big party”. it was a birthday party for one of his friends. i had met him earlier and he rarely spoke. his wife always sat by his side and they both stared at the back wall speechless. tonight he was fairly animated though and he laughed as he greeted me. i felt very welcome. his wife stayed in the corner not saying anything.

mr. khoa introduced me to one of his other friends. this old man had shoulder length hair the same color as his cigarette ash. he talked to me happily and kept practicing his english. he was missing his right hand. it seemed to be missing somewhere half-way up his forearm. he held it behind his back. he seemed to be hiding it.

the party was in a large room full of people and food. there was loud music coming from a small stage in the corner. people were getting up to sing karaoke. they would sing with their whole heart. i was introduced to many people and they all were so friendly. i really felt welcome though i was a complete stranger.

most of the people left the great karaoke hall and it was just our party that remained. people at my table were trying to get someone to sing karaoke. they were egging each other on with big grins. the man with one and a half arms got up and sang something. he was passionate and would shake his salt-and-pepper hair from side to side. normally the crowd would walk up to him with flowers and give them to him. no one was moving and i felt bad. why weren’t they giving him flowers?

i grabbed a flower from the bouquet in the middle of the table. i walked up to the stage proudly and tried to hand it to him. the microphone was in his only hand and his stump hung under his heart. where would i put this flower that i had brought? he moved the microphone in the middle of the verse and took the flower. he looked a little annoyed. no one else got up to give him flowers.

whoops.

then it came my turn to sing. they didn’t have any music for american songs so i was put on stage with the microphone and told to sing whatever i knew. the only song i could think about was “blowin’ in the wind” by bob dylan. i sang my heart out. everyone loved it even though i repeated the first verse twice. they didn’t know or care. lots of people gave me flowers and i happily grabbed them in my free hand.

mr. khoa took me home and i felt content. i would see them all again some day. on the way home mr. khoa kissed my hand. he kept saying, “we are brothers.” it made me feel quite good. brothers. yea, it really made me feel good.

it’s almost thanksgiving. what am i thankful for? i’m thankful i have made wonderful friends in saigon. i’m thankful i’ve gotten a grip on the language. i’m thankful that i have two working hands.

mr. khoa and me go out to eat. the night is warm and the air is thick. the air always feels thick here. like paste seeping down into your lungs. one week left in saigon and i have to say good bye to all of my temporary friends.

we eat at our usual restaurant. the owners haven’t seen me for a couple days and are very concerned. i explain that i’ve been traveling and then i tell them i’ll be leaving next week. they’re shocked. i must repeat myself a couple of times before it sets in. you mean you won’t be eating here every day? mr. khoa didn’t know either. we sit around awkwardly for a moment. they told me to bring my camera tomorrow and we would all take pictures. i told them that when i came back to ho chi minh city that i’d visit them.

mr. khoa and i drive around. he wants to go somewhere and i’m in no mood to argue. we drive out of the city to a friend’s house but no one’s home. movement is perpetual here. noise is also ubiquitous. right now, as i sit in my room four floors above the ground and 100 yards from the road i can hear the honking of the trucks.

he’s noticeably peeved and we drive back to the center of life here. we find another one of his friend’s houses and we go in and sit around chatting. mr. khoa’s friend’s wife is in the united states for some reason that i couldn’t quite understand. she’s coming back next week and he had pictures of her posing all over las vegas. was i ever in las vegas? is it close to new york? (i explain that i’m from philadelphia. when they don’t know where that is i say it’s close to new york. they all know new york.) i explain to them that las vegas is about as far from my home as bejing is from here.

we watched mtv. horrible. it was a combination of boy bands from the mid nineties. the plastic expressions and frosted hair were unnerving. the pseudo-emotion was enough to make me sick. mr. khoa and his friend really seemed to like it. it’s odd watching two old vietnamese men watch a teenage boy look into the camera, stretch out his arm and sing, “tonight i give you all my love.” right about the tv was the ancestral alter. i wonder what mr. khoa’s friend’s father would have said about all of this.

he probably would have sat there and watched too.

we drove home and mr. khoa pointed to the remains of the building that had burned a couple of weeks ago. reports said that anywhere from 100-300 people died there. he said in his rudimentary english, “big fire. big. just like new york.” he kept repeating, “just like new york.” made me think.

it’s late, i’m tired and this is “home”. the five hour bus ride went smoothly. i sat next to the driver and listened to some old tapes i brought from home. we drove at dark and the road was chaotic. bicycles were invisible until the last second. trucks wizzed by with horns and lights flashing. there are only two lanes and everyone wants to pass each other. horns, lights and bumps. the drive makes your shoulders tense.

thud, thud. honk, flash. vroooom.

it’s really enough to make you go a bit batty. i listened to larry stephenson. he sings in a bluegrass band and i heard him play when i was in highschool at the tylersport firehouse. songs like, “i see god”, “he was waiting at the alter”, “jesus hears, he cares, he can”, “when the roll is called up yonder”, and “over in glory land”. each song made a reference to heaven. the crisp chop of the mandolin, the soothing strum of the guitar and the ear-piercing voice of mr. stephenson. combine that with chaotic vietnamese traffic and you have quite a bit to think about.

long xuyen was wonderful. i can’t possibly say enough wonderful things about it. it’s such a small little city that hasn’t been tarnished by tourists. everywhere my white face travels i’m stared at. children point and old people smile. it’s all done quite cheerfully and rudely.

traveling from saigon to long xuyen is like visiting another country. it’s like going from philadelphia to wheeling west virginia. the cushy, semi-western culture of saigon is refreshing. it’s almost relaxing compared to the foreign land five hours south. there’s pizza here.

i’m sure you will all hear much more about it.

well, to bed. traveling has a way of sucking energy from you. you see so much and can’t possibly digest it all. your body just shuts down.

long bus rides, dirt and dust. not knowing where you're going but finding your way. oh, my.

i'm in long xuyen and the weather is thick but somehow cleaner. it's a much smaller town. only about one hundred and fifty thousand people live here. i'm staying and the new guest house of the university which is incredibly new. the outside looks like a new hotel. it's curved and chrome and thick. me and jack are the only two people staying in this wonderful house. we each have a relativly large living room, a nice sized bedroom and a small but adequate bathroom. the old guest house pales in comparison this this. i havn't seen one cockroach yet. i think i'm really gonna enjoy it here.

i'm going to live in that house for the next two years.

when we stand on the roof we can look into the windows of the teachers dorm rooms. that's when i feel the terrible guilt of privilege the most. the other teachers live three to a room. the light coming from their rooms seems blue. the students live eight to a room. eight to a room abou the size of my living room. i don't quite know how to have it all make sense in my head.

yesterday i attended my first class. jack was teaching some upper-intermediate students listening. the classroom filled and me and jack sat in the front of the room chatting. everyone giggled as they entered and i blushed a number of times. i tried to look as old as i possibly could: these students are my age. jack introduced me and said i was from philadelphia and that i also would be teaching here. the classroom burst out into whispers and chuckles. sounded like snakes. jack asked if i had anything i wanted to say. i stood up and said, "i'm looking forward to meeting all of you and teaching here." i said it in a deep, booming voice. it sounded strange like someone else was in control of my voice. i've never said anything like that before. i've never taught a class before and, here i was sitting infront of 40 students ready and willing to learn vietnamese. the rush of feelings overwhelmed me.

i bit my tounge when the class left. they all walked up to me and said hi and said that they wanted to meet me. they were all smiling and giggling.

the students appear to be very sincere. long xuyen seems like a wonderful little town. this whole adventure finally is turning into something.

tonight i took the people at the yokohama tire dealership out for supper. i wanted to thank them for teaching me so much about he culture and the language. me, ms. uyet, ms. loan and mr. quy all piled on motorcycles and were off.

i took them to a nice western restaurant. they had taken me to so many vietnamese places that i kind of felt obligated. we sat down and flipped through the menu.

they were not in their league here. everything was drastically different and i noticed a few panicked glances early on. it seemed strange for them to be so far out of their comfort zone. we were still in saigon, just in a western restaurant. they had never really eaten western food. well, mr. quy confessed to eating a hamburger once.

ms. uyet took over and ordered for all of us. it was very vietnamese. she ordered four random dishes: lasagna, some sort of pasta, some bowl full of meatballs and a pizza. the plates all came and were placed on the table; one for each person. i was given the meatball dish. the plates were pushed into the center of the table and ms. uyet requested four small bowls. she wanted all of us to share each dish. she split each dish into four equal sections and handed them out. in vietnam, it’s fairly routine to share dishes but in this restaurant it was quite out of the ordinary. our table was full of four highly decorated plates and we were all eating out of small bowls pretending it was normal. i was fascinated and didn’t want to interrupt and say, “no, when you eat western food you must select only one dish and stick with that.” it was kind of refreshing to try so many foods.

ms. loan doesn’t like to appear too greedy. she took her time eating her first course and only got through two small bowls full of food. she is very timid and quiet and there were moments when i forgot she was there. ms. uyet makes jokes and laughs loudly. she liked all the food. mr. quy was still suffering through his toothache and didn’t like all the food. he liked the lasagna though.

i had to explain all of the dishes even though i didn’t understand the meatball dish. where did pasta come from? i explained that lasagna came from italy but that the concept of noodles and pasta came from china. that’s at least how i remembered it. they were fascinated. you mean this came from china? ugh.

our table was full of dishes and plates and ms. uyet dropped her knife twice and blushed crimson. it was wonderful having everyone there. they talked about when we met and how much fun we’ve had together. they truly like me. they are all very sincere people except for maybe ms. loan. she seems to be afraid of something. she told me once she thought she had bad skin. what did i think?

we left and were all sad. i’ll see them again next week but i’ll be moving down to long xuyen and they don’t want to see me go. i hoped on the motorbike with mr. quy. ms. loan was standing next to us and started to cry a bit. what an incredible rush of emotions. mr. quy’s eyes flushed red and ms. uyet stood on the curb looking sympathetic. they had all come to really appreciate me. i felt like i was at my eulogy though. they kept saying that it won’t be the same without me and that it is hard to see me go. ms. loan didn’t say anything. she stood by the road with her thin arms crossed across her stomach. she looked at me with glazed, red eyes. i could only feel compassion.

they truly are beautiful people. i wish i had the opportunity to introduce all of them to you.

mr. quy drove me home and told me how much he would miss me. i was his first foreign friend. maybe it was the exhaust from the other motorbikes pouring down the road but my eyes kind of welled up too.

tonight i had the pleasure of eating out with some travelers. they were here touring around with luke martin. they had been in vietnam for a couple of weeks and this was their first night in saigon.

luke asked me to eat supper with them and i more than obliged. the restaurant was wonderfully fancy.

i walked in and everyone was already seated. there were about 20 white, retired people looking at me. my face broke into a smile. my, i hadn’t seen this many middle aged white people in a while. i said my hellos and some lady grabbed my arm. she stood up and handed me a bag. she had a thick german accent and the bag was a gift from a friend of mine in indiana.

i couldn’t stop smiling. my face flushed red and everyone stared at me. i felt very awkward standing there but didn’t care at all. i was in ecstasy. the bag was full of candy. i guess people wonder what you would miss over here and send you candy. it’s not such a bad thing even though i really wouldn’t eat it back home. i have a bag of skittles, some m&ms, some harder old-lady looking candy and i just ate a “rice krispies treats double chocolatey chunk”. it was somehow greasy and had an odd, unnatural way of melting instantly in my mouth. the ingredients included: malt flavoring, partially hydrogenated palm kernel (only partially!), glycerin, maltodextrin, acetylated monoglycerides, diacetyl tartacic acid esters of mono and diglycederides, and vitamin a palmitate just to name a few! it should probably be renamed: “guaranteed to give you colon cancer or diabetes”. oh, it reminded me of how little i really missed processed food. why won’t anyone bring me any hummus and fresh pita bread!

oh, it was a wonderful night. i met many people and don’t remember anyone’s name. the food was incredible. it was all decorated to look like different animals or people; really artistic. it was a night full of explanation. i was just constantly telling people what i was doing here and asking them what they did. we didn’t get past the surface stuff but that was, in a way, refreshing. i kept telling everyone how excited i was to be here and they kept saying, “oh, to be young again.”

so i rode a motorcycle taxi home (xe om). the night was perfectly warm and the wind on my face was a breath of fresh air.

i’ve been in vietnam two months to the day.

mr. quy is one of the workers at the yokohama tire dealership. i used to be a frequent guest there until our relationship soured.

tonight he took me out to buy a guitar. my life was void of music and i am a novice guitar player. i want to improve. jack also plays and it’ll be fun to sing together in our small rooms.

mr. quy is very happy to practice his english and speaks well. we drove through crowded streets to a small guitar shop about twenty minutes away. the owner was sitting on a lawn chair outside smoking a cigarette. his face was smug and his shirt was off. he had the body of a 12 year old boy but the demeanor of an old man. he wore green shorts pulled up to his bellybutton. guitars hung all over the ceiling. he picked some for me (the most expensive) and had me try them out. i found one i liked (after playing a rendition of johnny cash’s “boy named sue” to a loud applause) and bought it.

the guitar is dusty and old and seems a bit too tan.

we went to a restaurant and ate. mr. quy sat across from me and ordered for me. it was time for him to tell me his life story. he said it was sad.

mr. quy has sincere eyes. his hair is coarse and cut into a hilarious flat-top. his face is rather normal and he would be attractive if he didn’t open his mouth. his set of lower teeth appear to have a few more teeth than normal in the same space. the extra teeth are all squeezed in sideways. it looks like some are trying to crawl out of his mouth. his tooth problems were greatly exaggerated because he seemed to have a toothache. he would exhale abruptly and wince.

he wore an old polo shirt. it looked like it was from the 1985 jc crew catalogue. it felt as if i had traveled back to the mid 80’s and there wasn’t a dentist for miles.

the story started. “my parents divorced when i was 9.” he was noticeably frustrated by this. he went on to extol the virtues of solid relationships. he was raised by his grandmother until he was 18. she died and he was all alone. at 18 he had not graduated high school and now had to find a way to sustain himself.

he started selling lottery tickets. these ticket sellers are ubiquitous. they walk around every outdoor café and rudely shove tickets between your eyes and your plate. i asked how much money they made for selling a ticket. he said about 200 dong. that’s about 2 cents. he decided that he couldn’t make any money doing that so he got into construction. he did that for a little but the work was too physical for him. he is an incredibly thin man. one wonders where he keeps all of his internal organs.

so, he couldn’t live well on the lottery tickets, he had not graduated from high school and lifting bricks all day was too much for him. what does a man do when he has nothing? he moves to ho chi minh city: the land of opportunity.

he came here when he was 22. he started selling lottery tickets again but couldn’t make ends meet. he found a job in a printing factory working 14 hours a day. he said he would sleep on the table where he worked. he enrolled in english classes. his days consisted of 14 hours of work, school then returning to work to sleep on your work table.

what must it have been like? where would he shower? did he have any earthly possessions? i can only imagine him in some dirty shirt covered in holes laying on a table with a stack of old newspapers as a pillow. would you feel rage at your situation or would you be more fatalistic?

he took two years of english classes and then decided to graduate from high school. he was 24 when he graduated. he then enrolled in college and started working at the yokohama tire factory here. they moved him up to sales because he could speak english and because he relates well with customers.

now he lives with his mother in saigon. he has a girlfriend and a nice motorcycle. he said, “life is beautiful now. i love to live.”

i asked about his father and he scowled. he looked at me coldly as if to ask, “why on earth would you ask about him?” he said, “i have no relations with my father. he had another girl when i was young and my parents separated.” i don’t think i got the whole story. i could feel the hatred. everything fell silent and we both stared at our food not brave enough to say anything.

his mood cooled and he looked at me nicely. he said, “i don’t normally tell people my story.” i thanked him sincerely and am glad that i can share it with all of you. i honestly think he would be flattered but i won’t say anything.

so this man has overcome incredible barriers in his lifetime. at the age of 18 he had to fend for himself. he learned english, graduated from high school and now has a relatively nice job. at 18 i was a freshman in college. i had everyone in the world supporting me. i’ve worked my whole life but not because i had to. i worked to learn how to work. he worked to eat. he graduated from high school when he was 24. i graduated when i was 17.

i sit here now and shake my head. there’s something wonderful and terrible about his story. so much pain and so much success. it makes you think that success is possible. it also makes you think that there’s something wrong with this world. no one should have to suffer what he has suffered. i’ve done nothing in my life comparable to what he has accomplished.

oh, and he paid the bill.

so, why did i have my falling out with the yokohama tire dealership? the japanese bosses don’t like having me around for lunch. they think i interfere with the “morale of the employees.” i’ll spend less time with quy, loan and uyet but their stories will mull around in my head for a long time.

i spent another night with mr. khoa. he’s the guy that always seems to take me to shady places. i seem to keep trusting him though.

tonight, after having our normal cup of coffee, he decided to take me to his house. he kept saying, “we listen to pantera.” i really don’t know who pantera is but they sounded familiar. he kept saying, “american rock.” so we went.

he lives on the third floor of a large apartment building. we walked through narrow hallways. people were sitting everywhere staring and the walls were milky and marble. there was a small gate. we walked through it and down a thin hallway. his room was on the left. it was locked with a small padlock. the lock was a padlock and about half as big as normal. it was thin and narrow.

you could possibly fit two coffins side by side in his room. i don’t even think you could get them through the door. the walls were made of something much thinner than plywood. the door was light. the roof was so low that i couldn’t stand up. the room was no wider than five feet and no longer than six.

there was a straw mat that we sat on. that was his bed. he wanted me to listen to pantera so he searched through his cds. he had a tv, a vcd player, large speakers and an electric guitar. for a tiny hovel, this room had everything. we sat back and listened to rock music. i didn’t know any of the groups but pretended. oh, american rock!

mr. khoa was in his element. he flipped through cds and always found what he was looking for. his smile was genuine and his love for music was obvious. even though his room as small as a king sized bed he still loved me being there.

so, the man with a nice motorcycle, an electric guitar, a tv, a vcd player, a new mobile phone and a set of nice speakers lives in a shoebox. maybe he’s content with his cramped living quarters. i know it would drive me up the wall; even with those nice speakers.

troi oi!

it was bound to happen. i mean, i guess i could have passed it off but, what would that have made me? i guess i accepted the inevitable and went with it.

ms. ha called me the other day. she wondered if i wanted to go out to eat with her on sunday night. i obliged. she wanted me to try dog meat.

we met near my university and walked to a restaurant that she knew. the walk was long and she explained dog to me. you see, she loves her dog. it’s white, shaggy and very compassionate. her eyes flicker when she talks about him. she would never eat her dog because the meat wasn’t any good. there are only special breeds of dog that are meaty enough to satiate the vietnamese palate. she also said that she would like to eat cat. she explained that the government didn’t allow the selling of cat meat because cats were good at catching rats.

i couldn’t make this up if i tried.

i was excited and very, very hesitant upon entering the restaurant. it was dimly lit and there was no sign out front. i really didn’t want to eat dog either. being a vegetarian for a couple of years has really shaped me. meat isn’t a requirement for healthy living and dog is no exception. i still had to try it. what kind of an adventurous person would i be if i didn’t?

the place was about a ten minute walk away. we sat on small seats surrounded by old men. ms. ha explained to me that eating dog meat was a man’s job. oh, ok. everyone stared at us and ms. ha didn’t know what to order. the waiter helped her through the menu and finally our supper arrived. a large plate of leaves was placed next to a large dish of shrimp sauce. the dog arrived. it was cut into small cubes and simmered with some dark sauce. small pieces of flesh covered on one side by a thin layer of fat and another layer of leathery skin. we were instructed to put one piece of dog flesh onto a leaf. we then would grip both the leaf and the flesh with out chopsticks and dip it into the shrimp sauce. the meat would float around in my mouth for a bit. it was tough and warm. it didn’t taste too strongly. i mostly noticed the mint flavor of the leave and the spicy flavor of the shrimp sauce. the layer of skin that covered each piece was terrible. it was like chewing through worn pieces of rubber.

ms. ha asked me why we didn’t eat dog in america. i couldn’t quite figure it out. we eat most other animals without aversion but dogs seem to be holy. cats too. maybe it’s cause dogs are man’s best friend. (women should be occupied with cooking and cleaning mind you. their best friend is the dustpan and broom)

(sarcasm)

she ordered another dish. i asked what she asked for and she said, “fried dog inside.” what? it turned out that it was a dish full of the fried innards of our canine friend. they were wrapped in the intestine and fried. the concept is similar to scrapple except, with scrapple, there is decent flavor. with fried dog innards, there is something lacking. they were cut into small pieces that were brown and curled. i ate the liver, kidney and heart of dear ole poochie wrapped in it’s own colon. ew.

ms. ha noticed that i didn’t enjoy the fried innards so she ordered another dish. she whispered to the waiter, “do you sell cat meat here?” it was illegal, i knew. oh, to eat both cat and dog meat for the first time at the same meal! the waiter looked to his left and right but reluctantly shook his head. no cat for me tonight.

ms. ha ordered our final dish. it was just plain ole, grilled dog meat. we wrapped it in the leaves and dipped it in shrimp sauce but the leathery skin was still the same. you couldn’t eat a piece of dog without chewing for at least a solid minute.

so, tonight, i learned that dogs can make meals. not wonderful meals but meals none the less. my stomach is uneasy. i keep imagining dogs frolicking in my stomach. agh!