i draw a sun on the board and ask everyone what it is. they all say it’s a sun. i ask them what else it is, or, what it really is. they say, “light”, “brightness”, “heat”, etc.

trying to find a theme in thoreau’s walden is a momentous task. actually finding a theme isn’t the problem. the problem is relating the theme to vietnamese life. the problem is finding a theme that the students will understand.

i decided to teach about the theme, “the truth is inside of all of us. each person must discover what the truth is on their own.” it’s a difficult concept to teach in a confucian society.

“direct your right eye inward, and you’ll discover a thousand regions in your mind” “rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.” i try to explain that truth must be discovered by each person. we all make decisions about what to believe and what not to believe. thoreau talks about the ruts of conformity and tradition. thoreau is an individualist.

the idea of individualism doesn’t carry too much weight over here. individualism is selfish and people should not be selfish. no one person has an idea that carries weight. the group must come up with ideas for them to be valid. there is much truth to this.

i talk about how we are all islands. we all receive and give information at our own bidding. we all decide what is accepted on our island and what is rejected. i’m not trying to force my culture down their throats, i’m really just trying help explain it. i talk about how truth must be discovered by each person in the class. i tell them to analyze everything critically. i tell them not to believe what i have told them until they have taken it under a microscope and decided for themselves. they snicker and laugh but i’m serious.

we must look at problems from all angles and decide what is the truth. we must be objective and thorough. we must find out what the sun really is. the sun is not the sun.

they look at me bewildered. the ideas resonate with some of the students and others vocally disagree. “how can one person come up with an idea that’s valid?” i remark that, in thoreau’s time, slavery was accepted. a minority had to voice their opinion for that that wrong to be righted. they don’t believe me and i’m not sure i believe myself.

the class ends and we get to the last sentence in walden. “the sun is but a morning star.” some of the students instantly understand. our perspective has made the sun out to be something it isn’t. it is nothing but a star. anywhere else in the universe it is a star but, to us, it is the sun. i tell them, “take that and apply it to all parts of life.”

i draw a sun on the board and ask everyone what it is. they all say it’s a sun. i ask them what else it is, or, what it really is. they say, “light”, “brightness”, “heat”, etc.

trying to find a theme in thoreau’s walden is a momentous task. actually finding a theme isn’t the problem. the problem is relating the theme to vietnamese life. the problem is finding a theme that the students will understand.

i decided to teach about the theme, “the truth is inside of all of us. each person must discover what the truth is on their own.” it’s a difficult concept to teach in a confucian society.

“direct your right eye inward, and you’ll discover a thousand regions in your mind” “rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.” i try to explain that truth must be discovered by each person. we all make decisions about what to believe and what not to believe. thoreau talks about the ruts of conformity and tradition. thoreau is an individualist.

the idea of individualism doesn’t carry too much weight over here. individualism is selfish and people should not be selfish. no one person has an idea that carries weight. the group must come up with ideas for them to be valid. there is much truth to this.

i talk about how we are all islands. we all receive and give information at our own bidding. we all decide what is accepted on our island and what is rejected. i’m not trying to force my culture down their throats, i’m really just trying help explain it. i talk about how truth must be discovered by each person in the class. i tell them to analyze everything critically. i tell them not to believe what i have told them until they have taken it under a microscope and decided for themselves. they snicker and laugh but i’m serious.

we must look at problems from all angles and decide what is the truth. we must be objective and thorough. we must find out what the sun really is. the sun is not the sun.

they look at me bewildered. the ideas resonate with some of the students and others vocally disagree. “how can one person come up with an idea that’s valid?” i remark that, in thoreau’s time, slavery was accepted. a minority had to voice their opinion for that that wrong to be righted. they don’t believe me and i’m not sure i believe myself.

the class ends and we get to the last sentence in walden. “the sun is but a morning star.” some of the students instantly understand. our perspective has made the sun out to be something it isn’t. it is nothing but a star. anywhere else in the universe it is a star but, to us, it is the sun. i tell them, “take that and apply it to all parts of life.”

getting dragged from table to table like you’re the bride and groom. another wedding and more awkwardness.

we were invited to the main wedding party of a teacher in the english department. she was marrying a guy we didn’t even know. they had known each other for six months and had been engaged for half that time.

they were brought to each table during the reception. there were at least seventy tables. each of the guests were given small ribbons to wear on their shirts. mine was red with a yellow star.

we were also drug from table to table as the only white guests. we were introduced to hundreds of people that i will never remember. smiles and food. everything was fake.

the wedding ended quietly and we were ushered home. the bride and groom went on their honeymoon. six months isn’t a long time.

we figured out how to make grilled cheese sandwiches and french fries. (recently renamed freedom fries in the good ‘ol us of a) (ha!)

we asked a few of the english teachers if they would like to come over and try some of our american specialties. two of the braver english teachers arrived appropriately fifteen minutes late.

one of us worked the grill and the other fried the potatoes. we had a whole mess of goodies and were excited about sharing some of our national cuisine (i’m repressing a smile while typing). the grilled cheese sandwiches came out nicely and the french (freedom) fries were grilled to perfection. we even had ketchup and mustard.

the braver of the two teachers admitted to us that he had never eaten cheese before. cheese is not a staple in this part of the world by any stretch of the imagination and there is only one store in long xuyen that sells it. they sell singly wrapped pieces of american cheese made in france (the ironies keep piling up).

the plate of grilled cheese and french (freedom) fries were placed in front of the teachers (topped off with a small slice of tomato because you can’t present a plate to someone that’s only full of fried food. there has to be something there that seems healthy.) the teacher who had never tried cheese before picked up one of the grilled cheese slices and bit into it. he mulled the processed cheese, processed bread and butter around in his mouth for a bit changing his expression repeatedly. he swallowed and concluded that it was good.

neither one of the teachers could finish off their slices of grilled cheese so we gave them to the dog who doesn’t know anything about cheese or vietnam or france or iraq. the dog ate them and appears healthy.

our little experiment with grilled cheese and french fries went well. we shall make them again and soon become cheese ambassadors.

i gave my english literature students a test today. we’re supposed to give them a test every 15 periods and this test covered chaucer, shakespeare, defoe, dickens and poe. quite a bunch for one test.

the second part of the test was a critical analysis. i had them take one of the major themes and analyze it giving their opinion of the book based on historical context. the first part of the test was a short multiple choice and fill in the blank section. the last question was, “the teacher of english literature is named __________________ moyer.”

i have been teaching these students for a month and a half. my name is on the syllabus.

here are some of my favorite answers:

jonathan/jon (about 25% of the class) (my real name)
john (about 50% of the class)
jonn
john nathan
johen
johnathan
johnyer
johnan
jonethan
jones
jone han
johnthomon
johthanan
jonenatha
jan
tonathan
jone
jon jonathan
and my favorite:
mobe (mobe moyer?)

i made none of these names up. they are how they appear on the tests. i guess names like phuc and dung would be strange to us too.

christmas in late march. a box arrived at my humble home the other day and i was pleased to receive it. my parents had been saying that they had sent me a box and claimed that it was to arrive before christmas. it came yesterday.

i can only imagine what boat it was sent here on. it surely couldn’t have been a plane. the boat must had made a magellan-like journey around the globe. it must have floated around the southern tip of south america and began to trek across the pacific making numerous stops along the way. maybe it switched boats and was placed on small canoe. maybe it was then placed in a trash bag fitted with a small motor and allowed to putter up the mekong to long xuyen. it was sent on december the third.

surprisingly, it was still full of christmas cheer. four month old candy canes all disfigured and melted. a christmas cd which i am presently listening to. “go tell it on the mountain, over the hills and everywhere. go tell it on the mountain…” and so on. two bags of trail mix (for when i’m hiking) one of which i ate instantly and found m&m’s stuck in my throat. a huge bag of pistachios (already half eaten) a crusty the clown watch and some snowman stickers for my door. there isn’t anything stranger than placing snowman stickers on your balcony door when its over 90 degrees outside and you are surrounded by palm trees. some of the snowmen (i’m sure some are women) are sledding, some are singing and some are just enjoying moments with their joyous snow families. they add to the chintz of my room.

the gift was wonderful even though it was a few months late.

rats are furry creatures that live in dark places and who scavenge for food. they carry disease and are known the world over as disgusting rodents. i never did like rats and the bigger they are the more i’m repulsed.

tonight we were joined by a man from hong kong who is here to bring some information technology to some farmers. he’s working on setting up an internet based tourism industry. he works for the un and is quite smart. we asked if he would like to go out to eat and he happily said yes.

we went to one of our favorite restaurants. it stretches out over the mekong and the sun sets behind a small island. all the dust in the air creates a spectacular show. the river life continues to teem along and the houses on either side of the restaurant wash clothes or clean dishes. kites can be seen in the distance.

we asked our friend what he would like to eat and he made a few comments about vietnamese restaurants in hong kong. he said they always serve the same dishes and that they are all bland and nothing like mekong delta food. we asked again what he wanted and he said, “field rat.”

we sat for a moment in awkward silence and i began to look for it on the menu. i didn’t know the word for field rat but recognized most of the other dishes. we resorted to drawing a picture of it after i had finished my rat impression (two fingers up to my teeth, squinty eyes and clicking of the tongue)

she understood the picture (complete with fangs and spiky hair) and said they didn’t have any. we looked dejected (well, i feigned dejection but sighed with relief). she did come back and said that they could get some rat if we wanted. i was translating for the table and relayed the news. our hong kong friend said that we should order it.

it came as the final course to our meal. there were three rats lined up on a plate resting on a leafy bed of lettuce and tomatoes. they had no heads but you could tell where they should have been. they had no tail but you could imagine it sliding off of the plate like a long strand of disease ridden spaghetti. they looked tanned and covered in herbs.

i’m never one to turn down something. i picked up the hind section of the rat and put it in my mouth as is the custom. i gnawed it around a bit (excuse the pun) and spit out the bones. the hindquarter was surprisingly good. the skin was moist and a bit greasy but not as greasy as duck skin. the flesh was very flexible and flaked off of the bone. the herbs gave it a wonderful taste and there was no hair to be found. the bones were also more sturdy than fish bones and less numerous. it turned out to be a hit.

i ate one rat whole and the back quarter of a second rat. the middle section is the worst. they leave all the organs attached to the ribcage and spine area and you’re forced to pick around them. there isn’t too much meat on the ribs but you can gnaw on them a bit (there’s that word again). the front section is also interesting. it is much like the back section except you end up with two small shoulder blades in your mouth. they are thin but sturdy and do not break.

we walked home, our belly full of three dead half-digested rats and enjoyed the cooler night air. we actually saw a rat run across the sidewalk. it scurried along looking much too big for its legs and much too disgusting for its fur. its tail snaked behind it and hid when it rested in a pile of garbage. my normal reaction was subdued and my disgust turned to salivation. rat is wonderful. you all should try it.

the flying waitresses.

there is a nice restaurant that takes up three homes. two dirt streets split it in three sections and the food is wonderful. today we went there to escape our ubiquitous fried fish and rice.

the first third of the restaurant is located on the lower floor of someone’s home. there is no cooking that goes on here. there is a large group of silver tables and chairs. the mother and children sit in the background watching the television and playing. the middle section of the home is where all of the action is. the main kitchen is located behind one of the walls. the girls walk up to a small hole in the wall that belches smoke and yell things about what food they need and when. you couldn’t fit your head through the hole. there are more tables in this area and a large cart with many different dishes on it. the cash register is also located here (an old lady who never looks up and wears terribly thick glasses and has a drawer full of money). the third part of the restaurant is located in another house across the street. in it are more tables.

the waitresses fly between the three sections with large trays of food balanced precariously. they all wear what i would best describe as pajamas. they all are young, happy and constantly moving. they cross the street with these huge trays of food and motorcycles sputter around them and dust flies everywhere.

the food is excellent. today we had some large shrimp that are simmered in some wonderful sauce. the scrimp are entirely too large and the only part that is removed is the face. you pick the six inch long beast up with your chopsticks and bite right into the rib section. the warm juices flow down your chopsticks and make them slippery. the scales and ribs of the scrimp are tough and crunchy. it’s an acquired taste but, when you have it, you’re addicted. we also had a huge bowl of sour soup and fish.

so, if you’re ever in long xuyen, make sure you check out que phat for lunch. its really a treat.

jack and i sit on a bench in the middle of a large, dirt field. we are shaded by a towering tree that drops black bean pods. they fall and litter the ground. the sun makes its way through the branches of the tree and finds our arms and warms them nicely. the wind picks up clouds of dust and moves them around at random. stray dogs appear busier than us.

we feel old and tired. we feel strange and wonderful. at our feet is a small, shortwave radio that picks up global bbc broadcasts.

a mans voice pushes through the static and sooths us with his oh, so intelligent sounding british accent. every once in a while we have to adjust the frequency because we keep picking up radio stations from cambodia. we patiently sit and listen to live broadcasts from their representatives in the field. live updates that are interrupted by sporadic gunfire.

some construction workers pass us with their shirts off. you can see their ribs but they are strong. their skin is dark like light chocolate and olives mixed together. they range in age from twenty years old to upwards of forty. they look at us quickly but continue to move along carrying their tools. i think about this country only thirty odd years ago. i can’t stop thinking about what happened. i try to push it out of my head but it doesn’t seem possible. my mind reverts back to what happened time and time again like a moth and our porch light.

the workers move along peacefully and the radio continues to blabber about this or that reiterating what has already been said ten times. the wind moves peacefully and the dust falls. the black pods of beans continue to fall silently and cause us no harm. the dogs go about their business.

the youth union was celebrating its anniversary. there were to be small tents set up for each class and long, long nights of fun.

i don’t know what the function of the youth union is nor am i exactly sure how old it is. i would guess it’s somewhere around 30. i would guess its job is to further the desires of the youth whatever they might be.

the tents were each unique and did not at all resemble a tent as we would imagine it. you can’t buy a tent like this at wal-mart. each class went about the exhausting task of creating their own, specific tent. most classes brought long bamboo poles and an old, large tarp. some of the tents were thin and tall. other tents were squat and wide. they each had a unique personality. the vietnamese flag flew from the top of each and inside there was a framed photo of ho chi minh.

the campus instantly transformed into what looked like a refugee camp with a million red and gold flags waving in the breeze. the celebration began sometime after supper and stretched long into the night.

julie, jota and i (she’s a new volunteer here from britain working with vso) made our way to the camp around ten. it was dark and we couldn’t find the english department. the atmosphere was electric. there was movement and noise everywhere and it was all unique. each tent was lit up like a christmas tree and people were happily strolling from one tent to another. we found the english department tents snuggly pressed against the back corner of the security fence.

the next six hours or so were spent walking from tent to tent talking to the students and listening to their questions. for students who normally go to bed around nine or ten at night, staying up until dawn is daunting. some were wide-eyed and energetic. others simply gave in and fell asleep on the ground. some walked around in a daze pretending they weren’t tired but not able to hide the exhaustion in their eyes.

there are three different third year classes and one second year class that i teach. we sat in circles and played games and talked. game one: put a bunch of requests in balloons and hang them from the middle of the room. sit in a circle and take turns urging people to go up to the balloons, pop one and comply with what was written on the slip of paper. most requests were directed at the opposite sex. “go up to the person in the room that you like the most and tell them why.” “find the person you think is the most lovely and dance in the middle of the circle like two birds.” “find someone and pinch them hard.” the students would spend an incredible amount of time selecting who they liked the most. game two: sit in a circle and make up teams of three. each team picks an animal and is assigned a noise. there are three noises each group must make: tac, si and bum. after bum is said that person names another group and they continue the trend. the group is out if they call on a group that doesn’t exist, take too much time or don’t respond when their animal is called. game three: sit in a circle and ask jon as many questions and you can muster up. ask him questions that put him on the spot and make him feel uncomfortable. make sure he is always reeling but stills feels obligated to stay.

and that was the night. i stayed with them until four in the morning and took jota home (who had an incredible reserve of energy and kept digging in the dirt and making a mess). surprisingly, most of the students were still very active. some had fallen asleep in groups but they were tormented by those who stayed awake. i was glad to be able to return to my room and sleep in peace.

light gusts of wind blow across the mekong during the dry season. i’m not a meteorologist so i have no idea why. i only know that the breezes are cool and that they make the unbearable head bearable.

the light breezes allow for kite flying. when we sit on the roof of our apartment bulding we can see a number of kites hanging in the sky teathered to the ground by an invisible string.

most of the kites are made at home. some kids find a nice sheet of clear plastic, a couple of sticks and tape them all together. these kites have a way of soaring in the sky that’s incredible. they look like an old trashbag that’s been caught in an updraft.

there are also kites for buying. kites for those who don’t have the time or ability to make them. jack and i bought a kite. it’s a pink, green and orange masterpiece. it’s made into the shape of a large, predatory bird and was colored by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. the feathers are blue the head is red the body is white and the feet are fluorescent green. the rest of the kite is an odd amalgamation of green, orange and pink. it’s not hard to miss.

we’ve tried to fly it a number of times but can’t seem to get it airborne. we run and run but never have enough space. it takes off for a bit but then falls sheepishly. we’re not kite flyers.

some kids run in front of our apartment building during the day with their home made kites. we found one on the ground the other day that wasn’t larger than my palm. it was made out of newspapers and straws and there was a ten foot string attached.

it's nice to think of kites instead of war.

iraq and america. the inevitable war.

in class today i overheard people talking about a war protest. being curious i asked what was going on and was promptly invited to join. it was going to be held tonight in the main campus and there was to be speakers and music. we were to bring signs.

i do not support this war and find it terribly absurd. sovereignty? what happens when one country decides to dictate what countries are right and wrong? going into other countries and deciding who should and who should not be leading doesn’t seem very democratic. in our country voter turn out is a measly 50% (that’s being generous). last election bush won with around 45%. that means that less than 25% of eligible voters went out of their way to bless bush in his presidential campaign. do you think saddam has any less support? would he be able to be in power if he did? even under despotism people have a say. even when the media is held tightly in check people have some control. sovereignty. we’re deciding that it’s right for iraq to be democratic just like the colonizers of the past decided that inferior nations deserved our ‘civilization’. all of this is assuming that there are no ulterior motives involved. that’s my take on the war in less than a paragraph and i don’t think it includes all of the babble that you are fed every night on cnn or msnbc. (who ever decided that it was a good idea for microsoft and nbc (who is owned by general electric) to team up and feed us ‘impartial’ news?)

the protest (it was called a ‘meeting’ by all of our students) was fascinating. jack and i made signs. jack’s sign said, “give peace a chance”, which was easy for the students to read and understand. my sign ran in a different vein. it said, “stop this neo-crusade”, and i had no idea who i thought would understand it. i did have fun explaining what a crusade was and what a neo-crusade was.

we walked to where the ‘meeting’ was to be held and found thousands of people gathered. people had flooded into the main campus of the university and were packed tightly together. some people had climbed trees to watch the events on the main stage. one tree held three different people all waving a different sign. we were the only white people there and stuck out like soar thumbs for two reasons. we didn’t have their traditional signs (small, white boards with phrases like: “abolish war”, “world peace”, “end the embargo” and “students united against war”. there were also larger red banners carried on bamboo sticks.). our signs were large and loud.

instantly we were rushed up to the front of the crowd. we had gathered with some our students in the back but some of the organizers saw two white faces with signs and decided that we should move to the front. we stood right next to the podium. we were in the middle of it all holding our signs high above our heads.

the speeches began and they were wonderful. they talked about the importance of peace and the devastating effects of war. they were given by people who had lived through the vietnam war (or the american war as it’s called over here). the speeches talked a lot about the world being united against this war and how vietnam was allied with the world. the speakers would lead the crowd in cheers. they would ask the crowd what they thought of war and the crowd would respond, “phan doi! phan doi! phan doi!”, and raise their fists (against it! against it! against it!).

it was really a lively event and we enjoyed ourselves.

afterwards we went out to one of our favorite restaurants and ate a quick supper. we were sitting talking when one of the waiters came up to us very excited. he asked us to follow him into another room where we saw the peace rally on television. we listened to some of the speakers again and watched ourselves holding our large signs. the people in the kitchen were so impressed they gave us our meal for free. we left the restaurants and two of the waiters raised their fist and said, “phan doi!” it was really quite a wonderful night.

no matter what you thin about the war, my experience has been quite unique. never did i think that i would be protesting an american led war in vietnam. never did i think that i would be on television protesting said war. this has been a rich adventure.

vietnamese proverbs. (thanks chun)

i asked a group of teachers and students to give me some of their favorite proverbs and here’s what they came up with. (if any of these are interpreted incorrectly or are better understood by those more familiar with the vietnamese language, please email me) (oh, and i’m not using any of the tone markings or vowel markings. that would only complicate things further)

ech ngoi day gieng

the frog that sits at the bottom of a well. a frog that sits at the bottom of a well only sees a small slice of what the sky is made up of. it only sees what the top of the well will allow it to see. it sees a small circle of clouds and maybe, at times, the sun. its perspective is askew. its perspective is not everything but it believes it’s seeing the entire sky because it knows no different. we may all be frogs sitting at the bottoms of wells and only understanding what we can sense around us. there may be so much more.

la lanh dum la rach

the good leaf covers the bad leaf. or rather, more exactly, the not torn leaf covers the torn leaf. during the tet holiday many people eat a sticky rice and meat combination that’s covered with bananna leaves. this proverb states that the good banana leaf should be placed outside of the torn bananna leaf covering and protecting it. take this one and apply it to society.

cang hoc nhieu cang thay minh dot

the more you learn the more the body is ignorant/illiterate. the more you know, the less you really know. the more you understand about the world, the more you realize you really don’t understand. this proverb sums up my existence here quite nicely.

biet thi thua thot, khong biet thi dua cot ma nhge

if you know, speak up. if you don’t know lean on a pillar and listen. an interesting proverb that i would like to see more applied in my classes. most of the students are good at leaning on a pillar and listening but, if they know, they don’t really have the willingness to speak up. maybe i should start shouting this whenever they refuse to fess up an answer.

loi chao cao hon mam co

better to great someone kindly than feed them a feast. treat people with respect and don’t shower them with random gifts. the respect is the most important gift you can give someone and everybody likes a sincere greeting.

co cong mai sat co nhay nen kim

if you polish iron one day it will become a needle. the more you work on something, the more perfect it becomes. practice makes perfect.

we were quietly eating our supper when we met a friend of a friend. he invited us over to his table and we helped them celebrate their birthday party.

the table was full of young, smiling faces. some of them were students at the university, others had already graduated from the continuing school. a couple of them were from the big city.

the big city girls were definitely not from long xuyen. they had a superior air about them and dressed in all the hippest fashions. they wore modern, name-brand hats and only the most exotic shoes. they also drove the fanciest, shiniest motorbikes and had strangely tinted sunglasses that stretched across their entire face. we didn’t find out where they were from until much later but it was obvious initially.

the birthday party went well and everyone was glad to have two tall white people there celebrating with them. they flooded us with questions and we politely answered. they were having a grand time and so were we.

we went to karaoke.

the big city girls took the mic and sang with the fervor of a big-tent-revival preacher. they screamed about love and loss and how wonderful and terrible everything was at the same time. they danced and told people what to do. they sang backstreet boys and britney spears. they sang modern vietnamese pop songs that are annoyingly omnipotent at every coffee shop. the words poured from their mouths and their faces contorted oddly depending on the degree of their emotion.

i sang ‘okie from muskogee’ and no one except jack understood. “we don’t let our hair grow long and shaggy, like the hippies down in san francisco do. i’m proud to be an okie from muskogee. a place where even squares can have a ball. we still wave ‘ol glory down at the courthouse and white lightning’s still the biggest thrill of all.” i also belted out a falsetto version of ‘dazed and confused’ by led zeppelin. that didn’t go over well but i enjoyed myself.

the big city girls said goodbye and were heading home tomorrow. they scooted off in their shiny, white motorbike and we all politely waved.

it’s nice living in a rural area.

the english department second year students vs. the economic department second year students. oh, and one very large, white teacher.

the field was sand and rocks and the goals were wooden and backed with old fishing nets. the sun was directly overhead and the temperature couldn’t have been any less than 100. the sand was loose in some places and tough in others. that made running unpredictable. at one moment you could burst ahead and at other moments you were left sputtering in a cloud of dust.

the game began and i was told to play in the front. this wasn’t because i was fast or because i was adequately skilled but probably because of two reasons: i am their teacher and i am tall (relatively). i stood their and my body tried to remember back to my freshman and sophomore years of high school. i used to play soccer and my legs used to know what to do. they seem to have forgotten.

i did end up scoring a few goals. two of them were luck and the third looked remarkably good. i still don’t know what got into me. the rest of the team played surprisingly good and with much intensity. some of my students who never talk in class are tenacious players. they run and play like a fire is burning inside of them. in class they sit and pretend to ignore me. how do i get that fire to burn all the time?

we also had quite a large cheering section. the girls from the class all came out to watch their boys defend the english department’s honor. they stood on the sideline in the shade, clapped when we did something good, laughed when we fell and generally chatted.

near the end of the game my good fortune ran out. i was running towards the goal and collided with the goalie. i flew to the ground in a cloud of dust but got up right away. there was an incredibly painful sensation in my right foot. i wondered if it was seriously hurt or not. i hobbled to the sideline trying not to let on that i was hurting. someone took my place on the field and i sat down in a pool of dirt and my own sweat. one of my students came over to me with what amounted to a homeopathic first-aid kit. he took my shoe off, asked me some questions and began his treatment. he felt my bones and they seemed to be ok. he knew exactly what he was doing. he felt my tendons and what not and found the right one. he didn’t poke around until he found something that hurt, he lightly touched and found something that was inflamed. he asked for something in vietnamese and a small bottle filled with a clear liquid was given to him. he rubbed it on my foot and the pain quickly subsided. it was like he sucked the hurt from my foot. i was more shocked than anything. shocked that he had no problem touching my dirty, sweaty feet and shocked that he had some magic lotion that would cure foot pain.

the lotion took effect and slowly started to tingle. i smiled and enjoyed the moment i was experiencing. standing in a sand field playing with my english students against the despicable economic department. enjoying the sweat drip down my face and collect on my shirt. enjoying the taste of dust and sand in my mouth. looking at my students quietly sitting on the sideline in the shade and just being generally thankful for where i was.

larry stephenson, “where the soul of man never dies”
to canaan’s land i’m on my way,
where the soul of man never dies.
my darkest night will turn to day,
where the soul of man never dies.
Chorus:
dear friends there’ll be no sad farewells,
there’ll be no tear dimmed eyes.
where all is peace and joy and love,
where the soul of man never dies.

the rose is blooming there for me,
where the soul of man never dies.
and i will spend eternity,
where the soul of man never dies.

the love light beams across the foam,
where the soul of man never dies.
it shines and lights the way to home,
where the soul of man never dies.

i’ve always been a fan of bluegrass music. music that’s from the heart and full of emotion. for some strange reason, one of my dad’s gospel bluegrass tapes came along with me on the journey. it was a stowaway in my luggage. i discovered it one day and spent an hour and a half listening to it.

i teach a listening class to the second year students. they’re a semi-unruly bunch but they really enjoy it when we listen to songs in class and try to copy down the words. i thought it would be an interesting cultural adventure if we listened to larry stephenson sing about souls.

the banjo and guitar picked a fairly lively rhythm and the class bobbed their heads to the music. the words were another story. “where does the soul of man never die?” quite a tough question to answer. i tried to explain what i thought larry’s view of the world was. i tried to explain why there would be no, “sad farewells”, and no, “tear dimmed eyes.” they understood that it was lively music and they understood that it was country. there’s a definite distinction here between country music and pop music and making that connection with american music seems to give it a different connotation.

so, we played the song through three times. the first two times they worked on the words and, before the third playing, we went over their answers. they were fairly far off, for the most part, and i ended up explaining what the word ‘twang’ meant. the third time through most of the girls were singing along. they would look at the music sheet and sing, “dear friends there’ll be no sad farewells, there’ll be no tear dimmed eyes. where all is peace and joy and love, where the soul of man never dies.” it was quite a sight to see twenty vietnamese girls singing along to a band that i once saw play at the tylersport firehouse on a cold, winter night in a land that seems so far away right now.

teaching people about daniel defoe is quite a challenge.

providence and god’s calling are dealt with throughout the book. if you’re teaching it you can’t avoid it. i’m trying to have them critically examine various themes from the book and one of those themes is that god punishes people for sinning and rewards them for obedience.

the class had some interesting responses to this theme. some of the students whole-heartedly agreed and said that, yes, god does punish people when they do wrong and reward people when they are good. this, of course, is not the same god that defoe understood. his god was a semi-puritan god; definitely a ‘christian’ god. i’m also trying to develop their independent critical thought so i challenge them. how do you know that god punishes people and rewards people? one of the students cited hitler as a good example. hitler did bad things and, in the end, he was punished by committing suicide. god directly intervened. another student cited a man who’s on trial here for murder, nam cam. he said that this man was just receiving his punishment from god. a girl thought that god didn’t punish people directly at all. she thought that people had worked out their own system of punishment. one example she gave was that, if i taught poorly, i would be chastised by my boss.

i asked them if they could think of any bad people who have lived relatively good lives. they could think of a few but were sure that god, in some way, punished them.

another cultural problem i’m having with the book is explaining the “white man’s burden”. the idea that it was god-given task of the europeans to civilize the rest of the world (even if it meant shoving it down native population’s throats). i can most easily see the theme in robinson crusoe’s relationship with his servant, man friday. he never bothers to learn anything about his culture, he never bothers to learn his language or his religion, he only teaches. he feels that it’s his obligation to show him the puritan god. he wonders why god hasn’t shown god’s self to these native populations and, in one passage, mulls over the idea that it was because of their sin.

i’d imagine it’s tough trying to explain the colonizer’s perspective to people whose grandparents can still clearly remember french colonialism so, i basically skipped it over. it’s hard not to feel like a colonizer yourself. i stand in front of class explaining these ancient british works and teaching to them in my own language. i’m not sharing culture, i’m, in some ways, shoving it down their throats. in some ways things haven’t changed: english is the international language and, if someone wants to be successful, they must spend the time to learn it. i’m helping to perpetuate the cycle.

i’m trying to learn the language and am adamant about learning as much about the culture as possible. well, i know where my motivations lie and i’m not too worried. i wonder if some of the original colonizers felt similarly.

we went to a wedding party today at noon. the entire english department was invited and we all hopped on motorbikes and were off.

the morning was full of meetings and trips to the photocopy shop. the afternoon was full of shakespeare and daniel defoe. going to a wedding party wasn’t on my to-do list.

we arrived after winding our way down a narrow, dusty dirt path. it was some sort of dyke and small and large boats churned their way up the green mekong tributaries. the wedding party was held at the house of the bride. the bride and groom met us when we arrived and both looked hilarious in their makeup. for some reason the groom wears it too. the bride looked like she was wearing an odd mask cut out of some magazine. i had met her a number of times before but didn’t recognize her at all. the groom wears some sort of makeup that covers his whole face and, i believe, some sort of lip gloss. it makes his face look much more youthful and his lips look oh, so much more moist.

the party was held in the front yard underneath large, white and red stripped tarps strung between bamboo poles. everyone’s expected to bring the couple “lucky money”. i was instructed to bring them 100,000. i brought it but forgot an envelop so the first ten minutes after my arrival were spent asking people if they had any extra “lucky money” envelopes.

the food was stale. spring rolls that had been sitting around since early that morning and odd arrangements of lunch meats. the company was relatively silent. they were all teachers thinking about afternoon lesson plans.

the last course was brought out after i had gone to the bathroom, returned, and found some old, fat man sitting in my seat. i didn’t know what to do and just stood politely by as he talked. he relinquished it. the last dish was an oddity. i have already talked about semi-developed duck eggs. they are eggs that are allowed to develop to a certain stage and then are boiled. this leaves a semi-developed duck fetus inside surrounded with yolk. the dish was full of them and some other black liquid. it was a boiling pot of semi-developed duck feta. each fetus held its shape and was surrounded with boiled yolk. their faces were buried somewhere in the yolk and they were developed enough to be covered with black hairs. everyone was surprised to see jack and i refuse this delicacy. it’s really enjoyed here. we ended up eating part of the yolk. we couldn’t bring ourselves to eat the actual fetus. the yolk was tough and texture less.

i sat down at my favorite coffee shop yesterday, quan thu, and ordered myself up a nice cup of vietnamese joe. a small, glass cup is brought to the table accompanied with a larger glass full of ice, a long spoon, a bowl full of sugar and a metal apparatus used to make the coffee.

the metal gizmo is made out of three separate pieces. the bottom piece is large enough to fit over the mouth of the small glass. its bottom is lowered a bit and acts as a filter. the middle section has another filter in it full of coffee grounds. a shot of hot water is poured over the grounds. the third part is simply a tin lid.

the coffee drips slowly. it takes about five minutes for one cup to fill. when it’s full, tradition dictates that you must remove the metal dripper and pour sugar relentlessly into the black syrup. once the sugar is poured in and stirred, (usually about four scoops, i normally take two) you dump the coffee over the ice and stir. stirring is normally accomplished with the long spoon. it is shifted up and down repeatedly and quickly mixing the coffee with the ice and making a wonderful clinking noise.

well, i was sitting and enjoying my cup of coffee and a good book when two younger vietnamese men decided to sit down at my table. i don’t think there were other tables available and it’s kind of customary to sit at a table if there are empty seats. they sat, stared, made comments about my nose and giggled. i couldn’t concentrate on my book anymore and my coffee was finished so i asked for the bill.

today jack and i went for coffee again. once again we were accompanied by strangers. two girls sat down at our table and tried to have a conversation with us. it seemed like they spoke fairly good english at first but that quickly refuted. we stumbled through a conversation, mostly in english (didn’t really feel like speaking vietnamese) and ended our coffee break early.

nothing like a group of strangers sitting down at your table and interrupting your conversation. it makes everything a bit awkward and you always end up looking for the bill a bit early. coffee’s good but the company’s terrible.

international women’s day. i wish everyday was today.

the english teachers (the males) took the other english teachers (the females) out to dinner. we went to the local teacher hang out. it’s a place with small, stout, wooden tables and itty-bitty stools for sittin’. their specialty is lau bo which is nothing more than a donut looking metal container with burning coal in the middle. there is a deep, rounded ring, much like upside-down angel food cake, surrounding these embers. that’s where the broth goes. that’s where the meat and vegetables and whatever else they have sitting around goes.

to really show that it was international women’s day one of the women in the english department was allowed to drive one of the men around on a motorcycle. normally the only time something like this would happen is when a mother was driving around her much younger son. men drive motorcycles and women ride behind them. the female teacher drove up beside the motorcycle that i was riding on and shouted, “i’m liberated!” i had not the slightest idea what she meant. i smiled and said, “yes, this is women’s day.” but was later told the enormity of the event. she was driving around a man and not just any man, a man who was older than her.

while eating, normally it’s the woman’s job to put the various parts of the steer into the ring for boiling. today, the duty was shifted to those with shorter hair and deeper voices. we kindly placed all sorts of goodies into the ring: brain, tendons, skin, fat, some meat, some strange balls of mystery meat and an assortment of vegetables that could have been taken from any weed patch surrounding the restaurant.

it’s also the woman’s job to dole out the food. they normally dutifully fill the men’s bowls with whatever appears appetizing. normally i’m stuck with lots of brain, lots of tendons and not much of anything that would be tasty. i always smile and say it’s delicious. who has the heart to say that eating boiled beef brain isn’t appetizing?

so, today i did the doling. today i served the women. today they got the brains and tendons and mystery balls of flesh. today i got the smaller chunks of actual meat, the vegetables and lots of noodles. today i ate well.

it all feels like one big conspiracy but i think this international women’s day actually turned on the women. no longer were they able to choose what they wanted, they were now at our mercy. no longer were they able to pick around the goodies and give us the refuse. men have suffered long enough under the oppressive thumb of women! today was out day to shine! it was our day to get the noodles!

sarcasm aside, i think international women’s day is a good idea. i asked some of my male students about it. i asked them what date international man’s day fell on and they replied, “i think every other day of the year is international man’s day.” aptly put.

and so on.

someone said that when march came around it would feel like someone was cranking up the thermostat. they were right. every day it feels like it’s getting hotter. every day i sweat a bit more in class and every day our dog’s tongue hangs a bit lower.

there is a large trade fair going on here, in long xuyen. it’s quite an event and combines popular vietnamese music with all the latest consumable goods. consumable goods, sounds like home. stands stretch as far as the eye can see and everyone’s selling everything. the stands are all very modern and sleek. there are huge companies that we all would know and love, like honda and dell computers. there are also small, vietnamese based companies. everything from fish sauce to laptops.

large balloons hang tethered to the edges of the fairgrounds. our students took us. we paid, walked through a turnstile and were left sweating and gawking.

we first stopped at the chips shop. we sampled all of the latest varieties of shrimp chips, garlic chips, general sea-food flavored chips and regular old spicy chips. they were quite bland. they sat on plates in the sun and a smallish man with a large hat tried to explain to us, in english, why his chips were the best. his vocabulary was limited so he kept saying, “this potato is good! this is good! this potato is shrimp! you like shrimp?” we stood silently and nodded.

we next stopped at the pen shop. there were at least fifteen girls employed. they all stood shoulder to shoulder behind large buckets of pens and were very happy to answer our questions. “oh, yes, this pen writes very well. do you like blue? maybe red.” it was eventful. one girl explained that if we bought ten pens we would be given a large, white balloon with a rose in the middle. i didn’t know what i would do with that many pens and didn’t have any use for a large, white balloon with a rose in the middle so i passed on the offer.

our next stop was at the noodle stand. we were looking for some noodles that were not made from rice to cook at home. maybe we could fashion us up some spaghetti. we didn’t find any and had quite a difficult time explaining.

the fair is gargantuan. the fair is colorful. the fair is always moving and we need to go back at night to watch all of our favorite vietnamese pop stars perform.

we returned through the front gates and headed home with our loyal flock of students. the sun had beaten us to a pulp and our shirts were clinging to our backs. i never though i’d see such a sight in this country.

if traditional girls wear ao dai, modern girls wear bucket hats, long gloves and shoes that are at least two inches high.

the bucket hat tradition stems from the desire for white skin. there is a longing here, a passionate longing to look white. some would say pale. my arms are clearly darker than most of the women here. the girls in class do everything in their power to block out the tanning potential of the sun.

their first defense against the sun is obviously the outer layer of their clothes. if it were not for that they would all be naked just as we would.

moving on, the next defense is a bucket hat. a bucket hat is a hat that is surrounded with a brim. it is usually made of some sort of cotton blend and is always pastel, white or some terrible shade of peach. the bucket hats usually have some sort of phrase or picture embroidered on them. some say, "i love you", which is truly misleading. the girls love you no more than they love dark skin. some hats simply have some sort of fruit or flower embroidered on them. sometimes it's a strawberry or a cherry. most of the hats are uniformly one color but some have a neat little trim around the edge of the brim. the had is worn low over the eyes to minimize the effects of the sun.

the next layer of defense are the gloves that stretch from the tips of the fingers all the way up to the ends of their short-sleeved shirts. gloves that would look elegant if worn by someone in the ninteen fifties but look terribly trashy when worn by the girls here. they can be skin colored but are normally a strange shade of dark brown or purple. if a girl happens to be wearing a pair of purple gloves and a peach bucket hat, i'm forced to look elsewhere. ugh.

the last defense against the sun is the face mask which is nothing more than a triangular piece of cloth, usually with some floral print, strapped behind the bucket hat. this is normally used for driving. the idea is this: the sun will not darken the face while out in the most severe conditions and the dust from the road will not be able to permeate the thin, cotton mask. they all look like bandits when they drive around on their motorcycles and must be terribly uncomfortable.

somehow they can distinguish each other too. they pass each other, wave and yell friendly greetings. somehow they must recognize the bucket hats, masks or arm-length gloves. "oh, phuong has the purple gloves with the cream colored bucket hat with the cherry on it and the light colored gloves." i assume it goes something like that.

the final accessory required of most vietnamese women is the shoe. the shoes worn by most women are large, tall and look unbearably uncomfortable. some are two inches tall. some are taller. they make walking impossible and work difficult. i can't believe what the women go through here to look "beautiful".

however, bucket hats are by far the worst.

traditional vietnamese dress is still worn. the ao dai.

the ao dai is a type of dress worn by the women of vietnam. most of the girls wear it to class and, if you’ve ever had the privilege of seeing one in action, it’s a most seductive sight.

the girls are clad head to toe in cloth. the cloth that the students wear is a white, patterned variety. teachers wear whatever pattern they well please. the bottom half is a pair of loose fitting pants. they are not unlike normal pants. they are loose and wave happily in the wind. the top is something else entirely.

the collar is high and stretches up to the jawbone. it is straight and holds its place. it has a small, v-like cut in the middle. the cut doesn’t drop more than the length of the collar. the sleeves extend to the wrists. the front and back of the top part seem to flow forever. they are long strands of cloth that fall below the knees. the cloth is wide and square. it flows in front and in back like banners. the sides are sliced up to the top of the waist. two separate pieces of cloth lead and follow the wearer.

i have no idea why it is so spellbinding. i have no idea why it captures the imagination so. when girls ride bicycles they have to sit on the back half of the top part and hold the front part of the top half in their right or left hand.

it is only a pair of pants and a shirt but it is vietnam. it defines so much. it is conservative yet flashy. the girls are quite yet proud. nothing seems to make sense and all is lost in a complex wave of cloth.

geoffrey chaucer wrote the canterbury tales in 1387. well, some people say it was earlier and some people say it was later. no one’s really sure. they do know that it was one of the first examples of an oral tradition morphing into a literary one. he was (is) an important person.

today i taught about chaucer for four hours. the canterbury tales are a series of stories told by pilgrims on their way to the cathedral in canterbury. there are thirty pilgrims and most tell a tale. we are focusing on the tale of the pardoner. his tale is about three young men who are trying to find death. instead, they find gold. they end up killing each other.

i taught about medieval stuff. today i explained why something written over 600 years ago was important for vietnamese students to understand. i don’t know if i even convinced myself.

i was met with blank stares; sometimes a furrowed brow.

it’s quite difficult to explain the importance of the catholic church in the fourteenth century to these students. there’s a large, catholic church in town but it is grey and ominous. at night there’s a cross that lights up on its steeple. it can plainly be seen from miles around. i can easily see it from the roof of my building. it lights up pink. it’s a pink cross that shines as a beacon. neon pink.

explaining what indulgences are is also quite a task. explaining what knights, friars, monks and squires are requires a good deal of forethought.

my teaching was a whirlwind of hand gestures, emotional exclamations and large dusts of chalk dust. the board was fully covered with dates and names a number of times. how much of it was absorbed is yet to be truly known.

we’ve covered chaucer and move on to shakespeare. i think i’m learning more than i’m teaching.

geoffrey chaucer wrote the canterbury tales in 1387. well, some people say it was earlier and some people say it was later. no one’s really sure. they do know that it was one of the first examples of an oral tradition morphing into a literary one. he was (is) an important person.

today i taught about chaucer for four hours. the canterbury tales are a series of stories told by pilgrims on their way to the cathedral in canterbury. there are thirty pilgrims and most tell a tale. we are focusing on the tale of the pardoner. his tale is about three young men who are trying to find death. instead, they find gold. they end up killing each other.

i taught about medieval stuff. today i explained why something written over 600 years ago was important for vietnamese students to understand. i don’t know if i even convinced myself.

i was met with blank stares; sometimes a furrowed brow.

it’s quite difficult to explain the importance of the catholic church in the fourteenth century to these students. there’s a large, catholic church in town but it is grey and ominous. at night there’s a cross that lights up on its steeple. it can plainly be seen from miles around. i can easily see it from the roof of my building. it lights up pink. it’s a pink cross that shines as a beacon. neon pink.

explaining what indulgences are is also quite a task. explaining what knights, friars, monks and squires are requires a good deal of forethought.

my teaching was a whirlwind of hand gestures, emotional exclamations and large dusts of chalk dust. the board was fully covered with dates and names a number of times. how much of it was absorbed is yet to be truly known.

we’ve covered chaucer and move on to shakespeare. i think i’m learning more than i’m teaching.

during the dry season, the sunsets are incredible. they are breathtaking. they are all postcards. they all make you wish you had your camera.

they are blood red, fire orange and slowly fade to majestic purple. the dust rises up into the atmosphere. the dust and dirt makes them beautiful. the same dust and dirt that is thrown in your eyes when you’re driving and clings to your feet like a second layer of skin.

the sun slowly moves down to where the earth meets the sky. it hovers and then falls beyond. it stares at you as if falls and you can’t help but stare back. we are all moths and it is our summer porch light.

the year of the goat has been upon us for almost an entire month. we celebrated by eating goat. i could think of no better way to further my understanding of the year to come.

it was a combination of roasted goat and goat in a hot-pot (pot of boiling vegetables). a small, camping-type stove is brought to your table and you’re appointed chef. the goat meat came sliced thinly.

it jumped and screamed on the grill. it tasted like beef with thick skin. skin that tasted something like rubber and plastic. it seemed to wallow in your mouth for hours as you mindlessly chomp.

there was a sign on the wall that said something about fresh bear. i asked some of my vietnamese friends but no one could thoroughly explain. they said that there was a bear in the back and that, if you wanted, you could pay for one of its kidneys. it didn’t make too much sense to me. i wrote the word down and came home. the word was bile.

you could go to this fine establishment and order fresh bear bile. i guess it has some medicinal value. the bear bile was fresh as fresh can be. it was important that you saw them extract it from the bear because, if you didn’t, it could be watered down. watered down bear bile. who would want such a thing?

so, evidently, you can walk into the back and see a slumbering bear (i’d imagine tied to some sort of a log with a chain playing with an old car tire much like a bear in a zoo). you’d then watch them stick a needle somewhere in the bear and remove some sort of liquid that, i assume, is bear bile. i guess it looks fluorescent green; something like liquefied kryptonite. i don’t know if they put the bear to sleep or not but they probably do. either that or they get a few guys to hold him down properly.

then you do something with the bile. i don’t know, maybe you drink it. maybe you inject it into yourself. maybe you make some sort of bear bile martini. maybe you toss it over your right shoulder (or is it left?) for good luck much like salt.

well, in any case, we ate goat to celebrate the year of the goat. it’s a shame that i’ll only be here for the year of the goat and monkey because i’m really interested to see how this whole bear bile system works.