liberation day. twenty eight years ago to the day the resistance enced in the south. north and south vietnam were united.
everyone has off on the vietnamese fourth of july and some of the students asked julie and i to go to tri ton district with them. we were going to visit two million dollar hill.
we woke up early, took the dog to a friend’s house and headed south-west. the ride was pleasant until we saw a terrible accident. a young girl was laying on the road crying in the fetal position and an older man lay motionless in a large pool of blood that seemed to be coming out of his head. after that we drove much more carefully.
the hill was very festive. there were games and rides and music and lots of people there. we climbed up it once again and witnessed the gigantic rocks and the narrow caverns that the americans never seemed to be able to control. the visitors seemed to care less about the hill and more about having fun. they were mostly young and jumped and climbed from rock to rock taking photos.
the festive atmosphere was broken every few minutes by the banging sound of guns. there is a shooting range to the side of the hill and, for about 25 cents, you can shoot a gun. the gunshots echoed violently up the rock face of the mini-mountain. i jumped the first time i heard it. it made the experience that much more real for me.
we climbed down the hill that the american army showered with over two million dollars worth of bombs. i wondered what the area would have looked like if the american government would have spent two million dollars here on economic development. i wondered if the dry soil and tiny shacks on stilts would look any different. would you be able to see so many rib cages?
next there were games. there was a large bamboo swing that was mildly entertaining. there was also karaoke but i couldn’t be persuaded to sing. some people tried their luck on the bamboo balance beam. there was an irritating kid standing at one end making it shake. one game drew a lot of attention. one person would put on a large mask that acted as a blindfold. the mask was of a very pink man with a very white beard. they would be given a stick. nothing like a blind person swinging a stick for family fun! they would be placed about fifteen feet from a three pots that were suspended from a tree branch. his/her goal was to break one of the pots with the stick and win a prize. the blind stick wielder was also distracted by noise. one man played a large drum. another man followed the blind man with cymbals. a third man hummed and hooted into a bullhorn. the idea was to not let him hear the crowd’s directions. i tried it and missed but not by much. i saw a large rock on the ground near on of the pots. i took off my shoes and tried to find the rock with my bare feet. i found it but my swing was a bit off. i hit the pot with my hand.
as we were leaving someone suggested that i shoot some of the guns. i have never shot a gun in my life and didn’t really want to. soon enough i got carried up in the group enthusiasm. “sure, i’d love to shoot a gun for a quarter!”
i had also recently read that jeb bush said, “the sound of our guns is the sound of freedom.” since i had really never experienced the sound of guns before, i was sure i had never truly experienced freedom. i wanted a taste of true, american freedom.
there were three guns sitting on large blocks. one gun looked like something soldiers would have shot in world war one. the next gun looked like the guns that the communists are supposed to use and the final gun looked like the gun americans were supposed to use. the last gun was sheik and black and silver and magic. it looked light and smart. it looked as if bullets would simply hum out of its barrel and, through the work of technology and ideological superiority, find their target mercilessly. i gravitated towards the american gun and crouched over it. i looked down the sight and decided what should fit with what. when i had decided, i held my breath, pushed the butt firmly against my shoulder and slowly pulled the trigger.
all the romance instantly left. all my fantasies about magic and bullets and zipping and zooming went up in a puff of smoke and a deafening blast. guns are only romantic with bullets still in them.
the “sound of freedom” turned out to be a eardrum-shattering, window-rattling explosion occurring an inch and a half from my right ear. the “sound of freedom” makes you shout a bit after you’ve heard it. the “sound of freedom” can be heard from miles around. the “sound of freedom” is caused when high explosives ignite behind a small, metal ball. the “sound of freedom” causes the ball to be thrust through the air at high rates of speed. if you’re on the other end of the “sound of freedom” stay as low as possible. if that doesn’t work, the “sound of freedom” will free your soul from your body.
i moved over to the communist gun. i was drawn by curiosity, not the student’s bidding. they had enough noise for one day but i wanted to know how the other ideology sounded.
the gun was wooden and handsome. it had a long, curving, voluptuous magazine underneath. the wood was shiny and contrasted nicely with the coal-black metal. i lowered myself onto the second gun. i pulled the butt close to my shoulder once again and looked down the shaft. i found my target and slowly squeezed the trigger.
once again, all the romance left in a flash of smoke and a deafening explosion happening an inch and a half from my right ear. the sound of that gun sounds remarkably similar to the sound of freedom. i wondered if my hearing wasn’t acute enough to distinguish the difference.
i walked back to the students and yelled something at them. they asked me something and i yelled back, “what?”
i never thought guns were sexy until i held one. i always knew guns like the ones i shot today were machines designed for one thing and one thing only. i find that thing absolutely repulsive. after i shot one i realized how truly ugly they are. i guess it’s a simple lesson to learn. they have a remarkably powerful and alluring charm but once you’ve dug a bit deeper, all that charm seems to vanish into the boom-thud-bang-crash-kill-maim-and/or-injure “sound of freedom”.
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
what kind of music do vietnamese youth enjoy? well, they are fed a steady diet of pop songs that deal with love. they should be experts on the subject.
they sit in coffee shops all over southern vietnam staring at televisions. they sit next to each other. they never sit across from each other. they sit in lawn chairs in dimly lit places. they watch music videos. they do this for hours.
the videos are really quite a variety. sometimes it’s a young man with blonde streaks in his hair singing about how he lost his girlfriend and how much he misses her. sometimes it is a woman with blonde streaks singing about how much she misses her old boyfriend. sometimes it is a group of girls singing about how they just can’t get the thought of one boy or another out of their head. sometimes it’s a group of boys singing about how they can’t get the thought of one girl or another out of their head. sometimes the group is a combination of boys and girls singing about love in one form or another.
a few of the songs are bitter towards love. one chorus cries, “cry, cry, cry! i don’t care.” (translation). other songs talk about how love makes some people resilient. one chorus cries, “some day i’ll sing. i’ll sing and we’ll be together again.” other songs are just silly and about love. one chorus happily chants (in english), “forget me, forget me not!” i’ve never used the phrase “forget me not” but it has become quite a popular song over here.
young people don’t like rock or rap or anything like that. it actually doesn’t exist. i went to buy a vietnamese rap cd and was told to head up to saigon and find it in some shady corner shop. young people devour songs about love. most of them will admit that they’ve never been in love before. they will also spend hours expounding on the awesome power of the stuff.
i personally can’t stand the music. the songs are repeat constantly. jack, julie and i have half of them memorized already.
they sit in coffee shops all over southern vietnam staring at televisions. they sit next to each other. they never sit across from each other. they sit in lawn chairs in dimly lit places. they watch music videos. they do this for hours.
the videos are really quite a variety. sometimes it’s a young man with blonde streaks in his hair singing about how he lost his girlfriend and how much he misses her. sometimes it is a woman with blonde streaks singing about how much she misses her old boyfriend. sometimes it is a group of girls singing about how they just can’t get the thought of one boy or another out of their head. sometimes it’s a group of boys singing about how they can’t get the thought of one girl or another out of their head. sometimes the group is a combination of boys and girls singing about love in one form or another.
a few of the songs are bitter towards love. one chorus cries, “cry, cry, cry! i don’t care.” (translation). other songs talk about how love makes some people resilient. one chorus cries, “some day i’ll sing. i’ll sing and we’ll be together again.” other songs are just silly and about love. one chorus happily chants (in english), “forget me, forget me not!” i’ve never used the phrase “forget me not” but it has become quite a popular song over here.
young people don’t like rock or rap or anything like that. it actually doesn’t exist. i went to buy a vietnamese rap cd and was told to head up to saigon and find it in some shady corner shop. young people devour songs about love. most of them will admit that they’ve never been in love before. they will also spend hours expounding on the awesome power of the stuff.
i personally can’t stand the music. the songs are repeat constantly. jack, julie and i have half of them memorized already.
Monday, April 28, 2003
there’s a large, concrete box near where i live. it’s where all the teachers wash themselves.
i’ve actually never seen a female teacher washing themselves there. it’s always men. they walk out in their underwear, lather up and bathe.
first they cover themselves in water. secondly, they use their soap and wash all over. thirdly, they rinse off. it’s a simple process but they end up doing it on the side of the road.
the road that leads to our house is gravel. it is full of potholes. the large, concrete box sits right along side the road. that’s where people take baths.
i don’t know how the female teachers get clean. i don’t know if they ever take a bath. i know how the male teachers get clean. they rinse by the side of the road. i don’t know how they ever actually feel clean though.
i’ve actually never seen a female teacher washing themselves there. it’s always men. they walk out in their underwear, lather up and bathe.
first they cover themselves in water. secondly, they use their soap and wash all over. thirdly, they rinse off. it’s a simple process but they end up doing it on the side of the road.
the road that leads to our house is gravel. it is full of potholes. the large, concrete box sits right along side the road. that’s where people take baths.
i don’t know how the female teachers get clean. i don’t know if they ever take a bath. i know how the male teachers get clean. they rinse by the side of the road. i don’t know how they ever actually feel clean though.
Sunday, April 27, 2003
it snowed black soot today. i was sitting outside of our cozy kitchen when it all happened. the blue sky with violently pink and purple clouds opened up and ashes rained down on us all. i sat staring up at the sky wondering why it was all happening and what it all meant. i decided it was nothing and went back to staring except this time i didn’t think about anything.
there are a lot of brush fires in these parts. the area is dry and it’s a good time to burn anything worth burnin’. many people clear fields this way and thick trails of smoke run up to the sky horizontally. some people build small brush fires next to the roads and you walk and ride through them. they’re harmless and you hold your breath because you don’t know what’s in the smoke. the smoke wafts around you like you’re wading through weightless water.
the fires on the streets are made out of a variety of things. sometimes they burn old, dried coconuts. they have been drank by thirsty vietnamese people and then discarded. the sun sucks out all of the moisture and they burn easily. all you have to do is put them on a pile and light a match. sometimes on campus they burn small piles of leaves and sticks. there are open areas with large trees and the sticks and leaves and anything else the tree lets fall are gathered into small groups. they’re all lit at the same time and they all leave horizontal smoke trails up to the sky. all the trails point the same direction but some are closer than others. i stand and watch them burn.
there’s something fascinating about fire and there’s something beautiful and mysterious about smoke.
there are a lot of brush fires in these parts. the area is dry and it’s a good time to burn anything worth burnin’. many people clear fields this way and thick trails of smoke run up to the sky horizontally. some people build small brush fires next to the roads and you walk and ride through them. they’re harmless and you hold your breath because you don’t know what’s in the smoke. the smoke wafts around you like you’re wading through weightless water.
the fires on the streets are made out of a variety of things. sometimes they burn old, dried coconuts. they have been drank by thirsty vietnamese people and then discarded. the sun sucks out all of the moisture and they burn easily. all you have to do is put them on a pile and light a match. sometimes on campus they burn small piles of leaves and sticks. there are open areas with large trees and the sticks and leaves and anything else the tree lets fall are gathered into small groups. they’re all lit at the same time and they all leave horizontal smoke trails up to the sky. all the trails point the same direction but some are closer than others. i stand and watch them burn.
there’s something fascinating about fire and there’s something beautiful and mysterious about smoke.
Friday, April 25, 2003
the other day we had a guest teacher come to talk about english literature and poetry and what not. he is a fulbright scholar and i was quite intimidated. i taught the students he was speaking to and there’s no way i could compete with a fulbright scholar who has a phd in english lit.
he came wearing an incredibly hilarious shirt. it was teal and plaid and he had a dark brown tie. the shirt fit him like a large, plaid trash-bag. he also had a chain that connected his wallet to his pants. all in all it was a humorous outfit.
he began by asking the students some general questions about english and american literature. i sat in the back of the room with my arms folded and my neck craned. i fished through the crowd and found some of the more intelligent students. i watched them. they answered the questions quickly and well and i settled back into my seat. i had passed the test.
he spent the rest of the time lecturing about walt witman and his poetry. he spent a good two hours talking about one poem and the students didn’t much understand it. the poem compared the soul to a spider’s web. he talked about how the soul spins invisible webs with our experiences and surroundings through our five senses. he talked about how the soul doesn’t exist physically but it relates to the world somewhat in a physical way. he drew things on the board and i have never seen anyone as absent minded. his notes on the board followed no pattern at all. sometimes he would right in the top right, next time the bottom left, next time between somewhere and finally in any space left unoccupied. he drew webs and noses and hands and lines that didn’t seem to have any meaning. i couldn’t follow it but found it all very interesting. i appreciated what he said about the soul but the students didn’t get it.
i think they were looking at his shirt and tie.
he came wearing an incredibly hilarious shirt. it was teal and plaid and he had a dark brown tie. the shirt fit him like a large, plaid trash-bag. he also had a chain that connected his wallet to his pants. all in all it was a humorous outfit.
he began by asking the students some general questions about english and american literature. i sat in the back of the room with my arms folded and my neck craned. i fished through the crowd and found some of the more intelligent students. i watched them. they answered the questions quickly and well and i settled back into my seat. i had passed the test.
he spent the rest of the time lecturing about walt witman and his poetry. he spent a good two hours talking about one poem and the students didn’t much understand it. the poem compared the soul to a spider’s web. he talked about how the soul spins invisible webs with our experiences and surroundings through our five senses. he talked about how the soul doesn’t exist physically but it relates to the world somewhat in a physical way. he drew things on the board and i have never seen anyone as absent minded. his notes on the board followed no pattern at all. sometimes he would right in the top right, next time the bottom left, next time between somewhere and finally in any space left unoccupied. he drew webs and noses and hands and lines that didn’t seem to have any meaning. i couldn’t follow it but found it all very interesting. i appreciated what he said about the soul but the students didn’t get it.
i think they were looking at his shirt and tie.
we went to the hospital the other day. one of my students came down with something serious and we decided it was the right thing to go and visit him.
the hospital here sits on a thin street. it sits very, very close to the street. people were everywhere and i became weary as we got closer. i never liked hospitals. they seem less like a place where people get better and more like a place where you store society’s contagious population.
the hospital was the center of commerce in the area. there’s no question about that. people were selling anything you could imagine. small gifts for visitors. lots and lots of different kinds of food. the streets were packed.
the hospital is laid out as a series of buildings inside of a compound. they are all separated by grassy paths and trees and benches and more vendors. the buildings are all either two or three stories and it took us a long time to find the right one.
we found the right one and entered. my student was inside a large room filled with beds. you had to take your shoes off before you entered and all of the nurses and doctors had masks on. the air in hospitals is always thick. the air always seems harder to breath. i’m always afraid i’m going to get some strange disease and was probably exposed to a bunch of new viruses. the beds were laid out into two rows facing each other. there was space between the beds for walking and little else. we sat next to the student and talked to him a little in butchered english. he looked pale and tired. he was wearing a pair of jeans and a hospital smock. we only stayed for a bit and the lady laying in the bed behind me kept touching the back of my shirt. it was eerie and i wanted to leave.
we left through the middle of the hospital compound. one person was selling beer and cigarettes. i couldn’t imagine who would want beer and cigarettes at a hospital and spent most of the rest of the day thinking about it.
the hospital here sits on a thin street. it sits very, very close to the street. people were everywhere and i became weary as we got closer. i never liked hospitals. they seem less like a place where people get better and more like a place where you store society’s contagious population.
the hospital was the center of commerce in the area. there’s no question about that. people were selling anything you could imagine. small gifts for visitors. lots and lots of different kinds of food. the streets were packed.
the hospital is laid out as a series of buildings inside of a compound. they are all separated by grassy paths and trees and benches and more vendors. the buildings are all either two or three stories and it took us a long time to find the right one.
we found the right one and entered. my student was inside a large room filled with beds. you had to take your shoes off before you entered and all of the nurses and doctors had masks on. the air in hospitals is always thick. the air always seems harder to breath. i’m always afraid i’m going to get some strange disease and was probably exposed to a bunch of new viruses. the beds were laid out into two rows facing each other. there was space between the beds for walking and little else. we sat next to the student and talked to him a little in butchered english. he looked pale and tired. he was wearing a pair of jeans and a hospital smock. we only stayed for a bit and the lady laying in the bed behind me kept touching the back of my shirt. it was eerie and i wanted to leave.
we left through the middle of the hospital compound. one person was selling beer and cigarettes. i couldn’t imagine who would want beer and cigarettes at a hospital and spent most of the rest of the day thinking about it.
our little boy is sick.
julie found him sniffing through a bag of laundry detergent a few days ago. he must have ingested a few of the soapy granules. ever since then, he’s been moping around the house and throwing up. his ears are low and his eyes are sullen. he looks miserable and doesn’t eat.
we took him to the vet. we were determined to have him feel better.
the vet is located in the middle of a busy street. it is the bottom floor of a residential house and there is a built-in operating room. the operating room is outfitted with glass walls so all the passing lottery ticket sellers and random strangers can watch whatever gruesome operation they choose. there are a variety of operating tables. some of them are fitted with muzzles. others have metal grates for bottoms as to allow all the blood and guts to drop all the way to the tiled floor.
there are large, glass cabinets holding all sorts of knives, needles and magic bottles of potions. a small girl walked out wearing a teal shirt and slippers. she looked like she just woke up and didn’t seem much concerned for the health of our dog. we were very concerned and all stood shifting our weight from foot to foot like pendulums.
she first took his temperature. you don’t take an animal’s temperature orally or under the armpit and jota didn’t seem much to enjoy it. he squirmed and whined a bit but we held him firmly. he didn’t have a temperature.
she decided the he must have eaten some sort of chemical and started to produce bottle after bottle of magic liquid. she mixed them all together and we ended up with two syringes full.
now comes the fun part.
she sat the dog on my lap and got out a green piece of cloth. she tied it around his mouth twice and then looped it behind his head. she wiped the back of the dog with some sort of alcohol and then jabbed the needle straight down into the dog. the needle was at least two inches long and she didn’t seem to angle it at all. the dog lurched this way and that and the needle fell out once. he moaned and yelled and screamed and wanted to die. we held him firmly even though the needle must have been rubbing against all sorts of organs and muscles. the second needle was put in at an angle directly under the skin. he didn’t mind it as much but moaned and squirmed.
we asked what to feed him and they said, don’t feed him rice, don’t feed him milk but give him some chao. i said, “what is chao?” no one could answer my question but we went looking for the miracle remedy.
we found it on a street corner being sold by a very slow moving old lady. i asked for one bag of chao to go and she started rummaging through a box laying next to her. she rummaged slowly, very slowly. she took out tongue, stomach, intestine, liver and something that looked like brain. she took a chop off of each of them and put them in a bag. she then opened a pot that looked to be full of dirty water. it was brown, steaming and had darker things floating in it. it turned out to be some sort of rice gruel. she put it all in a bag and we headed home.
our dog still won’t eat anything and sits under one of the benches in my room. hopefully he gets better soon.
julie found him sniffing through a bag of laundry detergent a few days ago. he must have ingested a few of the soapy granules. ever since then, he’s been moping around the house and throwing up. his ears are low and his eyes are sullen. he looks miserable and doesn’t eat.
we took him to the vet. we were determined to have him feel better.
the vet is located in the middle of a busy street. it is the bottom floor of a residential house and there is a built-in operating room. the operating room is outfitted with glass walls so all the passing lottery ticket sellers and random strangers can watch whatever gruesome operation they choose. there are a variety of operating tables. some of them are fitted with muzzles. others have metal grates for bottoms as to allow all the blood and guts to drop all the way to the tiled floor.
there are large, glass cabinets holding all sorts of knives, needles and magic bottles of potions. a small girl walked out wearing a teal shirt and slippers. she looked like she just woke up and didn’t seem much concerned for the health of our dog. we were very concerned and all stood shifting our weight from foot to foot like pendulums.
she first took his temperature. you don’t take an animal’s temperature orally or under the armpit and jota didn’t seem much to enjoy it. he squirmed and whined a bit but we held him firmly. he didn’t have a temperature.
she decided the he must have eaten some sort of chemical and started to produce bottle after bottle of magic liquid. she mixed them all together and we ended up with two syringes full.
now comes the fun part.
she sat the dog on my lap and got out a green piece of cloth. she tied it around his mouth twice and then looped it behind his head. she wiped the back of the dog with some sort of alcohol and then jabbed the needle straight down into the dog. the needle was at least two inches long and she didn’t seem to angle it at all. the dog lurched this way and that and the needle fell out once. he moaned and yelled and screamed and wanted to die. we held him firmly even though the needle must have been rubbing against all sorts of organs and muscles. the second needle was put in at an angle directly under the skin. he didn’t mind it as much but moaned and squirmed.
we asked what to feed him and they said, don’t feed him rice, don’t feed him milk but give him some chao. i said, “what is chao?” no one could answer my question but we went looking for the miracle remedy.
we found it on a street corner being sold by a very slow moving old lady. i asked for one bag of chao to go and she started rummaging through a box laying next to her. she rummaged slowly, very slowly. she took out tongue, stomach, intestine, liver and something that looked like brain. she took a chop off of each of them and put them in a bag. she then opened a pot that looked to be full of dirty water. it was brown, steaming and had darker things floating in it. it turned out to be some sort of rice gruel. she put it all in a bag and we headed home.
our dog still won’t eat anything and sits under one of the benches in my room. hopefully he gets better soon.
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
when you have two people riding on one bicycle you have too much weight on the back tire. if you turn too quickly it will slide out from underneath you. when you pedal through rough terrain you will feel all of the bumps.
today we got a special seat put on our bicycles. we already had a small, flat rack behind the seat the driver sits on but today we swapped our metal grates for black padding. now someone can ride behind us in style and comfort.
i went to play football with a professor in the art department. he is an amiable fellow and has flowing hair with some grey streaks. he hopped on the back of my bicycle and we were off.
it’s difficult to start off with two people. first you stagger back and forth while you build up speed to achieve balance. this takes a bit and the person on the back leads off with both legs spread out like training wheels. the next stage is building enough speed to feel comfortable. this takes quite a bit of leg power and the person behind you in unbearably close to you. they have to hold on to your stomach or hips for security. the last stage requires that you maneuver through traffic. the weight on the back of the bike makes everything feel lethargic. when you turn you always over-lean. when you stop, you never give yourself enough room. it’s as if you’ve gained a few hundred pounds since the last time you cycled.
when i was a child growing up in my secure, suburban enclave, i never though that two people could ride on one bicycle. everyone needed their own bicycle to navigate the state-build cycle trails that looped around our house. you needed your own bike because you wanted to be the master of your own fate. if you wanted to jump a curb or ride over some mound of dirt, so be it. now i see that bicycles are built for two even if they don’t have two sets of pedals. bicycles are a cheap, relatively safe alternative to our put-put combustion lives.
today we got a special seat put on our bicycles. we already had a small, flat rack behind the seat the driver sits on but today we swapped our metal grates for black padding. now someone can ride behind us in style and comfort.
i went to play football with a professor in the art department. he is an amiable fellow and has flowing hair with some grey streaks. he hopped on the back of my bicycle and we were off.
it’s difficult to start off with two people. first you stagger back and forth while you build up speed to achieve balance. this takes a bit and the person on the back leads off with both legs spread out like training wheels. the next stage is building enough speed to feel comfortable. this takes quite a bit of leg power and the person behind you in unbearably close to you. they have to hold on to your stomach or hips for security. the last stage requires that you maneuver through traffic. the weight on the back of the bike makes everything feel lethargic. when you turn you always over-lean. when you stop, you never give yourself enough room. it’s as if you’ve gained a few hundred pounds since the last time you cycled.
when i was a child growing up in my secure, suburban enclave, i never though that two people could ride on one bicycle. everyone needed their own bicycle to navigate the state-build cycle trails that looped around our house. you needed your own bike because you wanted to be the master of your own fate. if you wanted to jump a curb or ride over some mound of dirt, so be it. now i see that bicycles are built for two even if they don’t have two sets of pedals. bicycles are a cheap, relatively safe alternative to our put-put combustion lives.
when you have two people riding on one bicycle you have too much weight on the back tire. if you turn too quickly it will slide out from underneath you. when you pedal through rough terrain you will feel all of the bumps.
today we got a special seat put on our bicycles. we already had a small, flat rack behind the seat the driver sits on but today we swapped our metal grates for black padding. now someone can ride behind us in style and comfort.
i went to play football with a professor in the art department. he is an amiable fellow and has flowing hair with some grey streaks. he hopped on the back of my bicycle and we were off.
it’s difficult to start off with two people. first you stagger back and forth while you build up speed to achieve balance. this takes a bit and the person on the back leads off with both legs spread out like training wheels. the next stage is building enough speed to feel comfortable. this takes quite a bit of leg power and the person behind you in unbearably close to you. they have to hold on to your stomach or hips for security. the last stage requires that you maneuver through traffic. the weight on the back of the bike makes everything feel lethargic. when you turn you always over-lean. when you stop, you never give yourself enough room. it’s as if you’ve gained a few hundred pounds since the last time you cycled.
when i was a child growing up in my secure, suburban enclave, i never though that two people could ride on one bicycle. everyone needed their own bicycle to navigate the state-build cycle trails that looped around our house. you needed your own bike because you wanted to be the master of your own fate. if you wanted to jump a curb or ride over some mound of dirt, so be it. now i see that bicycles are built for two even if they don’t have two sets of pedals. bicycles are a cheap, relatively safe alternative to our put-put combustion lives.
today we got a special seat put on our bicycles. we already had a small, flat rack behind the seat the driver sits on but today we swapped our metal grates for black padding. now someone can ride behind us in style and comfort.
i went to play football with a professor in the art department. he is an amiable fellow and has flowing hair with some grey streaks. he hopped on the back of my bicycle and we were off.
it’s difficult to start off with two people. first you stagger back and forth while you build up speed to achieve balance. this takes a bit and the person on the back leads off with both legs spread out like training wheels. the next stage is building enough speed to feel comfortable. this takes quite a bit of leg power and the person behind you in unbearably close to you. they have to hold on to your stomach or hips for security. the last stage requires that you maneuver through traffic. the weight on the back of the bike makes everything feel lethargic. when you turn you always over-lean. when you stop, you never give yourself enough room. it’s as if you’ve gained a few hundred pounds since the last time you cycled.
when i was a child growing up in my secure, suburban enclave, i never though that two people could ride on one bicycle. everyone needed their own bicycle to navigate the state-build cycle trails that looped around our house. you needed your own bike because you wanted to be the master of your own fate. if you wanted to jump a curb or ride over some mound of dirt, so be it. now i see that bicycles are built for two even if they don’t have two sets of pedals. bicycles are a cheap, relatively safe alternative to our put-put combustion lives.
Monday, April 21, 2003
Sunday, April 20, 2003
the rest of da lat was beautiful. we ambled through a gigantic market. it was grey and solidly build and the roof was high. the stands were all butted up against one another and people sat inside watching potential customers pass. we bought a variety of things. da lat is famous for its strawberries and we were perpetually carrying a bag with us. it is also famous for its flowers. i bought some flowers and felt sappy doing so. it was nice. jam is also important. the jam is more glue like than it is jam as i would know it. oh, we also bought some dried deer meat.
the rest of the night was spent walking around the narrow, windy streets and enjoying the fresh air. imagine a place with no humidity and mild temperatures all year long. imagine a place that is the polar opposite of the mekong. if you threw a piece of gum on a tin-roof it would hold its place for centuries.
the architecture of the city is a strange combination of french, 60’s chintz and massive soviet buildings. the streets are euopean but the people are vietnamese. the narrow stairways that lead from one street to another and wind around the sides of curved buildings reminded me a lot of spain. the people sitting on the street corner pedaling all sorts of home-made food reminded me of the mekong.
the bus ride home was the final adventure. we all wanted to be home and no one wanted to sit in an ancient bus for 11 hours. no one wanted to watch the dog vomit any more. the bus was huge and square looking. it had one speaker for music that happened to be beside my seat. the music blared on and on and on and on. the seats were covered with floral cushions. the floor was some sort of mustard linolieum. the windows were large and you could slide them open. i spend most of the trip just enjoying the exhaust-filled breeze.
you can’t drive quickly either. it was only 90 miles until we arrived in saigon but it took us three hours without stopping. lots of bends, lots of slow moving trucks and plenty of horn honking.
we arrived in the mekong and the temperature was unbearable. after spending so much time in the frigid mountains of da lat, the heat of the jungle was suffocating. our bus drove off the ferry about a mile from long xuyen. our dog somehow sensed that we were close. he moved positions from the floor, where he sat, slouching, with his ears lowered and his tongue hanging out of his mouth looking like he was trying to find a way to end his life quickly and painlessly instead of bouncing around on this ancient soviet bus, to my lap. he poked his head out of the window and began to sniff. he smelled something and his tail began to wag. he smiled and his ears perked up. i was just about as happy to be home.
the rest of the night was spent walking around the narrow, windy streets and enjoying the fresh air. imagine a place with no humidity and mild temperatures all year long. imagine a place that is the polar opposite of the mekong. if you threw a piece of gum on a tin-roof it would hold its place for centuries.
the architecture of the city is a strange combination of french, 60’s chintz and massive soviet buildings. the streets are euopean but the people are vietnamese. the narrow stairways that lead from one street to another and wind around the sides of curved buildings reminded me a lot of spain. the people sitting on the street corner pedaling all sorts of home-made food reminded me of the mekong.
the bus ride home was the final adventure. we all wanted to be home and no one wanted to sit in an ancient bus for 11 hours. no one wanted to watch the dog vomit any more. the bus was huge and square looking. it had one speaker for music that happened to be beside my seat. the music blared on and on and on and on. the seats were covered with floral cushions. the floor was some sort of mustard linolieum. the windows were large and you could slide them open. i spend most of the trip just enjoying the exhaust-filled breeze.
you can’t drive quickly either. it was only 90 miles until we arrived in saigon but it took us three hours without stopping. lots of bends, lots of slow moving trucks and plenty of horn honking.
we arrived in the mekong and the temperature was unbearable. after spending so much time in the frigid mountains of da lat, the heat of the jungle was suffocating. our bus drove off the ferry about a mile from long xuyen. our dog somehow sensed that we were close. he moved positions from the floor, where he sat, slouching, with his ears lowered and his tongue hanging out of his mouth looking like he was trying to find a way to end his life quickly and painlessly instead of bouncing around on this ancient soviet bus, to my lap. he poked his head out of the window and began to sniff. he smelled something and his tail began to wag. he smiled and his ears perked up. i was just about as happy to be home.
Saturday, April 19, 2003
da lat. what a beautiful city with chintz all around.
today we went to the "lake of sorrows". there wasn't any water in the lake. it could have more fittingly been called the mud-hole of misery. there were also statues of indians and deer all around. we got a few pictures of jota perched on top.
this trip is turning out to be quite a vacation. i'm learning what it means to be a teacher on a field trip. there is much frustration and responcibility.
tonight we go to the market and buy odd things.
today we went to the "lake of sorrows". there wasn't any water in the lake. it could have more fittingly been called the mud-hole of misery. there were also statues of indians and deer all around. we got a few pictures of jota perched on top.
this trip is turning out to be quite a vacation. i'm learning what it means to be a teacher on a field trip. there is much frustration and responcibility.
tonight we go to the market and buy odd things.
Friday, April 18, 2003
eleven hours on a bus with jota. things like this shouldn't happen to anyone who is civilized or has any sense of pre-planning. we went with around 80 students to da lat and there was no one to take care of the dog. there was no one else that the dog would listen to. the lady who used to take care of the dog wouldn't do it anymore because she said it was too big and she was afraid it would bite her.
the trip started out terribly. we boarded the bus at around 2 in the morning and set off on the bumpy, one-lane bridged trip north. the dog sat on the back bench between jack and me while we tried to sleep. it wasn't a comfortable ride by any account. the dog began vomiting about an hour into the trip. he vomited on jack's pants and in my hair (i fell asleep laying down and the dog sat by my head. he didn't have much room to puke and i guess my hair looked inviting.) the rest of the trip the dog sat solemnly on the back seat looking straight ahead. it was a blank stare. he kept drooling too. he doesn't usually drool. there was also music on the bus but the speakers were directly above our heads. the music was loud and pop and continued throughout the night even though the entire bus was trying to sleep. the bumps, vomit and loud music really created a macabre scene.
the sun rose to our right as we passed through saigon. it was a beautiful sight but we were all exhausted. the scenery changed drastically in the remaining five or six hours of the trip. the jungle faded away and coniferous trees began to emerge. the flat mekong gave way to a quite hilly countryside. our bus slowed down a bit and began to negotiate turns plagued with veering motorcycle drivers. the hills were beautiful. the dirt is every shade of orange and red. the trees remind me of northern carolina and we began to enter a new world. we were now in "middle vietnam".
the streets of da lat are narrow and the atmosphere is a strange combination of europian design and vietnamese culture. i'm working very hard on placing my finger on exactly how to define.
the weather in da lat is gorgeous. i could stay here forever. it is cool but not cold. it is warm but not hot. it reminds me of home in so many ways (except for our blistering julys and our frigid februarys). i walk around the town in a short sleeved shirt and long pants and feel absurdly comfortable. it is a world away from our 100 degree days in long xuyen.
the trip, as are most school organized trips, is chocked full of events. today we went to the famous da lat gardens. we went to a huge monastery with beautiful buildings. it was serene and peaceful. i could have fallen asleep there after such a night as last night staring aimlessly at ancient banzai trees and listening to peaceful gongs being sounded. we also visited some strange taxidermy museum. i have no idea why you would take a group of students to such a museum but they did. it was full of ratty dead things. the teeth on most of the animals were protruding and they were fitted with strange glass eyes. the eyes added to the eerie effect. we also visited the "valley of love". it really should be renamed the "valley of commercialism and chintz". i sat on a pony, held jota and jack took a picture. that should be a classic. we also visited a jam factory which wasn't a factory at all. it was a series of tables that sold jam.
we also visited the university here. it is a majestic university and the buildings are all set up on hills making them seem like ominous fortresses. we entered one of the largest and were greeted by a large group of students. we sat through an incredibly strange morning session of songs, games and introductions. i was asked to introduce myself in vietnamese. most foreigners can't speak it and i was incredibly nervous. i couldn't believe how much i was shaking simply by saying a few simple things in vietnamese and then sitting down. i tried to hide it but i don't know if i was successful.
we have a day and a half here before we head back to long xuyen. jota seems to be okay and is enjoying sniffing other dogs, eating dirt and leading us around when he's on a leash. i can only hope the bus ride home is less traumatic for all involved. does anyone know a good doggie sedative?
the trip started out terribly. we boarded the bus at around 2 in the morning and set off on the bumpy, one-lane bridged trip north. the dog sat on the back bench between jack and me while we tried to sleep. it wasn't a comfortable ride by any account. the dog began vomiting about an hour into the trip. he vomited on jack's pants and in my hair (i fell asleep laying down and the dog sat by my head. he didn't have much room to puke and i guess my hair looked inviting.) the rest of the trip the dog sat solemnly on the back seat looking straight ahead. it was a blank stare. he kept drooling too. he doesn't usually drool. there was also music on the bus but the speakers were directly above our heads. the music was loud and pop and continued throughout the night even though the entire bus was trying to sleep. the bumps, vomit and loud music really created a macabre scene.
the sun rose to our right as we passed through saigon. it was a beautiful sight but we were all exhausted. the scenery changed drastically in the remaining five or six hours of the trip. the jungle faded away and coniferous trees began to emerge. the flat mekong gave way to a quite hilly countryside. our bus slowed down a bit and began to negotiate turns plagued with veering motorcycle drivers. the hills were beautiful. the dirt is every shade of orange and red. the trees remind me of northern carolina and we began to enter a new world. we were now in "middle vietnam".
the streets of da lat are narrow and the atmosphere is a strange combination of europian design and vietnamese culture. i'm working very hard on placing my finger on exactly how to define.
the weather in da lat is gorgeous. i could stay here forever. it is cool but not cold. it is warm but not hot. it reminds me of home in so many ways (except for our blistering julys and our frigid februarys). i walk around the town in a short sleeved shirt and long pants and feel absurdly comfortable. it is a world away from our 100 degree days in long xuyen.
the trip, as are most school organized trips, is chocked full of events. today we went to the famous da lat gardens. we went to a huge monastery with beautiful buildings. it was serene and peaceful. i could have fallen asleep there after such a night as last night staring aimlessly at ancient banzai trees and listening to peaceful gongs being sounded. we also visited some strange taxidermy museum. i have no idea why you would take a group of students to such a museum but they did. it was full of ratty dead things. the teeth on most of the animals were protruding and they were fitted with strange glass eyes. the eyes added to the eerie effect. we also visited the "valley of love". it really should be renamed the "valley of commercialism and chintz". i sat on a pony, held jota and jack took a picture. that should be a classic. we also visited a jam factory which wasn't a factory at all. it was a series of tables that sold jam.
we also visited the university here. it is a majestic university and the buildings are all set up on hills making them seem like ominous fortresses. we entered one of the largest and were greeted by a large group of students. we sat through an incredibly strange morning session of songs, games and introductions. i was asked to introduce myself in vietnamese. most foreigners can't speak it and i was incredibly nervous. i couldn't believe how much i was shaking simply by saying a few simple things in vietnamese and then sitting down. i tried to hide it but i don't know if i was successful.
we have a day and a half here before we head back to long xuyen. jota seems to be okay and is enjoying sniffing other dogs, eating dirt and leading us around when he's on a leash. i can only hope the bus ride home is less traumatic for all involved. does anyone know a good doggie sedative?
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
i lied. i never really experienced cambodian new year. i was there and did dance and did sing but i never really got the real thing.
one of my good friends, a khmer teacher, invited me to come to his home yesterday. we were going to go in the morning and come back in the afternoon. he lives in the tri ton district which is the home to many khmer people. many have lived there for generations and others fled there during pol pot’s reign.
the motorcycle ride was numbing to say the least and the scenery became more and more rural as we drove. the road followed a straight portion of the mekong and we raced boats carrying rice, chicken and anything else worth transport. a mountain appeared. the mekong is flat and rock hill looked like a tumor. we turned down a thin, paved road and soon found his home. the mountain towered directly behind us.
the driveway was dirt and arched to the right. the house was set back behind a small grove of trees and people milled about. there were two separate houses and two separate families living there. it was a very close community. the houses were wooden and weathered. they looked ancient. chickens, pigs, dogs and cows ambled about. behind the house there were wide fields that had recently been cultivated. the sun was high and it was hot.
i met his parents, grandparents, sisters and neighbors in one incredibly awkward minute. everyone spoke kmer and i didn’t understand a word. his father is tall and muscular. he has a bald head and looks a bit like a superhero. his mother has a wonderful smile with surprisingly straight, white teeth. his grandparents look as if they have seen everything. they quietly sat in the back of the room observing. his grandmother had only one beetle-juice stained tooth. it looked a bit like a fang but was cute, not threatening. his grandmother and grandfather were both bald. i also met jota’s mom. she is tall, lean and has an oddly large chest. her stomach is thin and she looks a bit like a greyhound. she had the same face as jota and similar markings. she made it a point to sit down next to me which made me feel good.
we went to the market to get food for the cambodian new year’s celebration. before we reached the market, my friend took me on a tour of the mountain that overlooked his house. we turned into some sort of park and it turns out we were standing at the foot of ‘two million dollar hill’: the hill that american’s spent around two million dollars bombing but to no avail. i had read about and couldn’t believe my luck. here i was, an american living in vietnam and about to spend cambodian new year with a rural farmer at the base of ‘two million dollar hill’. thirty years later so much has changed.
we climbed the hill and walked through the rock caves. the rocks on the hill are massive and round. they do not fit together and there are a number of caves and holes you can hide in. all of the caves were linked and each small tunnel had an explanation. i squeezed my body through the cracks. at times i could see the blue sky. i imagined planes flying overhead screaming and dropping bombs. the thought even scared me a bit. that piece of land had seen so much suffering. i stood looking down at the fields that surrounded the hill from inside one of the tunnels. i could see tanks and tents and all sorts of army-type men standing in the distance. i wondered what it would have felt like. the constant fear of death but the relative safety of the rock castle. it was mother nature’s fortress and, for a moment, it felt like no amount of napalm cold destroy her.
at the market, we bought fish. they were half alive and flopping around in a thin pool of water. the fish-lady grabbed them, clunked them over the head but it didn’t really kill them and began scaling them. she also cut their faces off. not their heads, their faces. i bought a new shirt because i found out i was staying the night and had only expected to stay until the afternoon. i also needed something nice to wear for the new year’s party.
they told me to take a shower. i went in the back to the shower room and found a small tub of water waiting for me. i dolloped water all over and pretended to have soap. while i was standing there naked, i looked to my right. no less than five feet away were the women cooking supper. they didn’t seem to notice me and some bamboo appeared to be covering most of me. the shower was absurdly refreshing.
we had supper and i met a number of farmers. these people are poor. these people live off of the earth. they were all dark and muscular. they all smiled. we ate together and they all thought i wasn’t eating enough because i was worried that they were all too poor. they thought that i was trying to save their food and i was insulting them. i spent the rest of the meal gorging myself on rice and fish.
the next stage of our adventure was at the local pagoda where we danced. there was a band playing all of the modern, coffee-shop hits in khmer and some older, traditional sounding songs. a large group of people had gathered around a small light-bulb hanging from a bamboo pole. they formed a circle and danced traditional khmer dance. i was pushed into the circle and did my best to emulate.
people approached me and touched my skin and hair. some tugged at my hair. not many white people make it down to these parts.
we went to bed on a large, wooden mattress. i slept next to my friend under a thick mosquito net. his parents slept behind us and his grandparents slept to our side. his parents had a bit of a conversation before bed and it all felt like one great big cultural slumber party.
the next morning we woke up at four thirty to drive home. i had to teach at seven. my friend didn’t want to drive so i drove most of the way. that was a completely different adventure involving lots of bugs, bumps and gear-shifting.
one of my good friends, a khmer teacher, invited me to come to his home yesterday. we were going to go in the morning and come back in the afternoon. he lives in the tri ton district which is the home to many khmer people. many have lived there for generations and others fled there during pol pot’s reign.
the motorcycle ride was numbing to say the least and the scenery became more and more rural as we drove. the road followed a straight portion of the mekong and we raced boats carrying rice, chicken and anything else worth transport. a mountain appeared. the mekong is flat and rock hill looked like a tumor. we turned down a thin, paved road and soon found his home. the mountain towered directly behind us.
the driveway was dirt and arched to the right. the house was set back behind a small grove of trees and people milled about. there were two separate houses and two separate families living there. it was a very close community. the houses were wooden and weathered. they looked ancient. chickens, pigs, dogs and cows ambled about. behind the house there were wide fields that had recently been cultivated. the sun was high and it was hot.
i met his parents, grandparents, sisters and neighbors in one incredibly awkward minute. everyone spoke kmer and i didn’t understand a word. his father is tall and muscular. he has a bald head and looks a bit like a superhero. his mother has a wonderful smile with surprisingly straight, white teeth. his grandparents look as if they have seen everything. they quietly sat in the back of the room observing. his grandmother had only one beetle-juice stained tooth. it looked a bit like a fang but was cute, not threatening. his grandmother and grandfather were both bald. i also met jota’s mom. she is tall, lean and has an oddly large chest. her stomach is thin and she looks a bit like a greyhound. she had the same face as jota and similar markings. she made it a point to sit down next to me which made me feel good.
we went to the market to get food for the cambodian new year’s celebration. before we reached the market, my friend took me on a tour of the mountain that overlooked his house. we turned into some sort of park and it turns out we were standing at the foot of ‘two million dollar hill’: the hill that american’s spent around two million dollars bombing but to no avail. i had read about and couldn’t believe my luck. here i was, an american living in vietnam and about to spend cambodian new year with a rural farmer at the base of ‘two million dollar hill’. thirty years later so much has changed.
we climbed the hill and walked through the rock caves. the rocks on the hill are massive and round. they do not fit together and there are a number of caves and holes you can hide in. all of the caves were linked and each small tunnel had an explanation. i squeezed my body through the cracks. at times i could see the blue sky. i imagined planes flying overhead screaming and dropping bombs. the thought even scared me a bit. that piece of land had seen so much suffering. i stood looking down at the fields that surrounded the hill from inside one of the tunnels. i could see tanks and tents and all sorts of army-type men standing in the distance. i wondered what it would have felt like. the constant fear of death but the relative safety of the rock castle. it was mother nature’s fortress and, for a moment, it felt like no amount of napalm cold destroy her.
at the market, we bought fish. they were half alive and flopping around in a thin pool of water. the fish-lady grabbed them, clunked them over the head but it didn’t really kill them and began scaling them. she also cut their faces off. not their heads, their faces. i bought a new shirt because i found out i was staying the night and had only expected to stay until the afternoon. i also needed something nice to wear for the new year’s party.
they told me to take a shower. i went in the back to the shower room and found a small tub of water waiting for me. i dolloped water all over and pretended to have soap. while i was standing there naked, i looked to my right. no less than five feet away were the women cooking supper. they didn’t seem to notice me and some bamboo appeared to be covering most of me. the shower was absurdly refreshing.
we had supper and i met a number of farmers. these people are poor. these people live off of the earth. they were all dark and muscular. they all smiled. we ate together and they all thought i wasn’t eating enough because i was worried that they were all too poor. they thought that i was trying to save their food and i was insulting them. i spent the rest of the meal gorging myself on rice and fish.
the next stage of our adventure was at the local pagoda where we danced. there was a band playing all of the modern, coffee-shop hits in khmer and some older, traditional sounding songs. a large group of people had gathered around a small light-bulb hanging from a bamboo pole. they formed a circle and danced traditional khmer dance. i was pushed into the circle and did my best to emulate.
people approached me and touched my skin and hair. some tugged at my hair. not many white people make it down to these parts.
we went to bed on a large, wooden mattress. i slept next to my friend under a thick mosquito net. his parents slept behind us and his grandparents slept to our side. his parents had a bit of a conversation before bed and it all felt like one great big cultural slumber party.
the next morning we woke up at four thirty to drive home. i had to teach at seven. my friend didn’t want to drive so i drove most of the way. that was a completely different adventure involving lots of bugs, bumps and gear-shifting.
Monday, April 14, 2003
i said goodbye to my faithful dog, jota. he wagged his tail and obediently sat when i said to. his tongue hung out of his mouth like a pink spatula and his tail wagged like a propeller.
we drove to a small restaurant down a dusty road. it was the bottom floor of a tin shack. there were a variety of tables set up. they were all different and made out of various kinds of building materials. some were plywood, some were tin.
dog meat.
my friends ordered. we had boiled dog innards, fried dog flesh and a boiling pot of dog stew.
the first to arrive was the dog innards. it was a mixture of dog liver, heart and stomach. i sheepishly ate the liver and tried to avoid the stomach and heart. some found its way into my bowl, though, and i quietly ate them trying to think happy thoughts.
the next plate to arrive was the dog flesh, fried. it was very tasty once you got past the skin. dog skin is terribly tough and doesn’t make for good eating. it is tasteless but the texture is that of waxy plastic. the flesh is pretty good though.
the last dish to arrive was the dog stew. actually, it was young bamboo shoots and dog legs chopped up into small sections. it was rather like eating beef on the bone. the bamboo was quite good and i tried to avoid as much of the dog as is possible. julie was eating with us and shot me a look in the middle of the meal. she passed me something and it turned out to be a dog’s paw. the skin had been removed but you could clearly see the three pads that looked remarkably similar to the pads on jota’s feet. i lost my appetite.
as we finished we heard an incredible racket just past the wall we were sitting next to. it was a dog barking and someone yelling. the dog barked and barked. it was sitting right next to the disturbingly thin wall. there was a few whines and then silence.
it was terribly dramatic and didn’t help to settle the dog in my stomach. i could imagine the dog being killed, skinned and chopped up into bits.
we returned home and jota was faithfully waiting for us at the door with his tail wagging. he sprinted outside and ran about. he came back to us and sat at our feet as we talked. he didn’t know that we ate some of his own tonight and rather enjoyed it. he doesn’t know what kind of danger he’s really in.
we drove to a small restaurant down a dusty road. it was the bottom floor of a tin shack. there were a variety of tables set up. they were all different and made out of various kinds of building materials. some were plywood, some were tin.
dog meat.
my friends ordered. we had boiled dog innards, fried dog flesh and a boiling pot of dog stew.
the first to arrive was the dog innards. it was a mixture of dog liver, heart and stomach. i sheepishly ate the liver and tried to avoid the stomach and heart. some found its way into my bowl, though, and i quietly ate them trying to think happy thoughts.
the next plate to arrive was the dog flesh, fried. it was very tasty once you got past the skin. dog skin is terribly tough and doesn’t make for good eating. it is tasteless but the texture is that of waxy plastic. the flesh is pretty good though.
the last dish to arrive was the dog stew. actually, it was young bamboo shoots and dog legs chopped up into small sections. it was rather like eating beef on the bone. the bamboo was quite good and i tried to avoid as much of the dog as is possible. julie was eating with us and shot me a look in the middle of the meal. she passed me something and it turned out to be a dog’s paw. the skin had been removed but you could clearly see the three pads that looked remarkably similar to the pads on jota’s feet. i lost my appetite.
as we finished we heard an incredible racket just past the wall we were sitting next to. it was a dog barking and someone yelling. the dog barked and barked. it was sitting right next to the disturbingly thin wall. there was a few whines and then silence.
it was terribly dramatic and didn’t help to settle the dog in my stomach. i could imagine the dog being killed, skinned and chopped up into bits.
we returned home and jota was faithfully waiting for us at the door with his tail wagging. he sprinted outside and ran about. he came back to us and sat at our feet as we talked. he didn’t know that we ate some of his own tonight and rather enjoyed it. he doesn’t know what kind of danger he’s really in.
Sunday, April 13, 2003
all singing, all dancing, all glittery costumes. the cambodian new year has arrived.
i never knew there were so many new years to celebrate. we only found out about this one at the last minute. we were rushed over to the big presentation and show and happily sat in the front row. to say that we were under-dressed would be a blatant understatement.
the show began with much fanfare. there were speeches and introductions and more speeches and lots of clapping. we were introduced as some of the important people.
the dances and songs were wonderful. they were passionate and full of movement. the costumes were made to glitter and shine in as many ways as possible. the women wore thick makeup and their hair was elaborately hung from the back of their head. the men wore a variety of costumes but they all glittered and sparkled.
the dances required everyone to get up and move about. we were ushered onto the stage a number of times (even though we were in t-shirts) and were taught the different cambodian dances. they all rely heavily on the hands.
in a slower song women move their hands up and down at different times. they hold their thumb to their ring finger as they move their hand up and then release it gracefully and flexibly as they move their hands down. their hands become very sensual. the men have a much easier job of it all (as is usual). we only had to raise one hand while the other fell. you would raise your hand with the palm up and then turn it over as it fell. you raised and lowered your hands to the beat of the music as you shuffled about.
another dance required men and women to walk back and forth while waving their hands like bird’s wings. the women would put their arms by their sides and stretch their hands out flat and pointing away from their body. they would then seductively move their hands up and down like a bird. that was the first part. the second part involved moving their flapping hands towards their mid-section. they crossed them and continued flapping. this was done (as far as i could tell) opposite of the men. the men were supposed to flap their hands in front of their midsection while the women had their hands flapping at their sides and then both would switch. there were always hands flapping at the midsection of someone and always hands flapping at the hips of someone.
the last dance didn’t appear to be cambodian. it looked like some sort of modern, gyrating type of dance.
the night ended and my t-shirt was soaked through. we had a small meal and brought in the new year with some more singing.
i never knew there were so many new years to celebrate. we only found out about this one at the last minute. we were rushed over to the big presentation and show and happily sat in the front row. to say that we were under-dressed would be a blatant understatement.
the show began with much fanfare. there were speeches and introductions and more speeches and lots of clapping. we were introduced as some of the important people.
the dances and songs were wonderful. they were passionate and full of movement. the costumes were made to glitter and shine in as many ways as possible. the women wore thick makeup and their hair was elaborately hung from the back of their head. the men wore a variety of costumes but they all glittered and sparkled.
the dances required everyone to get up and move about. we were ushered onto the stage a number of times (even though we were in t-shirts) and were taught the different cambodian dances. they all rely heavily on the hands.
in a slower song women move their hands up and down at different times. they hold their thumb to their ring finger as they move their hand up and then release it gracefully and flexibly as they move their hands down. their hands become very sensual. the men have a much easier job of it all (as is usual). we only had to raise one hand while the other fell. you would raise your hand with the palm up and then turn it over as it fell. you raised and lowered your hands to the beat of the music as you shuffled about.
another dance required men and women to walk back and forth while waving their hands like bird’s wings. the women would put their arms by their sides and stretch their hands out flat and pointing away from their body. they would then seductively move their hands up and down like a bird. that was the first part. the second part involved moving their flapping hands towards their mid-section. they crossed them and continued flapping. this was done (as far as i could tell) opposite of the men. the men were supposed to flap their hands in front of their midsection while the women had their hands flapping at their sides and then both would switch. there were always hands flapping at the midsection of someone and always hands flapping at the hips of someone.
the last dance didn’t appear to be cambodian. it looked like some sort of modern, gyrating type of dance.
the night ended and my t-shirt was soaked through. we had a small meal and brought in the new year with some more singing.
Saturday, April 12, 2003
we sang karaoke. it was a harmless night. it was late and most of us were ready for bed. we left the room and headed for the elevator. the elevator was plush and mirrored. we piled in and headed down. we should have known something was amiss when we stopped at the fourth, third and second floor without pushing any buttons.
after the second floor the elevator made a couple sloth-like trips up and down the shaft. we went to the roof, down to the basement and back to the roof. we couldn’t open the door and pushing buttons didn’t change anything. i decided i was going to die in a hotel elevator in long xuyen.
finally we got on the intercom with someone at the front desk. they somehow controlled the elevator and safely returned us to the ground floor. i’m happy to say i’m alive.
after the second floor the elevator made a couple sloth-like trips up and down the shaft. we went to the roof, down to the basement and back to the roof. we couldn’t open the door and pushing buttons didn’t change anything. i decided i was going to die in a hotel elevator in long xuyen.
finally we got on the intercom with someone at the front desk. they somehow controlled the elevator and safely returned us to the ground floor. i’m happy to say i’m alive.
i haphazardly asked one of my classes how many of the students still had living grandparents. in a class of 36 only 17 raised their hands. the students are all under 22 and most vietnamese families start young. i was startled.
wars have torn this country apart. i was surprised and not surprised to learn that most of the students didn’t have living grandparents. i asked how many students had all four of their grandparents still living.
one small girl in the back raised her hand.
wars have torn this country apart. i was surprised and not surprised to learn that most of the students didn’t have living grandparents. i asked how many students had all four of their grandparents still living.
one small girl in the back raised her hand.
Thursday, April 10, 2003
i was given a piece of gum. it was the color of chemicals and fluorescent lights. it looked like something you should never put in your mouth. we have much of it in america. it makes your mouth feel fresh and alive. it feels like an artificial snowstorm.
i walked home and all the taste had been sucked out of it. next to my apartment building there is a tin roof. there are a number of tin roofs in the area and they all seem to point at one of the doors on the second floor. it is unbearably hot there during the day. all of the sunlight floods towards this door and the roofs act like mirrors. i thought it would be a fun experiment to throw the gum on one of the roofs.
the gum has lost all of its shape today. i threw it on one of the roofs that slopes slightly downward. it can’t be more than a one or two degree slope. it’s just enough to allow the rain to trickle off if it does ever decide to rain again. today the gum became a fluorescent teardrop running down the roof. it has trickled about a foot and a half and left an odd trail behind it. it is so hot that gum melts and flows down a relatively flat tin rooftop.
i walked home and all the taste had been sucked out of it. next to my apartment building there is a tin roof. there are a number of tin roofs in the area and they all seem to point at one of the doors on the second floor. it is unbearably hot there during the day. all of the sunlight floods towards this door and the roofs act like mirrors. i thought it would be a fun experiment to throw the gum on one of the roofs.
the gum has lost all of its shape today. i threw it on one of the roofs that slopes slightly downward. it can’t be more than a one or two degree slope. it’s just enough to allow the rain to trickle off if it does ever decide to rain again. today the gum became a fluorescent teardrop running down the roof. it has trickled about a foot and a half and left an odd trail behind it. it is so hot that gum melts and flows down a relatively flat tin rooftop.
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
“...the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say commonplace things but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the centerlight pop and everybody goes ‘awwwwwww!!!’”
-jack kerouac
i’m teaching the students a number of things in english literature but my favorite, by far, is teaching them jack kerouac.
i teach them about going out, exploring, creating adventure with no strings attached. living life to the fullest and being the most authentic person possible. i’m trying to mold a few hundred vietnamese jon’s. (for better or worse)
standing in front of class gyrating my hands and wrinkling my forehead. i teach in a cloud of chalk dust and chaos. the students frantically scrawl everything down. i become emotional and passionate. i get excited. i read from the above quote in one breath with eyes wide and mind spinning.
oh, there is order to my class. the students know what i expect of them on the test and they all did surprisingly wonderfully on the last test. i have them email me if i have any question and yesterday i got an email from a girl who wrote, (among other things) “i really enjoy english literature. you have so many idiosyncrasies!”
rambling about jack kerouac is something i’d enjoy doing long into my life. i may never return. i want everyone to understand what he was saying. i want them all to decide if they will answer his call and never yawn or say commonplace things. i want them all to become roman candles. could you imagine a few hundred vietnamese roman candles popping all over the mekong sky creating such a wonderfully beautiful sight that everyone has to stop and turn and crane their heads up in order not to miss any of it? i will be the first to open my mouth and, in a low rumble, moan: “awwwwwwww!!!”
-jack kerouac
i’m teaching the students a number of things in english literature but my favorite, by far, is teaching them jack kerouac.
i teach them about going out, exploring, creating adventure with no strings attached. living life to the fullest and being the most authentic person possible. i’m trying to mold a few hundred vietnamese jon’s. (for better or worse)
standing in front of class gyrating my hands and wrinkling my forehead. i teach in a cloud of chalk dust and chaos. the students frantically scrawl everything down. i become emotional and passionate. i get excited. i read from the above quote in one breath with eyes wide and mind spinning.
oh, there is order to my class. the students know what i expect of them on the test and they all did surprisingly wonderfully on the last test. i have them email me if i have any question and yesterday i got an email from a girl who wrote, (among other things) “i really enjoy english literature. you have so many idiosyncrasies!”
rambling about jack kerouac is something i’d enjoy doing long into my life. i may never return. i want everyone to understand what he was saying. i want them all to decide if they will answer his call and never yawn or say commonplace things. i want them all to become roman candles. could you imagine a few hundred vietnamese roman candles popping all over the mekong sky creating such a wonderfully beautiful sight that everyone has to stop and turn and crane their heads up in order not to miss any of it? i will be the first to open my mouth and, in a low rumble, moan: “awwwwwwww!!!”
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
the rivers of bicycles and motorcycles and bicycle-drawn-taxis flow through the streets on long xuyen on a moonless night. they flow softly and peacefully not bothering anyone only stopping momentarily to turn this way or that way and making small hand gestures because there are no turn signals but always turning smoothly and without incident. the streets are always surreal.
the traffic flows like a school of fish. no one runs into anyone but everyone is moving. no one looks at each other when they pass. they simply float by each other on a cloud of rubber tires and air. some putter by on ancient motorcycles putting more than they progress. others zoom by on new, modern motorcycles ripping through the sky trying to impress someone. i humm along on my bicycle. i make no noise and stare at all of the lights.
the lights come from small vendors along the side of the road. they sell all sorts of food and stand quietly by their well lit stand waiting for customers. some sell bread filled with meat. others sell “hamburgers” which amount to eggs and ground up mystery meat rolled up in a piece of rubbery bread that, when you put it in your mouth, you feel as if you’re sucking on an old piece of plastic. some just sell egg with duck fetus in them. i don’t stop.
i enjoy my time on my bicycle. i enjoy floating through the traffic observing all. everything seems to move without authority or rule but all moves so freely and without incident. all the people give a little and take a little. that is how society should be shaped.
the traffic flows like a school of fish. no one runs into anyone but everyone is moving. no one looks at each other when they pass. they simply float by each other on a cloud of rubber tires and air. some putter by on ancient motorcycles putting more than they progress. others zoom by on new, modern motorcycles ripping through the sky trying to impress someone. i humm along on my bicycle. i make no noise and stare at all of the lights.
the lights come from small vendors along the side of the road. they sell all sorts of food and stand quietly by their well lit stand waiting for customers. some sell bread filled with meat. others sell “hamburgers” which amount to eggs and ground up mystery meat rolled up in a piece of rubbery bread that, when you put it in your mouth, you feel as if you’re sucking on an old piece of plastic. some just sell egg with duck fetus in them. i don’t stop.
i enjoy my time on my bicycle. i enjoy floating through the traffic observing all. everything seems to move without authority or rule but all moves so freely and without incident. all the people give a little and take a little. that is how society should be shaped.
Monday, April 07, 2003
the working woman in vietnam.
i’m sure they’re not concerned with fashion and i’m really not either. i’m a fan of thrift store t-shirts and old jeans. if i had my choice i wouldn’t wear any button up shirts and they would always be un-tucked. here i have to wear a “uniform”. it consists of long, oddly cut dress pants and old, short-sleeved, button-up shirts i brought from home. the pants were made here and were made too tight in all the wrong areas. i have six of them. they are grey, dark grey, brown, dark brown, dark green and light green. not the most inspiring colors.
the working vietnamese woman wears something different entirely. they wear pajamas everywhere. well, they may not be pajamas but they look unmistakably similar.
their “uniform” is all cut from the same bolt of cloth. the pants and the top are the same. there is a very wide variety of patterns to choose from. some are lined either vertically, horizontally or diagonally. some are polka-dotted and some have what appear to be splotches of paint on them. some have names on them like, “london”, “new york” and “paris”. others have pictures of cartoon characters. tom and jerry are favorites. some of them are oddly colored. the other day i saw one that was bright hunter orange with fluorescent green lightning bolts. of course some are plain.
the pants are loose fitting and flow. they are always almost always long but sometimes you do see a pair of pajama shorts. the tops are cut differently. some have short sleeves that are elastic and look a bit poofy. some are tank tops. some have strange bows and ribbons in the middle of the collar. today we saw one that had a collar on the back half of the neck. it dropped down to the middle of the back.
they are not worn as a fashion statement. they are worn because of comfort and ease. i’d imagine it’s much easier going about your daily chores if you have something that’s cool, comfortable, and, above all, multi-colored.
i’m sure they’re not concerned with fashion and i’m really not either. i’m a fan of thrift store t-shirts and old jeans. if i had my choice i wouldn’t wear any button up shirts and they would always be un-tucked. here i have to wear a “uniform”. it consists of long, oddly cut dress pants and old, short-sleeved, button-up shirts i brought from home. the pants were made here and were made too tight in all the wrong areas. i have six of them. they are grey, dark grey, brown, dark brown, dark green and light green. not the most inspiring colors.
the working vietnamese woman wears something different entirely. they wear pajamas everywhere. well, they may not be pajamas but they look unmistakably similar.
their “uniform” is all cut from the same bolt of cloth. the pants and the top are the same. there is a very wide variety of patterns to choose from. some are lined either vertically, horizontally or diagonally. some are polka-dotted and some have what appear to be splotches of paint on them. some have names on them like, “london”, “new york” and “paris”. others have pictures of cartoon characters. tom and jerry are favorites. some of them are oddly colored. the other day i saw one that was bright hunter orange with fluorescent green lightning bolts. of course some are plain.
the pants are loose fitting and flow. they are always almost always long but sometimes you do see a pair of pajama shorts. the tops are cut differently. some have short sleeves that are elastic and look a bit poofy. some are tank tops. some have strange bows and ribbons in the middle of the collar. today we saw one that had a collar on the back half of the neck. it dropped down to the middle of the back.
they are not worn as a fashion statement. they are worn because of comfort and ease. i’d imagine it’s much easier going about your daily chores if you have something that’s cool, comfortable, and, above all, multi-colored.
Sunday, April 06, 2003
the rains subside for a few hours and the sun comes out. the trees all sparkle with their newly formed leaves and the grass shines brilliantly green. outside the air is not cold but not yet warm. it feels soft inside. the sun reflects and glistens off of everything once rain soaked. it bounces off of my sloping driveway right into my eyes.
behind out house the grass is soft and cool. i took my shoes off a long time ago and am content just walking around looking at the trees and the sky. the ground is hard under my feet. i can still feel twigs and roots. they aren’t pleasant but remind me that i’m alive.
birds swoop from branch to the ground and hop about. they look concerned. squirrels hop high and far in order to escape the wet grass outside. they look absurdly built but agile. they spastically move and scratch at the earth.
i continue my walk on this wonderful spring day. the church graveyard stares down at me and reminds me that one day i won’t be here. my feet are still wet though and none of that matters now.
behind out house the grass is soft and cool. i took my shoes off a long time ago and am content just walking around looking at the trees and the sky. the ground is hard under my feet. i can still feel twigs and roots. they aren’t pleasant but remind me that i’m alive.
birds swoop from branch to the ground and hop about. they look concerned. squirrels hop high and far in order to escape the wet grass outside. they look absurdly built but agile. they spastically move and scratch at the earth.
i continue my walk on this wonderful spring day. the church graveyard stares down at me and reminds me that one day i won’t be here. my feet are still wet though and none of that matters now.
Saturday, April 05, 2003
heat all around. the air is so thick that you move through it slowly. the sun beats down and off of the pavement and cooks you from all angles. your face is constantly pounded with heat-waves. you can feel them pulse. the instant you walk outside you long for the shady comfort of home. nothing can prepare you for this heat.
we drove our bicycles to breakfast this morning about an hour before noon. we couldn’t believe how hot it was. our legs moved slowly, like pudding, and our faces were twisted in pain. the heat boils the blood, it melts the skin, it singes the hair.
we had lunch slowly and peacefully. even inside, under a swiveling, rusty fan, we were hot. we walked back to our bicycles. the seats were on fire.
i have never experienced heat like this. the only other time i can imagine is when i was baking cookies and bread with my mother. reaching down and opening the oven, sticking your hand in there and waiting for the heat to rush up to your face, pulling out the warm food and quickly shutting the door again. that’s the only time i’ve ever experienced this kind of heat.
we drove our bicycles to breakfast this morning about an hour before noon. we couldn’t believe how hot it was. our legs moved slowly, like pudding, and our faces were twisted in pain. the heat boils the blood, it melts the skin, it singes the hair.
we had lunch slowly and peacefully. even inside, under a swiveling, rusty fan, we were hot. we walked back to our bicycles. the seats were on fire.
i have never experienced heat like this. the only other time i can imagine is when i was baking cookies and bread with my mother. reaching down and opening the oven, sticking your hand in there and waiting for the heat to rush up to your face, pulling out the warm food and quickly shutting the door again. that’s the only time i’ve ever experienced this kind of heat.
Friday, April 04, 2003
my sink fell off of the wall. well, it didn’t fall off, i did have something to do with it.
this morning i went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and what not. i hobbled into the bathroom and glanced briefly at my swollen, well-rested face. another day. i had finished brushing my teeth and leaned up close to my foot-wide mirror. it sets a bit behind the sink and one can’t really see well for picking zits and what not.
my right hand rested on the sink. the sink always looked quite formidable and seemed to be quite sturdy. if you looked at it from a distance all seemed quite normal. however, when it was touched, it had an unnerving habit of moving.
i must have put a bit too much pressure on the right side. it was supporting a bit of my weight nicely. then there was that moment when everything goes remarkably wrong. all of the sudden nothing was supporting my hand. all of the sudden all the laws of physics were thrown out the window. i started to fall towards the mirror and my left hand caught me. the sink floated to the ground and shattered. the sink floated in silence. my heart raced.
i stood over the maimed carcass and nothing made sense. what had i done. how would i explain this to anyone. water was spraying everywhere.
i began to tape the hose up and was soon covered with water. i took a shower and plotted.
one of my friends in the foreign language center asked me to come over and have breakfast. it was perfect timing. i explained to him what happened and he promised to get it fixed right away.
i came home and was greeted by a small man who was going to repair my sink. he came in, assessed the damage and said he was going to get another sink while i cleaned up.
he came in with my new sink. my old sink was small, sleek and white. my new sink looked like it came out of a world war two submarine. it was covered in dirt and stained yellow. it was large and square and thin.
he attached it in about ten minutes. the drain fixture was too big on my “new” sink so he had to “adjust” it. the fixture was plastic and the wall mounting was metal. it involved him lighting a small fire with toilet paper on my bathroom floor and melting the plastic until he could force the drain into the wall.
i have a new sink and it doesn’t shimmy when i touch it. i’m quite happy.
this morning i went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and what not. i hobbled into the bathroom and glanced briefly at my swollen, well-rested face. another day. i had finished brushing my teeth and leaned up close to my foot-wide mirror. it sets a bit behind the sink and one can’t really see well for picking zits and what not.
my right hand rested on the sink. the sink always looked quite formidable and seemed to be quite sturdy. if you looked at it from a distance all seemed quite normal. however, when it was touched, it had an unnerving habit of moving.
i must have put a bit too much pressure on the right side. it was supporting a bit of my weight nicely. then there was that moment when everything goes remarkably wrong. all of the sudden nothing was supporting my hand. all of the sudden all the laws of physics were thrown out the window. i started to fall towards the mirror and my left hand caught me. the sink floated to the ground and shattered. the sink floated in silence. my heart raced.
i stood over the maimed carcass and nothing made sense. what had i done. how would i explain this to anyone. water was spraying everywhere.
i began to tape the hose up and was soon covered with water. i took a shower and plotted.
one of my friends in the foreign language center asked me to come over and have breakfast. it was perfect timing. i explained to him what happened and he promised to get it fixed right away.
i came home and was greeted by a small man who was going to repair my sink. he came in, assessed the damage and said he was going to get another sink while i cleaned up.
he came in with my new sink. my old sink was small, sleek and white. my new sink looked like it came out of a world war two submarine. it was covered in dirt and stained yellow. it was large and square and thin.
he attached it in about ten minutes. the drain fixture was too big on my “new” sink so he had to “adjust” it. the fixture was plastic and the wall mounting was metal. it involved him lighting a small fire with toilet paper on my bathroom floor and melting the plastic until he could force the drain into the wall.
i have a new sink and it doesn’t shimmy when i touch it. i’m quite happy.
Thursday, April 03, 2003
how do people think?
in english lit class we talk about themes. i’m always trying to have the students think critically. i want them to analyze the theme and decide what they believe and why.
the theme we worked with yesterday was, “if everyone believes something it’s not always right”, or something to that effect. it basically stated that, if the masses concur, they can be fallible. i thought it was a fairly simple theme and there wouldn’t be too much room for discussion.
the first three students who stood up said that they disagreed with the theme. at first it caught me off guard. they believed that the masses were always right. they didn’t have any facts to back up their argument even though i pushed them. the next group of students to stand up agreed with the theme and backed up their opinions with a wide variety of facts. “galileo believed the earth circled the sun and not the other way around. everyone else was wrong and galileo was right.” “people used to think the earth was flat but now we know it’s round. someone had to be the first person to believe it.” and so on.
i was surely shocked that some of the students did not agree with the theme. i tried to put myself in their shoes and argue their position but kept running into walls. this is a pretty good demonstration of how society here is changing. half of the students still adhere to the old tenants and the other half are moving in a different direction.
i find it all interesting.
in english lit class we talk about themes. i’m always trying to have the students think critically. i want them to analyze the theme and decide what they believe and why.
the theme we worked with yesterday was, “if everyone believes something it’s not always right”, or something to that effect. it basically stated that, if the masses concur, they can be fallible. i thought it was a fairly simple theme and there wouldn’t be too much room for discussion.
the first three students who stood up said that they disagreed with the theme. at first it caught me off guard. they believed that the masses were always right. they didn’t have any facts to back up their argument even though i pushed them. the next group of students to stand up agreed with the theme and backed up their opinions with a wide variety of facts. “galileo believed the earth circled the sun and not the other way around. everyone else was wrong and galileo was right.” “people used to think the earth was flat but now we know it’s round. someone had to be the first person to believe it.” and so on.
i was surely shocked that some of the students did not agree with the theme. i tried to put myself in their shoes and argue their position but kept running into walls. this is a pretty good demonstration of how society here is changing. half of the students still adhere to the old tenants and the other half are moving in a different direction.
i find it all interesting.
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
april fools day. i never thought the day would be celebrated all the way over here. how do things like that happen anyway?
jack and i decided to play a joke on two of our classes. he was teaching a listening class and i was teaching an english lit course at the same time. we decided to switch classes and make up elaborate lies and then have a good laugh with everyone.
i walked into the listening class disheveled and rushed. i really wasn’t but pretended to be. it all felt like i was on a small vietnamese stage. i told the students that jack had just asked me to teach his class and i didn’t really know what to teach. one of his friends had come to visit him from america and jack decided to skip out on all of his afternoon classes. i stood in front of the room and talked about how irresponsible it was of jack to skip out. i told everyone how disappointed i was with him. the kids ate it up.
we proceeded with the class for a few minutes and i fumbled around with the lesson plan jack had given me. they were going to listen to a lecture and i had them reading a preview of it when i received a mystery guest. i started talking to someone outside and they asked me to come out of class. there was no one there but the students couldn’t tell. i left and said i would be back in a minute or two. i rushed over to my english lit class.
i walked into the english lit class looking very miserable. they had just taken a test and the reason jack gave for having to teach them today was that i was very disappointed with them. they had all done poorly on the test and i didn’t have the will to teach them anymore. jack was taking over from here. the kids felt terribly.
we ended the joke and yelled, “april fools!” the students sat for a bit wondering how they should react. they murmured for a bit and then, after jack and i said, “it’s a joke!”, they started laughing and clapping. they had all fallen for it hook, line and sinker.
jack returned to his listening class and the students were surprised to see him. they had all fallen for it too.
i guess i should learn my lesson and not play jokes on gullible people but it was too much to resist. the students didn’t know how to react and believed every word we said. one girl came up to me after class and said, “i didn’t think you would lie to us.” it wasn’t a judgmental statement. she said it more like she was slightly surprised.
well, i don’t know if i would do it again.
jack and i decided to play a joke on two of our classes. he was teaching a listening class and i was teaching an english lit course at the same time. we decided to switch classes and make up elaborate lies and then have a good laugh with everyone.
i walked into the listening class disheveled and rushed. i really wasn’t but pretended to be. it all felt like i was on a small vietnamese stage. i told the students that jack had just asked me to teach his class and i didn’t really know what to teach. one of his friends had come to visit him from america and jack decided to skip out on all of his afternoon classes. i stood in front of the room and talked about how irresponsible it was of jack to skip out. i told everyone how disappointed i was with him. the kids ate it up.
we proceeded with the class for a few minutes and i fumbled around with the lesson plan jack had given me. they were going to listen to a lecture and i had them reading a preview of it when i received a mystery guest. i started talking to someone outside and they asked me to come out of class. there was no one there but the students couldn’t tell. i left and said i would be back in a minute or two. i rushed over to my english lit class.
i walked into the english lit class looking very miserable. they had just taken a test and the reason jack gave for having to teach them today was that i was very disappointed with them. they had all done poorly on the test and i didn’t have the will to teach them anymore. jack was taking over from here. the kids felt terribly.
we ended the joke and yelled, “april fools!” the students sat for a bit wondering how they should react. they murmured for a bit and then, after jack and i said, “it’s a joke!”, they started laughing and clapping. they had all fallen for it hook, line and sinker.
jack returned to his listening class and the students were surprised to see him. they had all fallen for it too.
i guess i should learn my lesson and not play jokes on gullible people but it was too much to resist. the students didn’t know how to react and believed every word we said. one girl came up to me after class and said, “i didn’t think you would lie to us.” it wasn’t a judgmental statement. she said it more like she was slightly surprised.
well, i don’t know if i would do it again.
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