too much input for one day.
i worked for 14 hours today on that project. the messiah came in the mail (no, not that one). it is the anniversary of saigon’s liberation.
so, we’re almost finished with the project and my head is swirling. there’s something about sitting 8 inches away from a computer screen in deep concentration for about 10 hours the day that will really alter the way that your mind works.
then, the messiah came. it was at the post office but i was glad to receive her.
then, there are programs on television all day about the liberation of Saigon.
my mind has been liberated of information, i’m listening to the messiah and it’s 1975 all over again on the flickering television.
i’d write more but none of it would be coherent.
Friday, April 30, 2004
Thursday, April 29, 2004
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
Monday, April 26, 2004
i was asked to do some research and write a grant for the university to build a new campus. i got a call this morning and was told it all has to be done by this thursday night.
i’ve never done anything so real in my life.
there are so many emotions tied up in a project like this. i’ll disseminate them later.
i’ve never done anything so real in my life.
there are so many emotions tied up in a project like this. i’ll disseminate them later.
Sunday, April 25, 2004
i enjoy playing chinese chess. i’m not the best in the world, but i’m learning. the more i learn about it, the more complicated it becomes.
i normally play chinese chess with a friend from the university. he is the master of chess. he also has the patience of a saint.
i think he’s been playing chess for some 20 years and he’s able to think six or so moves ahead. today he said he would play me without looking at the board.
he turned his chair around and faced the other direction. he would shout his move out to me and i would shout my move back to him. i would move the pieces on the board and was able to see everything. the only thing i saw of him was the back of his head through the straps of the chair.
at the beginning of the game i thought i might have a chance to beat him. it looked like my pieces were lined up properly and i thought i had an advantage. he, however, being a master, trapped me. somehow he was able to see about five moves ahead in his head and he trapped my knight. i was down a knight but was sure to keep playing. he surely couldn’t remember where all the pieces were on the board and i would surely be able to trap one of his.
i tried and he trapped me again. he trapped my bishop. i have no idea how he did it but he trapped my bishop. i was surely going to lose to a man who had to memorize where each piece was and where they had all moved.
it got down to the end of the game and there was a cluster of pieces around my king. i was trying my best to defend myself but to no avail. in the end, he won using his knight and two pawns but the pawns weren’t even necessary because there’s a complicated way you can trap using your king.
i was shocked that he could remember every piece on the board. i was even more shocked that he could somehow think up strategies in his head and trap my pieces. the entire game lasted about 25 minutes and he didn’t falter once.
i normally play chinese chess with a friend from the university. he is the master of chess. he also has the patience of a saint.
i think he’s been playing chess for some 20 years and he’s able to think six or so moves ahead. today he said he would play me without looking at the board.
he turned his chair around and faced the other direction. he would shout his move out to me and i would shout my move back to him. i would move the pieces on the board and was able to see everything. the only thing i saw of him was the back of his head through the straps of the chair.
at the beginning of the game i thought i might have a chance to beat him. it looked like my pieces were lined up properly and i thought i had an advantage. he, however, being a master, trapped me. somehow he was able to see about five moves ahead in his head and he trapped my knight. i was down a knight but was sure to keep playing. he surely couldn’t remember where all the pieces were on the board and i would surely be able to trap one of his.
i tried and he trapped me again. he trapped my bishop. i have no idea how he did it but he trapped my bishop. i was surely going to lose to a man who had to memorize where each piece was and where they had all moved.
it got down to the end of the game and there was a cluster of pieces around my king. i was trying my best to defend myself but to no avail. in the end, he won using his knight and two pawns but the pawns weren’t even necessary because there’s a complicated way you can trap using your king.
i was shocked that he could remember every piece on the board. i was even more shocked that he could somehow think up strategies in his head and trap my pieces. the entire game lasted about 25 minutes and he didn’t falter once.
Saturday, April 24, 2004
it rained for the first time in five months.
after five months of searing sunlight and lots of people moving around the same small space, things become dusty. there is dust everywhere and everyone just has to deal with it. you come home and wash your face and hands four or eight times a day in the sink and feel refreshed. you use cold, wet towels in restaurants given to you in plastic pouches. you feel dirty. everything you own is dirty.
today the sky opened up and blessed us.
it started in the late afternoon. the clouds came in and you could hear the rumbling of thunder in the distance. after a few minutes of rumbling, the sky wind came. the wind came and blew and the trees danced for joy. it blew and it blew and i stopped what i was doing and stared out the window at it all.
the dog hid under the desk because he didn’t remember the last time i rained.
the sky opened up and rained, as it does here, like the clouds are in a hurry. it’s the only time you really get a sense of urgency but, in a way, it’s quite serene. the sky is howling and the rain screams but no one moves. we all sit in our houses or our huts or our coffee shops just waiting for it all to end.
the rain lasted for ten minutes and then left to soak the next commune. i stood on the balcony just watching. for once things were peaceful. the motorcycle traffic had yet to start and everything was standing still. the ground was clean and shining. the air was thick. i think, for a moment, everyone in long xuyen was glad for the rains to come back. it meant the end of one cycle and the beginning of another.
after five months of searing sunlight and lots of people moving around the same small space, things become dusty. there is dust everywhere and everyone just has to deal with it. you come home and wash your face and hands four or eight times a day in the sink and feel refreshed. you use cold, wet towels in restaurants given to you in plastic pouches. you feel dirty. everything you own is dirty.
today the sky opened up and blessed us.
it started in the late afternoon. the clouds came in and you could hear the rumbling of thunder in the distance. after a few minutes of rumbling, the sky wind came. the wind came and blew and the trees danced for joy. it blew and it blew and i stopped what i was doing and stared out the window at it all.
the dog hid under the desk because he didn’t remember the last time i rained.
the sky opened up and rained, as it does here, like the clouds are in a hurry. it’s the only time you really get a sense of urgency but, in a way, it’s quite serene. the sky is howling and the rain screams but no one moves. we all sit in our houses or our huts or our coffee shops just waiting for it all to end.
the rain lasted for ten minutes and then left to soak the next commune. i stood on the balcony just watching. for once things were peaceful. the motorcycle traffic had yet to start and everything was standing still. the ground was clean and shining. the air was thick. i think, for a moment, everyone in long xuyen was glad for the rains to come back. it meant the end of one cycle and the beginning of another.
Friday, April 23, 2004
some sort of kung fu was going on and i was going to watch. it happens all the time at night around the main campus. there are two lights that hang from the main meeting hall. all the kung fu students meet under the lights and kick and punch into the evening.
they all wear loose blue robes tied with yellow belts. the instructors are, on average, overweight men in extra loose robes. the students are all young and about a third of them are female.
on a normal night, they will stand in rows depending on their level. each level will have a different teacher who will yell commands and the students will follow a set pattern of kicks and punches. at the end of the night they will pull out small punching bag type things and people will swing and kick back and forth until they are covered in sweat and forced to go home.
tonight was a competition.
they fought wearing padding, however inadequate in certain, vital areas. there were helmets that kept falling off because they used velcro to strap them on. there were vests that looked quite sturdy but that didn’t quite come down far enough. there were gloves that, instead of being tied on, were pulled on like mittens.
two of the competitors would come out for a brawl. they would bow to the main judge, turn, and bow to each other. at the should of the referee, they would begin to fight. the beginnings of the fight were normally brutal. they would kick at each others bare shins. they would swing for the face and, when engaged closely, they would end up throwing each other to the ground floor. there were a few swooping kicks that threw the kicker to the ground and one swooping kick that connected on the defender’s jaw and send him sprawling to the ground.
the lesser skilled people would go after each other with abandon. they would always end up tied up in a flurry of arms and legs. a helmet or a glove always came off and the fight was postponed.
i watched them for a while and they never got angry with one another. there were very violent blows landed and there were also cheap shots taken. normally, both people left with arms draped around one another’s shoulders. it was really a sight. i couldn’t imagine something similar happening where i come from.
they all wear loose blue robes tied with yellow belts. the instructors are, on average, overweight men in extra loose robes. the students are all young and about a third of them are female.
on a normal night, they will stand in rows depending on their level. each level will have a different teacher who will yell commands and the students will follow a set pattern of kicks and punches. at the end of the night they will pull out small punching bag type things and people will swing and kick back and forth until they are covered in sweat and forced to go home.
tonight was a competition.
they fought wearing padding, however inadequate in certain, vital areas. there were helmets that kept falling off because they used velcro to strap them on. there were vests that looked quite sturdy but that didn’t quite come down far enough. there were gloves that, instead of being tied on, were pulled on like mittens.
two of the competitors would come out for a brawl. they would bow to the main judge, turn, and bow to each other. at the should of the referee, they would begin to fight. the beginnings of the fight were normally brutal. they would kick at each others bare shins. they would swing for the face and, when engaged closely, they would end up throwing each other to the ground floor. there were a few swooping kicks that threw the kicker to the ground and one swooping kick that connected on the defender’s jaw and send him sprawling to the ground.
the lesser skilled people would go after each other with abandon. they would always end up tied up in a flurry of arms and legs. a helmet or a glove always came off and the fight was postponed.
i watched them for a while and they never got angry with one another. there were very violent blows landed and there were also cheap shots taken. normally, both people left with arms draped around one another’s shoulders. it was really a sight. i couldn’t imagine something similar happening where i come from.
Thursday, April 22, 2004
i have been published in vietnamese for the first time.
i wrote a 2500 word article about cultural perspective for the university’s quarterly magazine. i used the analogy of entering different cultural ‘rooms’ in order to observe what is in the ‘room’ and compare it with your original ‘room’. for example, my first ‘room’ was in south eastern pennsylvania. when i went to the city, i would inevitably compare all the differences between my original ‘room’ and this new ‘room’ thus changing my cultural perspective.
i talked about how it would be helpful and informative if an american would write about a foreigner’s experiences inside the vietnamese ‘room’. by understanding the perspective of a foreigner in the vietnamese room, there will be a more thorough understanding of the more interesting parts of vietnamese culture. if you don’t understand how people experience your original ‘room’ you’ll have a hard time understanding your culture in a global context.
the article was put in the 17th edition of the an giang university quarterly magazine. this was the special ‘people’s association elections’ edition. in a few days representatives from all over the province will be chosen by the people to be their voice in government.
my article was buried in the back behind an article explaining how to use the library’s computer intranet in order to increase your understanding of business.
i wrote a 2500 word article about cultural perspective for the university’s quarterly magazine. i used the analogy of entering different cultural ‘rooms’ in order to observe what is in the ‘room’ and compare it with your original ‘room’. for example, my first ‘room’ was in south eastern pennsylvania. when i went to the city, i would inevitably compare all the differences between my original ‘room’ and this new ‘room’ thus changing my cultural perspective.
i talked about how it would be helpful and informative if an american would write about a foreigner’s experiences inside the vietnamese ‘room’. by understanding the perspective of a foreigner in the vietnamese room, there will be a more thorough understanding of the more interesting parts of vietnamese culture. if you don’t understand how people experience your original ‘room’ you’ll have a hard time understanding your culture in a global context.
the article was put in the 17th edition of the an giang university quarterly magazine. this was the special ‘people’s association elections’ edition. in a few days representatives from all over the province will be chosen by the people to be their voice in government.
my article was buried in the back behind an article explaining how to use the library’s computer intranet in order to increase your understanding of business.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
there are is a variety of ways to measure development in a country. i prefer the coffee-shop coefficient.
tonight i went with my friends to the newest coffee shop in town. it’s called the ‘coffee bamboo.’ we sat under blue lights and enjoyed fruit drinks of all sorts.
the shop is the bottom floor of a house. it has been redecorated and all of the walls have been painted and the atmosphere is the forefront of all conversation. there was a wheel made out of bamboo which turned when water was poured over it. the walls were painted in a way that blurred the vision and clouded the mind. the music was soft jazz. there were televisions mounted on the walls. there were fishing nets hung from the ceiling with dried leaves tied to them. this was modernity. this was a coffee drinking experience.
i’ve talked to a number of my friends and they measure the development of their city by the number of modern coffee shops in town.
there are a million places to drink coffee in this town. you can go to any corner, see any old lady sitting by the road and ask her for a cup of coffee. it should cost you about 10 cents. she’ll sit there stirring a bit of strong, espresso-like coffee she has in jar with some sugar. she’ll add ice and she’ll serve it to you with a pot of tea.
the next class of coffee shops up is the type of coffee shop where i normally have my morning cup. this class of coffee shop has a number of girls running around asking you what you would like to drink and bringing you countless superfluous cups of ice. the prices are higher (about 5 cents for a cup) but the service is better and the coffee is phin, which means it is passed through a filter on your table. it means a lot of waiting but the coffee has a much stronger and a more credible taste. the music is loud and there are televisions but the ambiance is lacking.
ca
since i have been here, there have been three new coffee shops opened up that are worth noting and that are of the higher class. the first to open was called (and i’m not translating, the name is in english) ‘number 1’. it was an instant success and we were immediately taken there by our students. the music was unbearably loud. there was a giant neon sign outside. there were people everywhere and too many lasers to count properly. the coffee was outrageously expensive (about 1 dollar a cup) and the conversation was pathetic.
the next to open was called (and i’m not translating) ‘yesterday’. it was a quaint coffee shop off of a busy road that was also packed since the day it opened. you park your motorbike on the road and walk down an alley. at the end of the alley you’re met with all sorts of flowing water and lots of soft lighting and music. the soft lighting and music make the experience more enjoyable than ‘number 1’ and the water makes everything seem like you’re in the middle of a stream. all in all, ‘yesterday’ is an ok place to drink coffee.
the final place to open since i’ve been here is ‘coffee bamboo’ (every caoffee shop of this caliber must be named in english to retain allure. i described it above and it’s a nice place to drink coffee. of all the high class coffee shops, i’d suggest going to ‘coffee bamboo’ even though they switched the letters around.
and that’s that. in vietnam development is judged by the ‘coffee shop coefficient’. if there aren’t enough shops that cater to the proper class of people, you must look elsewhere for a place to live.
tonight i went with my friends to the newest coffee shop in town. it’s called the ‘coffee bamboo.’ we sat under blue lights and enjoyed fruit drinks of all sorts.
the shop is the bottom floor of a house. it has been redecorated and all of the walls have been painted and the atmosphere is the forefront of all conversation. there was a wheel made out of bamboo which turned when water was poured over it. the walls were painted in a way that blurred the vision and clouded the mind. the music was soft jazz. there were televisions mounted on the walls. there were fishing nets hung from the ceiling with dried leaves tied to them. this was modernity. this was a coffee drinking experience.
i’ve talked to a number of my friends and they measure the development of their city by the number of modern coffee shops in town.
there are a million places to drink coffee in this town. you can go to any corner, see any old lady sitting by the road and ask her for a cup of coffee. it should cost you about 10 cents. she’ll sit there stirring a bit of strong, espresso-like coffee she has in jar with some sugar. she’ll add ice and she’ll serve it to you with a pot of tea.
the next class of coffee shops up is the type of coffee shop where i normally have my morning cup. this class of coffee shop has a number of girls running around asking you what you would like to drink and bringing you countless superfluous cups of ice. the prices are higher (about 5 cents for a cup) but the service is better and the coffee is phin, which means it is passed through a filter on your table. it means a lot of waiting but the coffee has a much stronger and a more credible taste. the music is loud and there are televisions but the ambiance is lacking.
ca
since i have been here, there have been three new coffee shops opened up that are worth noting and that are of the higher class. the first to open was called (and i’m not translating, the name is in english) ‘number 1’. it was an instant success and we were immediately taken there by our students. the music was unbearably loud. there was a giant neon sign outside. there were people everywhere and too many lasers to count properly. the coffee was outrageously expensive (about 1 dollar a cup) and the conversation was pathetic.
the next to open was called (and i’m not translating) ‘yesterday’. it was a quaint coffee shop off of a busy road that was also packed since the day it opened. you park your motorbike on the road and walk down an alley. at the end of the alley you’re met with all sorts of flowing water and lots of soft lighting and music. the soft lighting and music make the experience more enjoyable than ‘number 1’ and the water makes everything seem like you’re in the middle of a stream. all in all, ‘yesterday’ is an ok place to drink coffee.
the final place to open since i’ve been here is ‘coffee bamboo’ (every caoffee shop of this caliber must be named in english to retain allure. i described it above and it’s a nice place to drink coffee. of all the high class coffee shops, i’d suggest going to ‘coffee bamboo’ even though they switched the letters around.
and that’s that. in vietnam development is judged by the ‘coffee shop coefficient’. if there aren’t enough shops that cater to the proper class of people, you must look elsewhere for a place to live.
Monday, April 19, 2004
how do i explain myself.
i drove my motorbike home tonight from a coffee shop. i was panicked. it was like i was driving without clothes.
the horn of my motorbike didn't work. i found it out when i was crossing a busy intersection and tried to warn people that i was coming through. i pushed the little, yellow, plastic button and nothing happened. i pushed it again and nothing happened. i had to slow down and let people pass. i had lost all my means of communication.
the whole drive home was terrifying. i drove slowly, on the right shoulder of the road. normally i would zip along in the middle but, without the aid of my horn, it would have been like driving blind.
i approached intersections and tried to warn others of my presence. i instinctivly pushed the little, yellow, plastic button and nothing happened. i didn't think about pushing the little, yellow, plastic button, it just happened. i knew that, if i pushed the little, yellow, plastic button nothing would happen but i pushed anyways.
i drove along terrified. if someone came up on my side to pass me i tried to blow my horn but to no avail.
has your horn ever malfunctioned? if it has, did you feel like you were driving without clothes?
how do i explain my perspective anymore. i would have felt much more safe driving home without lights and with a horn. there are so many motorcycles and lights are so dim that it wouldn't have mattered. in fact, people drive without their lights in cities at night because it is believed to save on gas. how do i explian my perspective after spending so much time away from western culture? how can i possible remember what home was like when this place feels so much more like home than anything i can conjur up in my tattered memory?
i drove home and, after a much longer journey than was necessary, i arrived safely. i will fix my horn tomorrow and will feel safe again. i will also come home in june and feel uncomfortable.
it was always explained to me that, once one steps out of their comfort zone and experience a new perspective, their own comfort zone will expand. i would like to amend that. if one steps out of their comfort zone and back into their own comfort zone repeatidly, then their comfort zone increases. if one steps out of their comfort zone and implants themselves in a different comfort zone, comfort becomes quite fragile.
i drove my motorbike home tonight from a coffee shop. i was panicked. it was like i was driving without clothes.
the horn of my motorbike didn't work. i found it out when i was crossing a busy intersection and tried to warn people that i was coming through. i pushed the little, yellow, plastic button and nothing happened. i pushed it again and nothing happened. i had to slow down and let people pass. i had lost all my means of communication.
the whole drive home was terrifying. i drove slowly, on the right shoulder of the road. normally i would zip along in the middle but, without the aid of my horn, it would have been like driving blind.
i approached intersections and tried to warn others of my presence. i instinctivly pushed the little, yellow, plastic button and nothing happened. i didn't think about pushing the little, yellow, plastic button, it just happened. i knew that, if i pushed the little, yellow, plastic button nothing would happen but i pushed anyways.
i drove along terrified. if someone came up on my side to pass me i tried to blow my horn but to no avail.
has your horn ever malfunctioned? if it has, did you feel like you were driving without clothes?
how do i explain my perspective anymore. i would have felt much more safe driving home without lights and with a horn. there are so many motorcycles and lights are so dim that it wouldn't have mattered. in fact, people drive without their lights in cities at night because it is believed to save on gas. how do i explian my perspective after spending so much time away from western culture? how can i possible remember what home was like when this place feels so much more like home than anything i can conjur up in my tattered memory?
i drove home and, after a much longer journey than was necessary, i arrived safely. i will fix my horn tomorrow and will feel safe again. i will also come home in june and feel uncomfortable.
it was always explained to me that, once one steps out of their comfort zone and experience a new perspective, their own comfort zone will expand. i would like to amend that. if one steps out of their comfort zone and back into their own comfort zone repeatidly, then their comfort zone increases. if one steps out of their comfort zone and implants themselves in a different comfort zone, comfort becomes quite fragile.
Sunday, April 18, 2004
i've been running and running and finally i ran myself into the ground.
the past few days i've been sick and there are a million reasons why. i've been juggling teaching, studying vietnamese and chinese, writing, working in the international relations department doing research on a 39 million dollar building project and generally trying to keep wonderful relations with everyone.
it happened a few days ago. i was in the international relations office preparing to teach my third year students about kafka, trying to remember a few chinese characters and also answering questions people had for me about the research project. i felt weak all over, like my body had just given up.
i went to teach and all was well. after class, i went to eat noodles and study chinese. before we studied, however, the head of the chinese school asked me if i would like to eat sushi with him. since we were both going to the chinese school, i obliged.
we ate sushi, gigantic pieces of shrimp in magic sauce.
that night i felt strange and it wasn't until the next morning that my insides exploded. things gained momentum inside. things gained mass. i was immobile.
i spent the day roaming from my room, where the air conditioner was off and all the windows were closed, wrapped up in a three blanket cocoon, to the bathroom. it must have been 110 in my cocoon but my body was still shivering and, as my mother would say, leaking.
i have recovered a bit and, thanks to the help of my friends here, had plenty of medicine and what not to keep me going. hopefully i'll feel wonderfully refreshed tomorrow morning and will be able to continue running hard for another year and a half before i have to take another break and let all of the bad things seep out through tiny holes in my skin.
the past few days i've been sick and there are a million reasons why. i've been juggling teaching, studying vietnamese and chinese, writing, working in the international relations department doing research on a 39 million dollar building project and generally trying to keep wonderful relations with everyone.
it happened a few days ago. i was in the international relations office preparing to teach my third year students about kafka, trying to remember a few chinese characters and also answering questions people had for me about the research project. i felt weak all over, like my body had just given up.
i went to teach and all was well. after class, i went to eat noodles and study chinese. before we studied, however, the head of the chinese school asked me if i would like to eat sushi with him. since we were both going to the chinese school, i obliged.
we ate sushi, gigantic pieces of shrimp in magic sauce.
that night i felt strange and it wasn't until the next morning that my insides exploded. things gained momentum inside. things gained mass. i was immobile.
i spent the day roaming from my room, where the air conditioner was off and all the windows were closed, wrapped up in a three blanket cocoon, to the bathroom. it must have been 110 in my cocoon but my body was still shivering and, as my mother would say, leaking.
i have recovered a bit and, thanks to the help of my friends here, had plenty of medicine and what not to keep me going. hopefully i'll feel wonderfully refreshed tomorrow morning and will be able to continue running hard for another year and a half before i have to take another break and let all of the bad things seep out through tiny holes in my skin.
Thursday, April 15, 2004
the weather is hot. this is, arguably, the hottest time of the year and we're all suffering from it.
at about 9 in the morning, everything slows down. if you walk outside, you can physically feel the heat pounding on your shoulders. you move at a snail's pace and avoid doing anything unnecessary.
by about 10 in the morning, everyone tries to be inside. if you have to be outside, make sure you have a hat on.
by lunch time, the sky is on fire. we sit in a coffee shop and eat lunch shaded by a tarp. the tarp isn't able to keep the heat from the sun out and we have to move inside where it is much more boring but considerably cooler.
people sleep the first part of the afternoon away.
the evening is cooler but the heat surely doesn't stop. i had chinese class again last night and i sat in a tiny room with about 30 other people. there was a ceiling fan that was blowing down a few feet in front of me and i was sweating all over my books. that was at 8:30.
the rain will come soon and it will be a mixed blessing. on one hand it won't be as intolerably hot. on the other, we'll go everywhere wet and soggy.
at about 9 in the morning, everything slows down. if you walk outside, you can physically feel the heat pounding on your shoulders. you move at a snail's pace and avoid doing anything unnecessary.
by about 10 in the morning, everyone tries to be inside. if you have to be outside, make sure you have a hat on.
by lunch time, the sky is on fire. we sit in a coffee shop and eat lunch shaded by a tarp. the tarp isn't able to keep the heat from the sun out and we have to move inside where it is much more boring but considerably cooler.
people sleep the first part of the afternoon away.
the evening is cooler but the heat surely doesn't stop. i had chinese class again last night and i sat in a tiny room with about 30 other people. there was a ceiling fan that was blowing down a few feet in front of me and i was sweating all over my books. that was at 8:30.
the rain will come soon and it will be a mixed blessing. on one hand it won't be as intolerably hot. on the other, we'll go everywhere wet and soggy.
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
i was driving my motorcycle along the road one day when it sputtered and wouldn’t start. i had run out of gas.
there are a million tiny stands that sell gas as you drive along. if you ever run out of gas you simply need to roll to a stop and someone will run out to you with a bottle of green liquid. i had done that a couple of times and, while it is convenient, it is not necessarily good for the motorcycle. you see, in order to turn a profit, one must add a bit of water to the gas.
i happened to stop in front of an official gas station. these places are very similar to what you would find in the states except for the fact that motorcycles crowd around each pump and a man in a uniform will come up to you and ask you how much you want in your tank. you tell him, he pumps the gas and then pushes your money into a gigantic wad he holds in his left hand.
i rolled up to the pump and asked for fuel. i was served and the attendant asked me quite kindly if i worked for the university. i, just as kind, responded that i did work for the university. after our pleasantries were exchanged, i went to start my motorbike.
i pumped the kick stand and it started. it revved for a bit and then sputtered. this kind of thing was normal, especially after running out of gas. i pumped again. sputtered. i pumped and pumped thinking that i could pump the gas back where it should be. i pulled the choke and gunned the engine. nothing was working.
slowly, everyone came over to my motorcycle. they stood around it and watched the giant white man pump and sweat and look generally frustrated.
the gas station attendants came over and they decided they could fix the motorcycle. one of them stood behind everyone else and told them that they couldn’t fix motorcycles, they could only pump gas into them. one man eventually found my fuel filter and took it apart. gas started to trickle out of the end but ever so slightly.
he fiddled with the filter and took some of it apart. i sat there sweating and hoping they would fix it. someone in the crowd asked why they were helping me and everyone quickly learned i was a teacher at the university and that, yes, i did speak vietnamese.
things were looking bleak. i didn’t know what to do and was still sitting on the motorcycle. the gas cap was right between my legs and one enterprising young man took it off. he looked in it for a bit, rubbed his finger inside and then lowered his head and put his entire mouth on it. he blew and blew and blew and i just sat there. all of the sudden the gas started to flow out of the filter and everyone realized nothing interesting was going to happen. they all left, i thanked my friends and drove away. such is life here: most are happy to serve.
there are a million tiny stands that sell gas as you drive along. if you ever run out of gas you simply need to roll to a stop and someone will run out to you with a bottle of green liquid. i had done that a couple of times and, while it is convenient, it is not necessarily good for the motorcycle. you see, in order to turn a profit, one must add a bit of water to the gas.
i happened to stop in front of an official gas station. these places are very similar to what you would find in the states except for the fact that motorcycles crowd around each pump and a man in a uniform will come up to you and ask you how much you want in your tank. you tell him, he pumps the gas and then pushes your money into a gigantic wad he holds in his left hand.
i rolled up to the pump and asked for fuel. i was served and the attendant asked me quite kindly if i worked for the university. i, just as kind, responded that i did work for the university. after our pleasantries were exchanged, i went to start my motorbike.
i pumped the kick stand and it started. it revved for a bit and then sputtered. this kind of thing was normal, especially after running out of gas. i pumped again. sputtered. i pumped and pumped thinking that i could pump the gas back where it should be. i pulled the choke and gunned the engine. nothing was working.
slowly, everyone came over to my motorcycle. they stood around it and watched the giant white man pump and sweat and look generally frustrated.
the gas station attendants came over and they decided they could fix the motorcycle. one of them stood behind everyone else and told them that they couldn’t fix motorcycles, they could only pump gas into them. one man eventually found my fuel filter and took it apart. gas started to trickle out of the end but ever so slightly.
he fiddled with the filter and took some of it apart. i sat there sweating and hoping they would fix it. someone in the crowd asked why they were helping me and everyone quickly learned i was a teacher at the university and that, yes, i did speak vietnamese.
things were looking bleak. i didn’t know what to do and was still sitting on the motorcycle. the gas cap was right between my legs and one enterprising young man took it off. he looked in it for a bit, rubbed his finger inside and then lowered his head and put his entire mouth on it. he blew and blew and blew and i just sat there. all of the sudden the gas started to flow out of the filter and everyone realized nothing interesting was going to happen. they all left, i thanked my friends and drove away. such is life here: most are happy to serve.
Monday, April 12, 2004
Sunday, April 11, 2004
to live in a world and feel unique. then to have other people who live in a parallel world come and visit you and everyone realizes they’re just another drop in the bucket.
two teachers from a nice town called ‘rach gia’ came up to long xuyen to visit the foreign teachers because of a chance encounter at a restaurant in a remote village on the way up to ho chi minh city. they were quite nice people and we talked about vietnam quite a lot. we talked about our own cultural perspectives and how vietnam has shaped us and what all of us youngsters would do in the future.
we brought them to the lovely tiger island. tiger island is the home of the uncle tom memorial. uncle tom was the second leader of vietnam after uncle ho. the island is quite fascinating and is quite an anomaly in a part of the world that is quite industrialized and concrete-busy. because there is no access to the island by bridge and one must sit on a noisy ferry for twenty minutes or so, it has developed in a vacuum and still retains a quaint quality that is hard to describe. it is peaceful and doesn’t bustle and humm like the city does.
we drove around on bicycles through palm tree covered roads. we waved to little children as they screamed, ‘HELLLLAAAOOOWWWW!’ as we drove by. we were scorched by the sun.
eventually we ended up at a hotel/restaurant where we sat on the third floor and observed the land around us like kings, or minor gods. there are not many places of any substantial height in the delta and there are surely no places in rural areas. ones perspective skews a bit after spending so much time looking at the world around you from the ground floor. climbing to the top of this hotel and breathing the cool air as it passed over the river and rice paddies was a shock and i saw the island in a different light.
we went and ate and caught fish from a small pond. we used a large pile of brown dough-like bait that resembled a giant, dried out cow dropping one would find in the rolling hills of eastern pennsylvania. we broke off chunks and baited hooks tied to string tied to bamboo poles held in our hands. we plunked them in the pond and fish ate. they robbed us of bait on a number of occasions and we were only catching small, violently colored fish. they would drag the line down and we would pull them out and their bellies and mouth were reddish orange and it looked like they were bleeding. it was a massacre. i didn’t do a good job of taking hooks out of mouths and others helped. there’s something about holding a pulsing mound of slimy flesh and tearing a barbed hook out of its eye that disturbs me greatly.
one large fish was caught and it was not caught by me even though i put forth much effort. the person who caught the fish was quite proud and finally had to rescind her barbs after finding the fish quite bony and not as tasty as the fish the restaurant provided for us.
i was jealous.
we took the ferry back to long xuyen and left the cool, peaceful island alone. the boat chopped through the water and the wind blew in our faces and the sun was still there making everyone squint and sweat.
friends are wonderful.
two teachers from a nice town called ‘rach gia’ came up to long xuyen to visit the foreign teachers because of a chance encounter at a restaurant in a remote village on the way up to ho chi minh city. they were quite nice people and we talked about vietnam quite a lot. we talked about our own cultural perspectives and how vietnam has shaped us and what all of us youngsters would do in the future.
we brought them to the lovely tiger island. tiger island is the home of the uncle tom memorial. uncle tom was the second leader of vietnam after uncle ho. the island is quite fascinating and is quite an anomaly in a part of the world that is quite industrialized and concrete-busy. because there is no access to the island by bridge and one must sit on a noisy ferry for twenty minutes or so, it has developed in a vacuum and still retains a quaint quality that is hard to describe. it is peaceful and doesn’t bustle and humm like the city does.
we drove around on bicycles through palm tree covered roads. we waved to little children as they screamed, ‘HELLLLAAAOOOWWWW!’ as we drove by. we were scorched by the sun.
eventually we ended up at a hotel/restaurant where we sat on the third floor and observed the land around us like kings, or minor gods. there are not many places of any substantial height in the delta and there are surely no places in rural areas. ones perspective skews a bit after spending so much time looking at the world around you from the ground floor. climbing to the top of this hotel and breathing the cool air as it passed over the river and rice paddies was a shock and i saw the island in a different light.
we went and ate and caught fish from a small pond. we used a large pile of brown dough-like bait that resembled a giant, dried out cow dropping one would find in the rolling hills of eastern pennsylvania. we broke off chunks and baited hooks tied to string tied to bamboo poles held in our hands. we plunked them in the pond and fish ate. they robbed us of bait on a number of occasions and we were only catching small, violently colored fish. they would drag the line down and we would pull them out and their bellies and mouth were reddish orange and it looked like they were bleeding. it was a massacre. i didn’t do a good job of taking hooks out of mouths and others helped. there’s something about holding a pulsing mound of slimy flesh and tearing a barbed hook out of its eye that disturbs me greatly.
one large fish was caught and it was not caught by me even though i put forth much effort. the person who caught the fish was quite proud and finally had to rescind her barbs after finding the fish quite bony and not as tasty as the fish the restaurant provided for us.
i was jealous.
we took the ferry back to long xuyen and left the cool, peaceful island alone. the boat chopped through the water and the wind blew in our faces and the sun was still there making everyone squint and sweat.
friends are wonderful.
Saturday, April 10, 2004
the other day there was a concert at the university presented by ms. cam ly. she is quite famous and everyone and their sister turned out for the show.
this is what happens at a concert of a famous singer in the mekong delta:
the stage was set up in the main court yard of the university a few days before. it consisted of towering structures, lots of lights and two giant sized pictures of the singer staring off into the distance, her face beckoning the question, ‘where am i?’
the night of the concert is electric. in front of the stage there are about three hundred tiny plastic stools set out for those who come first. to the left, right and back of those stools are hoards of people standing silently. we stood with the masses seeing as how we arrived quite late.
the show begins. first there is a bit of a warm up from a man wearing a black shirt, a giant gold medallion and a suit made out of rose colored material with swirling designs on it. he had the crowd clap and throw their hands back and forth for a bit. the clapping and swaying were interspersed with random outbursts of, ‘are you ready for cam ly!’, which elicited tepid responses.
next there are speeches by important people thanking everyone for this and that. the speeches are long and the man in the rose suit must emerge again and yell and make us all clap.
the show. first there is a troop of dancers dressed in red pants and shirts. the girls are carrying giant maple leaves that are covered in plastic. the music is soft and the dancers run about and the girls twirl their leaves. cam ly starts to sing behind the stage. some girls start to cheer and most of the boys ask each other if they can see her. the fog on the stage is intense, much like a battle scene. the lights flicker and flash like bombs. the girls are on the ground waving the leaves softly while the men stand in an odd cluster. cam ly arrives.
she walks slowly and at the back of the stage. hopefully no one will see her. she is wearing jeans and a red shirt and she is quite short. the crowd claps and the boys stop wondering where she is.
the song continues and the dancers perform to the peak of their profession. there are lots of swift hand movements, emulations of boxing moves and jumping. it’s all quite interesting and i don’t remember when they let their maple leaves go.
the song ends and she tries to get the crowd excited and talks about how lucky she is to really be down in long xuyen. she sings some slow songs with lots of pink and purple lights and two or three machines that make bubbles. she stands under the bubbles and holds her hand up as if they are rain.
we left early because we were bored.
incidentally, cam ly drives around vietnam in a 86 lavender cadillac. we stood around the car before the concert started and admired its bulk and made fun of its color.
this is what happens at a concert of a famous singer in the mekong delta:
the stage was set up in the main court yard of the university a few days before. it consisted of towering structures, lots of lights and two giant sized pictures of the singer staring off into the distance, her face beckoning the question, ‘where am i?’
the night of the concert is electric. in front of the stage there are about three hundred tiny plastic stools set out for those who come first. to the left, right and back of those stools are hoards of people standing silently. we stood with the masses seeing as how we arrived quite late.
the show begins. first there is a bit of a warm up from a man wearing a black shirt, a giant gold medallion and a suit made out of rose colored material with swirling designs on it. he had the crowd clap and throw their hands back and forth for a bit. the clapping and swaying were interspersed with random outbursts of, ‘are you ready for cam ly!’, which elicited tepid responses.
next there are speeches by important people thanking everyone for this and that. the speeches are long and the man in the rose suit must emerge again and yell and make us all clap.
the show. first there is a troop of dancers dressed in red pants and shirts. the girls are carrying giant maple leaves that are covered in plastic. the music is soft and the dancers run about and the girls twirl their leaves. cam ly starts to sing behind the stage. some girls start to cheer and most of the boys ask each other if they can see her. the fog on the stage is intense, much like a battle scene. the lights flicker and flash like bombs. the girls are on the ground waving the leaves softly while the men stand in an odd cluster. cam ly arrives.
she walks slowly and at the back of the stage. hopefully no one will see her. she is wearing jeans and a red shirt and she is quite short. the crowd claps and the boys stop wondering where she is.
the song continues and the dancers perform to the peak of their profession. there are lots of swift hand movements, emulations of boxing moves and jumping. it’s all quite interesting and i don’t remember when they let their maple leaves go.
the song ends and she tries to get the crowd excited and talks about how lucky she is to really be down in long xuyen. she sings some slow songs with lots of pink and purple lights and two or three machines that make bubbles. she stands under the bubbles and holds her hand up as if they are rain.
we left early because we were bored.
incidentally, cam ly drives around vietnam in a 86 lavender cadillac. we stood around the car before the concert started and admired its bulk and made fun of its color.
Friday, April 09, 2004
chinese class.
i was talking to a very esteemed teacher the other day about chinese. while he works at the university, he also works on the board of the local chinese school and he asked me if i would like to learn chinese.
sure. who doesn’t want to learn chinese.
chinese and vietnamese are similar in a number of ways. there is a cross over language called ‘han viet’ which relies on both chinese and vietnamese and, through learning chinese, i would also be able to have a much more thorough understanding of vietnamese. and the class is taught in vietnamese which is obviously helpful.
the school was packed and students milled about. i walked into the administrative building and talked with my esteemed teacher that i referred to earlier. he was very excited about me learning chinese and had bought me a book and made sure that i wouldn’t have to pay a dime for the course. i sat in the room with all of the other teachers as they spoke in chinese. they were all drinking green tea in small cups and laughing. i was introduced to my new teacher and given the chinese name of ‘yue han’.
for the past year and a half i have been pretending to be a teacher and now the tables were going to be reversed. in the course of teaching i have walked back and sat on the small wooden benches to watch a presentation or two but i have never actually sat through a whole class on the benches. i am comfortable studying in a western environment but this would be the first time i ever had the opportunity to study in this environment.
the class was on the third floor and was already full. it was not a huge class, about 25 of us. i walked to the back and tried my best to squeeze into the tiny bench made of well worn wood. my knees did not fit under the desk in front of me and i was forced to sit in strange ways which made my legs fall asleep.
the class was made up of mostly high school and university students, some of whom i had taught previously. the class also had a boy who was about 8 sitting in the front row. i was introduced to everyone in a very respectful way and the class began.
the teacher had grey hair that was combed back in a very slick way. he was missing a number of teeth on the top row, wore large glasses and smiled infectiously. he started the class only speaking a sort of mumbled chinese. i only understood two words the whole time.
i felt vulnerable and small again. after all my time here and all my teaching and working in administration, i had worked a bubble up around me, it was a bubble that everyone could see and no one could pop. the bubble now blew up in my face and i was sitting in a class with an 8 year old as this teacher rambled on and on. i didn’t know what lesson we were studying, i didn’t know how long the class had been going (this wasn’t the first class). i didn’t know how much of this mumbling the other students understood.
then there were the other small things that make education so difficult. there were the people playing basketball and yelling at the tops of their lungs. there were the motorcycles honking their way too and fro. there was the heat that was compounded by the fact that 25 people were sitting in cramped spaces. there were the bugs, the mosquitoes and the other flying things that annoy one when they’re trying to learn how to write the chinese character for ‘you.’ also, in the style of education here, students are allowed to pass notes in class and chat without repercussions. for me as a teacher, whenever the talking got out of hand or i saw notes moving, i knew i had to alter the lesson. however, most teachers just let it happen and i was passed three notes and the two girls behind me kept talking, partly about chinese, and partly about some boy.
the class moved on and people helped me understand where we were in the book. we learned about simple things today and they had obviously had a couple of classes before i got there because they had memorized a number of characters already. i sat there and watched as young girls walked up to the board and answered questions the teacher asked in chinese. he didn’t dare as me lest i wouldn’t know and he would embarrass me and i would loose face.
i am now determined to learn a bit of chinese in order to 1) understand what it is like to actually be a student here 2) understand more vietnamese and 3) not make the university look stupid if i go into a class where there’s an 8 year old and can’t hold my own even though it is being taught in a foreign language about an even more foreign language. i haven’t even mastered english yet.
i was talking to a very esteemed teacher the other day about chinese. while he works at the university, he also works on the board of the local chinese school and he asked me if i would like to learn chinese.
sure. who doesn’t want to learn chinese.
chinese and vietnamese are similar in a number of ways. there is a cross over language called ‘han viet’ which relies on both chinese and vietnamese and, through learning chinese, i would also be able to have a much more thorough understanding of vietnamese. and the class is taught in vietnamese which is obviously helpful.
the school was packed and students milled about. i walked into the administrative building and talked with my esteemed teacher that i referred to earlier. he was very excited about me learning chinese and had bought me a book and made sure that i wouldn’t have to pay a dime for the course. i sat in the room with all of the other teachers as they spoke in chinese. they were all drinking green tea in small cups and laughing. i was introduced to my new teacher and given the chinese name of ‘yue han’.
for the past year and a half i have been pretending to be a teacher and now the tables were going to be reversed. in the course of teaching i have walked back and sat on the small wooden benches to watch a presentation or two but i have never actually sat through a whole class on the benches. i am comfortable studying in a western environment but this would be the first time i ever had the opportunity to study in this environment.
the class was on the third floor and was already full. it was not a huge class, about 25 of us. i walked to the back and tried my best to squeeze into the tiny bench made of well worn wood. my knees did not fit under the desk in front of me and i was forced to sit in strange ways which made my legs fall asleep.
the class was made up of mostly high school and university students, some of whom i had taught previously. the class also had a boy who was about 8 sitting in the front row. i was introduced to everyone in a very respectful way and the class began.
the teacher had grey hair that was combed back in a very slick way. he was missing a number of teeth on the top row, wore large glasses and smiled infectiously. he started the class only speaking a sort of mumbled chinese. i only understood two words the whole time.
i felt vulnerable and small again. after all my time here and all my teaching and working in administration, i had worked a bubble up around me, it was a bubble that everyone could see and no one could pop. the bubble now blew up in my face and i was sitting in a class with an 8 year old as this teacher rambled on and on. i didn’t know what lesson we were studying, i didn’t know how long the class had been going (this wasn’t the first class). i didn’t know how much of this mumbling the other students understood.
then there were the other small things that make education so difficult. there were the people playing basketball and yelling at the tops of their lungs. there were the motorcycles honking their way too and fro. there was the heat that was compounded by the fact that 25 people were sitting in cramped spaces. there were the bugs, the mosquitoes and the other flying things that annoy one when they’re trying to learn how to write the chinese character for ‘you.’ also, in the style of education here, students are allowed to pass notes in class and chat without repercussions. for me as a teacher, whenever the talking got out of hand or i saw notes moving, i knew i had to alter the lesson. however, most teachers just let it happen and i was passed three notes and the two girls behind me kept talking, partly about chinese, and partly about some boy.
the class moved on and people helped me understand where we were in the book. we learned about simple things today and they had obviously had a couple of classes before i got there because they had memorized a number of characters already. i sat there and watched as young girls walked up to the board and answered questions the teacher asked in chinese. he didn’t dare as me lest i wouldn’t know and he would embarrass me and i would loose face.
i am now determined to learn a bit of chinese in order to 1) understand what it is like to actually be a student here 2) understand more vietnamese and 3) not make the university look stupid if i go into a class where there’s an 8 year old and can’t hold my own even though it is being taught in a foreign language about an even more foreign language. i haven’t even mastered english yet.
Thursday, April 08, 2004
i have taught the fourth year students now for a year and a half. we have had three different literature courses and everyone learned in droves especially myself.
we worked on everything from chaucer to kerouac, from gilgamesh to milton, from the iliad to vonnegut and we ended with a thorough study of 'the great gatsby.' this morning we had our last class and it was, for some of us, a tearful farewell.
the fourth year class is separated into three groups of around 35 students. i remember the first time i walked into the classroom with my home-made curriculum. that semester was an introduction to english literature and i was told to teach from chaucer to the present in under 30 periods. i choose twelve different books that i thought were substantial and we went over the basics. i taught them to understand literature from the perspective of the author by understanding the history of the time. i was nervous and explained plots in long, drawn out detail. we argued about the ideas and came up with our own 'themes'. it was wonderful.
the second english lit class was spring of last semester. that class was in conjunction with a humanities class held at bluffton college and we frequently wrote back and forth about the ideas that various authors were discussing. things like, 'what does justice mean for 'the oresteia'? the class was substantially more organized and difficult.
the last class was not necessarily scheduled well and was held in a large lecture hall where i got to pretend i was someone spectacular and important and i used a microphone. we went through every page, every conversation and every detail of 'the great gatsby'. today was our review.
i stood in front of everyone feeling supremely comfortable. i joked and they laughed. i answered questions and got emotional and sometimes took the place of the characters in the book. one student stood up and asked if they needed to be an actor to be a good teacher. i smiled.
at the end of class i gave a heartfelt speech and told them all that i learned so much from them and they i was honored to have taught them. i talked for a bit and, at one point, felt a little lump brimming up in my throat. i couldn't cry so i stopped and class was over. i stood at the door as 104 of the students milled out all smiling to me and telling me that they would miss me.
we worked on everything from chaucer to kerouac, from gilgamesh to milton, from the iliad to vonnegut and we ended with a thorough study of 'the great gatsby.' this morning we had our last class and it was, for some of us, a tearful farewell.
the fourth year class is separated into three groups of around 35 students. i remember the first time i walked into the classroom with my home-made curriculum. that semester was an introduction to english literature and i was told to teach from chaucer to the present in under 30 periods. i choose twelve different books that i thought were substantial and we went over the basics. i taught them to understand literature from the perspective of the author by understanding the history of the time. i was nervous and explained plots in long, drawn out detail. we argued about the ideas and came up with our own 'themes'. it was wonderful.
the second english lit class was spring of last semester. that class was in conjunction with a humanities class held at bluffton college and we frequently wrote back and forth about the ideas that various authors were discussing. things like, 'what does justice mean for 'the oresteia'? the class was substantially more organized and difficult.
the last class was not necessarily scheduled well and was held in a large lecture hall where i got to pretend i was someone spectacular and important and i used a microphone. we went through every page, every conversation and every detail of 'the great gatsby'. today was our review.
i stood in front of everyone feeling supremely comfortable. i joked and they laughed. i answered questions and got emotional and sometimes took the place of the characters in the book. one student stood up and asked if they needed to be an actor to be a good teacher. i smiled.
at the end of class i gave a heartfelt speech and told them all that i learned so much from them and they i was honored to have taught them. i talked for a bit and, at one point, felt a little lump brimming up in my throat. i couldn't cry so i stopped and class was over. i stood at the door as 104 of the students milled out all smiling to me and telling me that they would miss me.
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
i went out to eat with some of my friends tonight and complained of a headache. we were eating banh xeo which is commonly translated as vietnamese pancakes. it is an eggy-dough-like yellow batter that is fried on a giant skillet. it is thin and the cook will add peas, pork, shrimp and anything else they can round up. when the banh xeo is fully cooked various kinds of vegetables are placed in the middle. it is folded over and dipped in fish sauce.
i said i had a headache because my head had been throbbing the last couple of days. too much work and no rest makes jon a tired boy.
he decided that i must have a good, ‘ol fashioned giac gio to suck out all the bad wind from my body. for those who don’t remember, a giac gio is an homeopathic way of healing people when they’re feeling down in the dumps. the giac gioer must take a number of specially made cups, a wand dipped in alcohol, put the flaming wand in the cup and quickly place the cup on the area that needs giac gioing.
the air is burnt out of the cups and they easily stick fast to your skin even in some of the strangest places (the bony part of your shoulder for example). the cups are left to suck out all the bad wind for about ten minutes. then the giac gioer must return and remove all the cups and place them back in various places that the giac gioer deems to be in need of more giac gioing.
i went to my friends house. he is a wonderfully intelligent middle-aged man who speaks wonderful english and is a skillful and determined worker. his house is snuggly situated on a quaint road and i drove my motorbike right up to the door and he drove his inside his living room for the night.
he went about collecting his giac gio materials and i tried to get his cat to eat something. his cat would have nothing to do with me and had a way of climbing right up the walls and sitting on the rafters staring at me.
i went into his bedroom, took my shirt off and laid face down on a wooden bed with a bamboo mat on top. it is not comfortable laying on bamboo without clothes and trying to find a place to rest your head that is mildly comfortable. it’s all compounded because you can’t move at all when you’re being giac gioed.
he came into the room and fired up the wand. he said that, ideally, we would be using alcohol but, because he didn’t have any, we would have to settle for kerosene. the fire was very hot and he shook the wand a couple of times towards the ground. this all scared the cat who ran up and somehow scaled a giant, wooden closet and sat on the edge looking concerned.
he waved the wand over me. it’s quite a thrill to have a giant ball of fire being waved inches from your back and head. it’s warm and, because the room was dimly lit, it cast a jumping flicker wherever it went.
he grabbed one of the jars and held it inches above my back. he thrust the burning wand inside of the jar and slammed it down. the jar instantly began to suck with all the strength of a vacuum. he grabbed a second jar and found a second place. this was all the preliminary testing phase where he was trying to find out exactly where my bad wind was resting. if a spot was very dark purple, it was bad wind and should be giac gioed all around. if the spot is reddish, it should be left alone.
the first giac gioing lasted for a good fifteen minutes in order to really see clearly where i was needing more giac gioing. the problem with this adventure was that, besides lying on a very hard bamboo mat without a shirt on, there were also only a handful of glasses. one must leave the glasses on for at least ten minutes in order to fully achieve giac gioedness. because there were fewer jars and lots of giac gioing to go around, i had to suffer through several rounds.
the whole endeavor went on for a good hour and a half. at the peak of the giac gioing, ones back feels like an entire sheet of embers is being held just inches from the skin. everything feels like it’s on fire.
at the end of everything he put some lotion on my back at everything cooled down.
he then said i should giac gio my chest a bit. i laid down on my back and he placed all eight glasses on my chest for another fifteen minutes. here i could actually see what the giac gio was all about. the skin inside of the glasses would bubble up inside. in some of the glasses the skin would rise up by as much as a half of an inch. it looked grotesque.
i left his house feeling refreshed again. there’s really something to the procedure and i have no idea what it really is.
and my new back.
i said i had a headache because my head had been throbbing the last couple of days. too much work and no rest makes jon a tired boy.
he decided that i must have a good, ‘ol fashioned giac gio to suck out all the bad wind from my body. for those who don’t remember, a giac gio is an homeopathic way of healing people when they’re feeling down in the dumps. the giac gioer must take a number of specially made cups, a wand dipped in alcohol, put the flaming wand in the cup and quickly place the cup on the area that needs giac gioing.
the air is burnt out of the cups and they easily stick fast to your skin even in some of the strangest places (the bony part of your shoulder for example). the cups are left to suck out all the bad wind for about ten minutes. then the giac gioer must return and remove all the cups and place them back in various places that the giac gioer deems to be in need of more giac gioing.
i went to my friends house. he is a wonderfully intelligent middle-aged man who speaks wonderful english and is a skillful and determined worker. his house is snuggly situated on a quaint road and i drove my motorbike right up to the door and he drove his inside his living room for the night.
he went about collecting his giac gio materials and i tried to get his cat to eat something. his cat would have nothing to do with me and had a way of climbing right up the walls and sitting on the rafters staring at me.
i went into his bedroom, took my shirt off and laid face down on a wooden bed with a bamboo mat on top. it is not comfortable laying on bamboo without clothes and trying to find a place to rest your head that is mildly comfortable. it’s all compounded because you can’t move at all when you’re being giac gioed.
he came into the room and fired up the wand. he said that, ideally, we would be using alcohol but, because he didn’t have any, we would have to settle for kerosene. the fire was very hot and he shook the wand a couple of times towards the ground. this all scared the cat who ran up and somehow scaled a giant, wooden closet and sat on the edge looking concerned.
he waved the wand over me. it’s quite a thrill to have a giant ball of fire being waved inches from your back and head. it’s warm and, because the room was dimly lit, it cast a jumping flicker wherever it went.
he grabbed one of the jars and held it inches above my back. he thrust the burning wand inside of the jar and slammed it down. the jar instantly began to suck with all the strength of a vacuum. he grabbed a second jar and found a second place. this was all the preliminary testing phase where he was trying to find out exactly where my bad wind was resting. if a spot was very dark purple, it was bad wind and should be giac gioed all around. if the spot is reddish, it should be left alone.
the first giac gioing lasted for a good fifteen minutes in order to really see clearly where i was needing more giac gioing. the problem with this adventure was that, besides lying on a very hard bamboo mat without a shirt on, there were also only a handful of glasses. one must leave the glasses on for at least ten minutes in order to fully achieve giac gioedness. because there were fewer jars and lots of giac gioing to go around, i had to suffer through several rounds.
the whole endeavor went on for a good hour and a half. at the peak of the giac gioing, ones back feels like an entire sheet of embers is being held just inches from the skin. everything feels like it’s on fire.
at the end of everything he put some lotion on my back at everything cooled down.
he then said i should giac gio my chest a bit. i laid down on my back and he placed all eight glasses on my chest for another fifteen minutes. here i could actually see what the giac gio was all about. the skin inside of the glasses would bubble up inside. in some of the glasses the skin would rise up by as much as a half of an inch. it looked grotesque.
i left his house feeling refreshed again. there’s really something to the procedure and i have no idea what it really is.
and my new back.
Monday, April 05, 2004
i sat down for coffee with a very good friend who is trying to learn more english. he sat and complained and complained about how difficult it was to master the finer grammar points of english in order to get a very good grade on a test. he was not a student, this man was professional.
he said that it was not fair in any regard that almost everyone else in the world had to learn english and that people who were born with english can come to a foreign country and be 'experts.'
he sat there and stirred his iced coffee and i looked at my feet. he was right.
he looked back up at me and told me how lucky i was to have been born in a place where everyone spoke english and where, even though i have put great effort into learning foreign languages, i did not have to work hard in order to succeed.
what a hindrance on development. count your blessings and, if you're a professional in any field, remember that you probably didn't have to write your thesis or any paper of substance in a foreign language where both your ideas and your grammar were criticized by professionals.
he said that it was not fair in any regard that almost everyone else in the world had to learn english and that people who were born with english can come to a foreign country and be 'experts.'
he sat there and stirred his iced coffee and i looked at my feet. he was right.
he looked back up at me and told me how lucky i was to have been born in a place where everyone spoke english and where, even though i have put great effort into learning foreign languages, i did not have to work hard in order to succeed.
what a hindrance on development. count your blessings and, if you're a professional in any field, remember that you probably didn't have to write your thesis or any paper of substance in a foreign language where both your ideas and your grammar were criticized by professionals.
Sunday, April 04, 2004
here are some old poems of mine. don’t remember when i wrote them or why.
my eyes drop
my feet scream
every cell inside
hurts
quietly
nothing is new and forever
we recycle
nothing has changed
we only see it differently
it’s better to feel the pain
than the nothing
that sharp dull burning feeling
forever inside of you
if you want to feel it
that ach in your head
that could burst
taking you with it
the pain of knowing some
not all
not much
but some
the pain of love and loss and loneliness
without pain there is not good
without good
what are we but everything
we fear we are?
my eyes drop
my feet scream
every cell inside
hurts
quietly
nothing is new and forever
we recycle
nothing has changed
we only see it differently
it’s better to feel the pain
than the nothing
that sharp dull burning feeling
forever inside of you
if you want to feel it
that ach in your head
that could burst
taking you with it
the pain of knowing some
not all
not much
but some
the pain of love and loss and loneliness
without pain there is not good
without good
what are we but everything
we fear we are?
my only reflection
is in the cabinet
where they keep the plates.
it is warped and screwed
by glass and bowl.
i can see my head and hair
i can see my nose.
everything else morphs into
something else.
that’s about all i understand
about who really lives inside me.
that’s about all i know,
some twisted face and frazzled head of hair.
my inner workings are a mystery.
am i working for others?
myself?
something higher?
well, it’s all yet to be understood.
i lack a better half
whatever that means.
the day will come when i see myself
from the eyes of the cabinet.
is in the cabinet
where they keep the plates.
it is warped and screwed
by glass and bowl.
i can see my head and hair
i can see my nose.
everything else morphs into
something else.
that’s about all i understand
about who really lives inside me.
that’s about all i know,
some twisted face and frazzled head of hair.
my inner workings are a mystery.
am i working for others?
myself?
something higher?
well, it’s all yet to be understood.
i lack a better half
whatever that means.
the day will come when i see myself
from the eyes of the cabinet.
lazy saturday
nothing moves but time
my walk is slow but steady
my company’s inside
my head, my heart
my body moves thickly
my mind races but isn’t sure
it races fast and straight
like it thinks it knows where it is going
it’s not that bright
sugar candy and cotton clouds
who cares
people laughing and god looking down
it doesn’t matter
the dog walks smarter than me
the birds fly and they’re surely more free
my life’s a mystery to myself
what a prison!
my thoughts are still mixed up like
trash
i still throw them out and a man picks them up
to hide forever
one moment they’re here,
the next gone.
one moment i understand
the next..
well the next is yet to come.
nothing moves but time
my walk is slow but steady
my company’s inside
my head, my heart
my body moves thickly
my mind races but isn’t sure
it races fast and straight
like it thinks it knows where it is going
it’s not that bright
sugar candy and cotton clouds
who cares
people laughing and god looking down
it doesn’t matter
the dog walks smarter than me
the birds fly and they’re surely more free
my life’s a mystery to myself
what a prison!
my thoughts are still mixed up like
trash
i still throw them out and a man picks them up
to hide forever
one moment they’re here,
the next gone.
one moment i understand
the next..
well the next is yet to come.
Saturday, April 03, 2004
what to type when there’s nothing to say.
i’m going home this summer and that really scares me. i’ll be home sometime in early june and will be back in long xuyen sometime in early august.
if quite adapted here and wonder what the transition will be like. after spending a year in spain i remember that i was seriously shocked when we were driving through new york city. the size of the roads and the sizes of the vehicles. my parents picked me up in the evening and, by the time we got out of the big city, it was quite late. i remember staring out of the windows of the car as we drove down four lane roads in shock. we stopped at a diner and i had two eggs over easy with toast and home-fries. it was good and i felt like there was some real culture shock going on.
spain is quite different from vietnam. spain was strange because everything was european small and people were more european open-minded. vietnam is a different world.
i have gotten used to having coffee and lunch at my normal coffee shop as hundreds and hundreds of people pile by on their motorcycles and bicycles. i’ve gotten used to people selling things everywhere. there will be a house that sells random goods and in front of the house there will be two ladies selling two different types of food with small stools set up all over the ground while someone walks by them pushing a cart with meat grilling on a charcoal grill.
i find it hard to imagine a place where there aren’t people everywhere. i’ve gotten used to standing in lines and having to push yourself into any available space because, if you didn’t, someone would get there before you and you’d never get anywhere.
i’ve gotten use to never traveling in a car. traveling in a car or a bus now feels very strange let alone driving one. almost two years without driving a car. i wonder what it’ll be like again.
i’ve gotten used to eating rice every day. this probably took the longest time to get used to but i now savor a nice plate of rice and pork covered in fermented fish sauce with a soup made out of a type of gourd that is incredibly bitter and more ground up pork. eating cheese is rarity. they don’t sell it here and one must go up to ho chi minh city to buy some.
i don’t really know if south eastern pennsylvania will even feel like home any more. i don’t know what home is.
i’m going to keep writing in this blog when i’m at home. i think i’ll be able to much more clearly compare this culture to my original culture and i think there’ll be some interesting observations that come out. i’m excited, nervous and worried.
i’m going home this summer and that really scares me. i’ll be home sometime in early june and will be back in long xuyen sometime in early august.
if quite adapted here and wonder what the transition will be like. after spending a year in spain i remember that i was seriously shocked when we were driving through new york city. the size of the roads and the sizes of the vehicles. my parents picked me up in the evening and, by the time we got out of the big city, it was quite late. i remember staring out of the windows of the car as we drove down four lane roads in shock. we stopped at a diner and i had two eggs over easy with toast and home-fries. it was good and i felt like there was some real culture shock going on.
spain is quite different from vietnam. spain was strange because everything was european small and people were more european open-minded. vietnam is a different world.
i have gotten used to having coffee and lunch at my normal coffee shop as hundreds and hundreds of people pile by on their motorcycles and bicycles. i’ve gotten used to people selling things everywhere. there will be a house that sells random goods and in front of the house there will be two ladies selling two different types of food with small stools set up all over the ground while someone walks by them pushing a cart with meat grilling on a charcoal grill.
i find it hard to imagine a place where there aren’t people everywhere. i’ve gotten used to standing in lines and having to push yourself into any available space because, if you didn’t, someone would get there before you and you’d never get anywhere.
i’ve gotten use to never traveling in a car. traveling in a car or a bus now feels very strange let alone driving one. almost two years without driving a car. i wonder what it’ll be like again.
i’ve gotten used to eating rice every day. this probably took the longest time to get used to but i now savor a nice plate of rice and pork covered in fermented fish sauce with a soup made out of a type of gourd that is incredibly bitter and more ground up pork. eating cheese is rarity. they don’t sell it here and one must go up to ho chi minh city to buy some.
i don’t really know if south eastern pennsylvania will even feel like home any more. i don’t know what home is.
i’m going to keep writing in this blog when i’m at home. i think i’ll be able to much more clearly compare this culture to my original culture and i think there’ll be some interesting observations that come out. i’m excited, nervous and worried.
Friday, April 02, 2004
i’ve been teaching one of my classes about kafka’s metamorphosis. they’re quite interested in the whole thing and we sit and have lively discussions about what it means.
the book’s about one man named gregor samsa who wakes up to find himself turned into a monstrous bug. he tries to get up and out of bed after some struggle and worries about getting dressed and going to work even though he’s in such a state. his family and boss are at his locked door looking for him outside and he scurries to open the door. he unlocks the door and everyone shies away in shock as they realize their once normal gregor has become such a beast. his family begins to treat him with disgust and his father even goes so far as hitting him as he tries to leave his room and one time throwing apples at him from the kitchen table. everyone is relieved when he dies and his family goes on a picnic.
some of the most popular interpretations i’ve read about deal with the feelings of solidarity and isolation, how the many networks that we’ve created through our modern existence have come to envelope us and we begin to feel quite nihilistic. there is so much to feel hopeless and trapped about just as gregor is suddenly trapped and is left to rot by his family.
while there are many interpretations of the story (one book i read said there were 130 credible ones) i thought some of the interpretations of my students were interesting.
one group thought that kafka was trying to tell us that the only thing people really like is beauty. when people stop becoming beautiful, people stop loving them just as gregor’s family stopped loving him.
another group thought that true love was not real. they thought that everyone would at some point fall out of love with someone else if something absolutely horrible happened to them. they said that, for example, if it was possible for someone to turn into such a bug than their family more than likely would not like them.
yet another group said that the story was designed to improve families. they said that most families would not love someone if they really turned into a giant bug and that most families should love their children unconditionally.
the final group said that the story was designed to show us that, when we have problems, we will find out who really loves us.
all of the groups thought the moral of the story rested in how other people perceived gregor and how they acted in response to him. none of the groups focused on the traditionally western interpretation of the story and i found it interesting.
the book’s about one man named gregor samsa who wakes up to find himself turned into a monstrous bug. he tries to get up and out of bed after some struggle and worries about getting dressed and going to work even though he’s in such a state. his family and boss are at his locked door looking for him outside and he scurries to open the door. he unlocks the door and everyone shies away in shock as they realize their once normal gregor has become such a beast. his family begins to treat him with disgust and his father even goes so far as hitting him as he tries to leave his room and one time throwing apples at him from the kitchen table. everyone is relieved when he dies and his family goes on a picnic.
some of the most popular interpretations i’ve read about deal with the feelings of solidarity and isolation, how the many networks that we’ve created through our modern existence have come to envelope us and we begin to feel quite nihilistic. there is so much to feel hopeless and trapped about just as gregor is suddenly trapped and is left to rot by his family.
while there are many interpretations of the story (one book i read said there were 130 credible ones) i thought some of the interpretations of my students were interesting.
one group thought that kafka was trying to tell us that the only thing people really like is beauty. when people stop becoming beautiful, people stop loving them just as gregor’s family stopped loving him.
another group thought that true love was not real. they thought that everyone would at some point fall out of love with someone else if something absolutely horrible happened to them. they said that, for example, if it was possible for someone to turn into such a bug than their family more than likely would not like them.
yet another group said that the story was designed to improve families. they said that most families would not love someone if they really turned into a giant bug and that most families should love their children unconditionally.
the final group said that the story was designed to show us that, when we have problems, we will find out who really loves us.
all of the groups thought the moral of the story rested in how other people perceived gregor and how they acted in response to him. none of the groups focused on the traditionally western interpretation of the story and i found it interesting.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
today we ate lau mam at one of vietnam's finest restaurants.
we sat in a cool place and ordered. the food arrived and we spent twenty minutes cooking at our table.
a large pot was brought to the table. it was placed on top of some sort of burning chemical which was small and burned forever. something you'd put under a large pot of food at a buffet.
inside the pot, there were 8 different kinds of river fare. there were shrimps, squids and various kinds of fish. it was all simmering in a purplish goop. the purplish goop is called 'mam' and it is made from a certain kind of fish (linh). the linh fish are found at the end of the flooding season when all the fields are covered with water. the water recedes and the fish are trapped in the fields. the fish are small and are loved by all.
the linh fish is then taken and placed in a gigantic pot. one will place about 90 kilos of fish and about 30 kilos of salt in one pot. the pots then must be left for about three months to ferment. they are not sealed completely and the end product is nothing more than the run-off from disintegrating fish. the mixture is then strained for bones and heads and what not and one of two things can happen. it can be boiled down into fish sauce (eaten with most dishes here. it has a very distinct taste and smell.) or it can be left in its crude state and used as 'mam' for dishes such as the one that was in front of me this afternoon.
so, our dish of fish parts and fermented fish juice was boiling and the waiter brought out a giant pile of vegetables. i kid you not, it looked like he was bringing a bush to the table. it stood about three feet high and was set on a separate table. it was a large basket that was overflowing with, as our waiter kindly informed us, 16 different kinds of vegetables all freshly cut from somewhere. the vegetables are put into the pot and are stirred around and eaten with rice.
all in all, the bush of vegetables and our fermented fish stew boiling on the table were wonderfully tasty. we sat and ate for over an hour and it felt like a fishy thanksgiving meal.
we sat in a cool place and ordered. the food arrived and we spent twenty minutes cooking at our table.
a large pot was brought to the table. it was placed on top of some sort of burning chemical which was small and burned forever. something you'd put under a large pot of food at a buffet.
inside the pot, there were 8 different kinds of river fare. there were shrimps, squids and various kinds of fish. it was all simmering in a purplish goop. the purplish goop is called 'mam' and it is made from a certain kind of fish (linh). the linh fish are found at the end of the flooding season when all the fields are covered with water. the water recedes and the fish are trapped in the fields. the fish are small and are loved by all.
the linh fish is then taken and placed in a gigantic pot. one will place about 90 kilos of fish and about 30 kilos of salt in one pot. the pots then must be left for about three months to ferment. they are not sealed completely and the end product is nothing more than the run-off from disintegrating fish. the mixture is then strained for bones and heads and what not and one of two things can happen. it can be boiled down into fish sauce (eaten with most dishes here. it has a very distinct taste and smell.) or it can be left in its crude state and used as 'mam' for dishes such as the one that was in front of me this afternoon.
so, our dish of fish parts and fermented fish juice was boiling and the waiter brought out a giant pile of vegetables. i kid you not, it looked like he was bringing a bush to the table. it stood about three feet high and was set on a separate table. it was a large basket that was overflowing with, as our waiter kindly informed us, 16 different kinds of vegetables all freshly cut from somewhere. the vegetables are put into the pot and are stirred around and eaten with rice.
all in all, the bush of vegetables and our fermented fish stew boiling on the table were wonderfully tasty. we sat and ate for over an hour and it felt like a fishy thanksgiving meal.
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