yes, that is a mullet.
ho-ho-jota.
me and jota getting ready for the holidays.
Showing posts with label Dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dogs. Show all posts
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Sunday, October 31, 2004
i take the dog for runs now. he’s been feeling a bit pent up and needs to get out and about.
first there was the problem of finding a place to run. people are simply everywhere and we didn’t think we could actually find a place where he could run without being constantly bothered by other dogs and children. eventually we found the perfect solution. we are going to be building on 40 hectares of land just about one half of a mile from the university and the roads have already been paved. there is one giant boulevard that stretches for at least one half of a mile. it is surrounded by tall grass and nothing else. they have even installed lights to let us run at night.
the second problem is actually getting there. jota, the dog, is about two and a half feet long at this point at least one foot tall. he is thick, not fat, but heavy. he would have to ride on my motorcycle and that is simply a problem when there is only one person.
we solved this by training him to sit on the gas tank. he sits just in front of my legs with his little paws on the handle-bars. we have had only one run in and that was when a dog actually started to chase us and jota decided he would bark at him and he turned and almost fell off but i caught him and sped away. we normally arrive in good spirits. he is a little anxious on the way out, but normally he doesn’t do anything stupid.
we leave the bike and begin running. i try to walk at first but he has just too much energy and pulls me until i begin to run. he then spends the next five minutes pulling me along. it’s actually quite awkward to run while someone is pulling on your right hand. for me, running symmetrically always felt a little better than trying not to be pulled sideways.
after those first five minutes are over, he tires out. he spends the next 10 or 15 minutes running beside me.
after those relatively bland minutes are over, he tires out completely. he spends the next five minutes or so running behind me trying to slow me down. at the end of my runs i always do sprints and he is always dead last. i have to cheer him on the whole time and he just doesn't see the point after all the running we had done up to that point.
at the end of the run he is plum tuckered out. he walks over to the motorcycle and puts his two front paws up on the seat; this is my signal to pick him up because he wants to go home. he sits quietly for the ride home.
at home he walks in circles around the room apparently lost. he drinks only a bit of water and smiles. i never thought it was possible to see a dog smile but he simply sits down on the cool tiles, looks at me and smiles. he does this until he is too tired and then sleeps.
he loves to run and, while it’s a debacle, it’s also a lot of fun to see him get some exercise.
first there was the problem of finding a place to run. people are simply everywhere and we didn’t think we could actually find a place where he could run without being constantly bothered by other dogs and children. eventually we found the perfect solution. we are going to be building on 40 hectares of land just about one half of a mile from the university and the roads have already been paved. there is one giant boulevard that stretches for at least one half of a mile. it is surrounded by tall grass and nothing else. they have even installed lights to let us run at night.
the second problem is actually getting there. jota, the dog, is about two and a half feet long at this point at least one foot tall. he is thick, not fat, but heavy. he would have to ride on my motorcycle and that is simply a problem when there is only one person.
we solved this by training him to sit on the gas tank. he sits just in front of my legs with his little paws on the handle-bars. we have had only one run in and that was when a dog actually started to chase us and jota decided he would bark at him and he turned and almost fell off but i caught him and sped away. we normally arrive in good spirits. he is a little anxious on the way out, but normally he doesn’t do anything stupid.
we leave the bike and begin running. i try to walk at first but he has just too much energy and pulls me until i begin to run. he then spends the next five minutes pulling me along. it’s actually quite awkward to run while someone is pulling on your right hand. for me, running symmetrically always felt a little better than trying not to be pulled sideways.
after those first five minutes are over, he tires out. he spends the next 10 or 15 minutes running beside me.
after those relatively bland minutes are over, he tires out completely. he spends the next five minutes or so running behind me trying to slow me down. at the end of my runs i always do sprints and he is always dead last. i have to cheer him on the whole time and he just doesn't see the point after all the running we had done up to that point.
at the end of the run he is plum tuckered out. he walks over to the motorcycle and puts his two front paws up on the seat; this is my signal to pick him up because he wants to go home. he sits quietly for the ride home.
at home he walks in circles around the room apparently lost. he drinks only a bit of water and smiles. i never thought it was possible to see a dog smile but he simply sits down on the cool tiles, looks at me and smiles. he does this until he is too tired and then sleeps.
he loves to run and, while it’s a debacle, it’s also a lot of fun to see him get some exercise.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
our dog has not been the most appropriate dog in the world. he has, as we all have, made mistakes. he has been coddled. he has been placed in an environment that his genes are not familiar with. his ancestors spent their lifetimes darting through rice paddies, chasing rats and birds. he sits in a room and is chained up outside. he has become territorial.
we have to build a cage to put him in. he has to have a defined space, boundaries. we started construction yesterday.
it was a simple plan and we were all simple construction workers. i ran down to the local wal-mart and bought what supplies i thought we would need. the local wal-mart is actually a small grouping of shops and tents next to the river. it is the industrial section of town and we rarely have reason to travel down there.
the first store i headed in was cramped and overflowing with metal tools. it was staffed by some of the cutest and most knowledgeable hardware workers i’ve ever seen. they were all sisters and all pranced around in their dirty pajamas with irresistible smudges of dirt on their cheeks. i bought things i needed (6 meters of fencing, a hammer, wire, wire cutters and a shovel) and moved down the aisle to the next store.
i was looking for cement. now, i have never worked with cement before and thought i’d give it a shot. how hard could it be simply filling in a couple of holes? i found my shop, an old lady sitting by the side of the road. she was plump and dirty as was everything in that part of town. she had a pulled in face and pulled back hair. her dress was an undistinguishable color, long ago masked by the dirt around her. she gave me instructions on how to make cement (3 parts sand, 1 part concrete. sounded simple enough.) and sold me 4 kilos of the mix. the mix came in large, clear plastic bags.
i went to buy sand, figuring that i should probably buy about 12 kilos. i drove down a road that was fairly abandoned and asked every other person where i could buy sand. then, out of the blue, a group of drunk youngsters poured into the street. they asked what i was looking for and me, being eternally trusting, told them and asked them where i could buy it. like any group of drunk adolescent males, there was a show of feathers. the biggest came out, told me to park my bike and said he would walk me there. being trusting, and at times naively so, i left my motorcycle. he lead me into a store and, it turned out, all the teenagers were employees of one old lady who sat behind a desk in a dimly lit office.
i said i wanted sand. she asked how much. i said 10 kilos. she asked me where she should send it. i told her the university. she asked me my name and i gave her my vietnamese one. she asked why i spoke vietnamese so well. i explained. she asked me if i knew who ‘trinh cong son’ was. i had studied about the famous vietnamese composer and even knew a bit of one of his songs. her wrinkled face broke into a smile. she stood up and told me i could have it for free. i had passed the test.
with everything that was required to build a house for the dog, i headed home.
i spent the early afternoon digging a giant ditch where we were going to burry the fence. the dog has already dug gigantic holes and we knew that, if this was going to be jota proof, it would have to be deep and sturdy.
i was a real worker and sweated in the near 100 degree heat. after the ditches were dug, we started to pound in the stakes and mix the concrete. it turns out that 4 kg of concrete mix does not make too much concrete. we only had a bit and, with the sand, it barely filled half the bucket. we would have to get more, but how much? and how would we transport all that sand?
ah, but prayers are answered and wishes are, when the wind blows just right and the sun shines pure enough, granted.
the security guard didn’t have any guarding to do and he came over to supervise our project. he saw our difficulties and said, ‘you need to get some professionals over here.’ and he did just that.
in five minutes he had rounded up 6 masons from a construction site on campus. we had 6 professional masons working on mixing concrete for the base of our dog cage. they scurried around and brought over buckets of sand and water. they mixed everything with zeal. they cursed to high heaven and there was not a moment where someone was no telling someone else what to do. the man mixing the concrete would tell the man who was fixing the wire what to do while the man who was fixing the wire would tell the man who was laying some bricks what to do. it was a continuous, uninterrupted cycle of criticism which no one seemed to take seriously.
within an hour, the professionals had finished the cage and i was left to scratch the dog’s name in the front, brick entrance that one of the masons decided the dog should have. they left and smiled and asked for 70 cents for all the sand they used.
we have to build a cage to put him in. he has to have a defined space, boundaries. we started construction yesterday.
it was a simple plan and we were all simple construction workers. i ran down to the local wal-mart and bought what supplies i thought we would need. the local wal-mart is actually a small grouping of shops and tents next to the river. it is the industrial section of town and we rarely have reason to travel down there.
the first store i headed in was cramped and overflowing with metal tools. it was staffed by some of the cutest and most knowledgeable hardware workers i’ve ever seen. they were all sisters and all pranced around in their dirty pajamas with irresistible smudges of dirt on their cheeks. i bought things i needed (6 meters of fencing, a hammer, wire, wire cutters and a shovel) and moved down the aisle to the next store.
i was looking for cement. now, i have never worked with cement before and thought i’d give it a shot. how hard could it be simply filling in a couple of holes? i found my shop, an old lady sitting by the side of the road. she was plump and dirty as was everything in that part of town. she had a pulled in face and pulled back hair. her dress was an undistinguishable color, long ago masked by the dirt around her. she gave me instructions on how to make cement (3 parts sand, 1 part concrete. sounded simple enough.) and sold me 4 kilos of the mix. the mix came in large, clear plastic bags.
i went to buy sand, figuring that i should probably buy about 12 kilos. i drove down a road that was fairly abandoned and asked every other person where i could buy sand. then, out of the blue, a group of drunk youngsters poured into the street. they asked what i was looking for and me, being eternally trusting, told them and asked them where i could buy it. like any group of drunk adolescent males, there was a show of feathers. the biggest came out, told me to park my bike and said he would walk me there. being trusting, and at times naively so, i left my motorcycle. he lead me into a store and, it turned out, all the teenagers were employees of one old lady who sat behind a desk in a dimly lit office.
i said i wanted sand. she asked how much. i said 10 kilos. she asked me where she should send it. i told her the university. she asked me my name and i gave her my vietnamese one. she asked why i spoke vietnamese so well. i explained. she asked me if i knew who ‘trinh cong son’ was. i had studied about the famous vietnamese composer and even knew a bit of one of his songs. her wrinkled face broke into a smile. she stood up and told me i could have it for free. i had passed the test.
with everything that was required to build a house for the dog, i headed home.
i spent the early afternoon digging a giant ditch where we were going to burry the fence. the dog has already dug gigantic holes and we knew that, if this was going to be jota proof, it would have to be deep and sturdy.
i was a real worker and sweated in the near 100 degree heat. after the ditches were dug, we started to pound in the stakes and mix the concrete. it turns out that 4 kg of concrete mix does not make too much concrete. we only had a bit and, with the sand, it barely filled half the bucket. we would have to get more, but how much? and how would we transport all that sand?
ah, but prayers are answered and wishes are, when the wind blows just right and the sun shines pure enough, granted.
the security guard didn’t have any guarding to do and he came over to supervise our project. he saw our difficulties and said, ‘you need to get some professionals over here.’ and he did just that.
in five minutes he had rounded up 6 masons from a construction site on campus. we had 6 professional masons working on mixing concrete for the base of our dog cage. they scurried around and brought over buckets of sand and water. they mixed everything with zeal. they cursed to high heaven and there was not a moment where someone was no telling someone else what to do. the man mixing the concrete would tell the man who was fixing the wire what to do while the man who was fixing the wire would tell the man who was laying some bricks what to do. it was a continuous, uninterrupted cycle of criticism which no one seemed to take seriously.
within an hour, the professionals had finished the cage and i was left to scratch the dog’s name in the front, brick entrance that one of the masons decided the dog should have. they left and smiled and asked for 70 cents for all the sand they used.
Saturday, January 10, 2004
to sit on my balcony in this weather is a balmy dream. to lay on my hammock and stare up at the sky is bliss. to sway with the wind and listen to the palm trees blow and move is like, for a moment, being in some remote part of heaven.
at one point there were a couple of clouds relaxing in blue space. they slowly moved away and the sky was all mine. the giant palm trees that stand twenty feet from my window stand guard and sway. the trunks of the trees are gigantic, maybe 60 feet tall, and their leaves are giant hands that wave up and down making an odd rustling noise.
jota, my dog, enjoys the time with me too. he sits on the floor under my head. he rests his head on his hands and stretches his feet off at an odd angle. he sighs and looks content.
there are no bugs this afternoon, the sun is not shining to brightly and the wind is sporadic and peaceful. i could lay in my blue hammock all day listening to each minute pass and fade. no one comes to visit me, my phone doesn’t ring and, for some reason, the motorcycles that bullishly destroy the peace with honking and revving have quieted for a moment. maybe they are all sitting on similar baloneys watching the sky and thinking about nothing. how wonderful not to have a thought in your head for a moment. just a moment of peace in an otherwise inhospitable existence.
at one point there were a couple of clouds relaxing in blue space. they slowly moved away and the sky was all mine. the giant palm trees that stand twenty feet from my window stand guard and sway. the trunks of the trees are gigantic, maybe 60 feet tall, and their leaves are giant hands that wave up and down making an odd rustling noise.
jota, my dog, enjoys the time with me too. he sits on the floor under my head. he rests his head on his hands and stretches his feet off at an odd angle. he sighs and looks content.
there are no bugs this afternoon, the sun is not shining to brightly and the wind is sporadic and peaceful. i could lay in my blue hammock all day listening to each minute pass and fade. no one comes to visit me, my phone doesn’t ring and, for some reason, the motorcycles that bullishly destroy the peace with honking and revving have quieted for a moment. maybe they are all sitting on similar baloneys watching the sky and thinking about nothing. how wonderful not to have a thought in your head for a moment. just a moment of peace in an otherwise inhospitable existence.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
sometimes you eat lunch only because you know you won’t have another chance to eat until supper. you’re not really hungry, you only eat out of habit. other times, you eat lunch and your stomach is screaming out to you from inside your belly. it yells and bubbles and churns and begs for food. today was one of those days.
after eating a small bowl of rice for breakfast and working all morning, one tends to be extremely hungry by about 11:30. during the semester, we normally eat at the international guest house where meals are prepared by a very nice lady and her staff of young girls in pajamas. when the semester isn’t in full swing, we’re forced to scavenge throughout the city to find some sustenance. the city is packed with small stands that sell dishes of rice for about 25 cents. you can walk in, sit on a small, plastic and colorful stool and choose from two or three different things. did you want rice with pork? with chicken? with fish? what kind of soup would you like? would you like something to drink? tea or lemonade? pretty basic.
some days we just want to eat at home. today i have to finish grading over 100 english literature finals and my mind is numb with ‘issues of justice’, ‘human mortality’ and all the other ideas the classics conjured. i went out and gathered food in the jungle of the city.
my first stop was the bread lady. we were just going to have sandwiches and there is no mcdonalds for miles. she has a boxy, glass stand on the side of the road between two other sandwich ladies. they all sell the same sandwiches but there never really seems to be any competition. they all charge the same prices and make them the same way. we always go to the lady in the middle for some reason. her husband cuts hair behind her as i order. he is a stern looking man and always seems to be cutting the hair of a small, grey-haired old man. i ask for two cheese sandwiches and one sandwich with eggs. i tell her that i’ll be back in about 10 minutes. i drive down the road to buy something to drink. i go to the ‘sinh to’ lady. ‘sinh to’ is a kind of slushy, fruit drink. i drive through crowded streets, stall at one point in an intersection and blush as i try to restart my motorcycle quickly, and arrive. i ask for two ‘sinh to’ made from pineapple and papaya. they make them with sweetened condensed milk, ice, sugar and fruit (as if pineapple and papaya were not sweet enough.). she puts them both into plastic bags and i leave. 70 cents. i go to the small market near our house to buy fruit. i haggle with a few people and select a small, football sized watermelon. it’s too big, but at about 40 cents, not a bad deal. i stop by the smoked pig stand and buy a small, smoked pig ear for the dog. people would be sorely offended if they knew i was giving it to a dog, but i tell them i’m making soup. my final stop is back at the sandwich lady where her husband puts down his scissors for a moment to give me my three sandwiches. he glares and mumbles the price. 75 cents.
i drive home, jack, jota and i eat and i go back to grading. we don’t have the ‘luxury’ of fast food restaurants, but everything is much more fresh and there is such a variety. you could go out and buy any number of things that had been hanging on trees or munching on leaves as recently as a couple of days ago.
after eating a small bowl of rice for breakfast and working all morning, one tends to be extremely hungry by about 11:30. during the semester, we normally eat at the international guest house where meals are prepared by a very nice lady and her staff of young girls in pajamas. when the semester isn’t in full swing, we’re forced to scavenge throughout the city to find some sustenance. the city is packed with small stands that sell dishes of rice for about 25 cents. you can walk in, sit on a small, plastic and colorful stool and choose from two or three different things. did you want rice with pork? with chicken? with fish? what kind of soup would you like? would you like something to drink? tea or lemonade? pretty basic.
some days we just want to eat at home. today i have to finish grading over 100 english literature finals and my mind is numb with ‘issues of justice’, ‘human mortality’ and all the other ideas the classics conjured. i went out and gathered food in the jungle of the city.
my first stop was the bread lady. we were just going to have sandwiches and there is no mcdonalds for miles. she has a boxy, glass stand on the side of the road between two other sandwich ladies. they all sell the same sandwiches but there never really seems to be any competition. they all charge the same prices and make them the same way. we always go to the lady in the middle for some reason. her husband cuts hair behind her as i order. he is a stern looking man and always seems to be cutting the hair of a small, grey-haired old man. i ask for two cheese sandwiches and one sandwich with eggs. i tell her that i’ll be back in about 10 minutes. i drive down the road to buy something to drink. i go to the ‘sinh to’ lady. ‘sinh to’ is a kind of slushy, fruit drink. i drive through crowded streets, stall at one point in an intersection and blush as i try to restart my motorcycle quickly, and arrive. i ask for two ‘sinh to’ made from pineapple and papaya. they make them with sweetened condensed milk, ice, sugar and fruit (as if pineapple and papaya were not sweet enough.). she puts them both into plastic bags and i leave. 70 cents. i go to the small market near our house to buy fruit. i haggle with a few people and select a small, football sized watermelon. it’s too big, but at about 40 cents, not a bad deal. i stop by the smoked pig stand and buy a small, smoked pig ear for the dog. people would be sorely offended if they knew i was giving it to a dog, but i tell them i’m making soup. my final stop is back at the sandwich lady where her husband puts down his scissors for a moment to give me my three sandwiches. he glares and mumbles the price. 75 cents.
i drive home, jack, jota and i eat and i go back to grading. we don’t have the ‘luxury’ of fast food restaurants, but everything is much more fresh and there is such a variety. you could go out and buy any number of things that had been hanging on trees or munching on leaves as recently as a couple of days ago.
Sunday, December 07, 2003
today was jota’s birthday and here is what he did.
0:00-10:00 sleeping
10:00 wakes up. stretches. the dog has two kinds of stretches. he puts his two front paws out and leans all the way back until his chest touches the bed. his second stretch is to push himself all the way backwards. he normally sits on the bed for a few minutes looking disoriented. sometimes he cleans himself. today i walked over to the bed and wished him a happy birthday.
10:00-10:30 random ambling around the room. he steps off the bed and gets a drink of water. he’ll walk to the door, sniff, walk back to the bed, sniff and then cycle through the room. he’s basically making sure everything is ok. he does a good job.
10:30-11:00 walk. when we take the dog for a walk, he bounds, sniffs and goes to the bathroom. he inevitably scares a few girls along the way. he will spend a few minutes smelling an otherwise indistinguishable mound of dead grass. he’ll spend an eternity deciding where he is going to go to the bathroom. he sniffs and circles and sniffs and looks and finally makes a decisions. today we didn’t see any other dogs which is a good thing. if we see another dog, he’ll chase it.
11:00-12:00 we all went to lunch. when we go to lunch, we tie the dog up outside. we can’t leave him in the room because he’ll fiddle through the trash and take all the good bits up on the bed. he seems to enjoy being on guard duty. he likes to dig and sit in the shade. we tie him up and he watches us leave.
12:05-12:30 jota’s present. we bought him half of a smoked pig’s head for a birthday present. we also made him pose with his birthday hat on. he didn’t like the had but has been working very hard at finishing off the head. he didn’t understand why we were being so incredibly nice to him.
12:30-12:45 he bores with the head and starts going after flies. we have gigantic flies here. they are about the size of a dime and jota has taken it upon himself to rid this part of the world from them. he chases them around the room and snaps at them with his jaw. he is rarely successful and when he is, he ends up being more confused than anything. he caught one today and, after killing it, he just watched it for a minute or as it lay dead on the floor.
12:45-13:45 sleep. when we are up and he is asleep, he sleeps on the far corner of the bed making sure that he can see our every move.
13:45-14:30 he is up and playing with his toys. he has a number of squeaky toys that he throws around. sometimes he decides to find them all and pile them on the bed. he also has a stuffed bull which he was especially violent with today. he tore all the stuffing out of it and left its mangled, wooly corpse on the floor.
14:30-16:30 sleep. lots of playing wears him out.
16:30- 17:30 guarding outside while we get food. no one is exactly sure what he does out there, but we all end up speculating.
17:30-19:00 we all eat on the roof. it’s a special, jota celebration. we give him all the left over bones but he seems to be full from the pig earlier today. he walks around and never strays far. we sing happy birthday for him and he only looks when we say his name in unison. i think he’s a bit worried.
19:00-23:59 sleep. he’ll wake up whenever anyone comes in the room or goes out. he’s a big fan of barking. i don’t understand why he barks when people come in or out. he doesn’t realize that he isn’t really scaring them at all. well, he’s only 1.
total of 18 hours sleeping.
the hat reads 'happy b-day jota #1 dog
0:00-10:00 sleeping
10:00 wakes up. stretches. the dog has two kinds of stretches. he puts his two front paws out and leans all the way back until his chest touches the bed. his second stretch is to push himself all the way backwards. he normally sits on the bed for a few minutes looking disoriented. sometimes he cleans himself. today i walked over to the bed and wished him a happy birthday.
10:00-10:30 random ambling around the room. he steps off the bed and gets a drink of water. he’ll walk to the door, sniff, walk back to the bed, sniff and then cycle through the room. he’s basically making sure everything is ok. he does a good job.
10:30-11:00 walk. when we take the dog for a walk, he bounds, sniffs and goes to the bathroom. he inevitably scares a few girls along the way. he will spend a few minutes smelling an otherwise indistinguishable mound of dead grass. he’ll spend an eternity deciding where he is going to go to the bathroom. he sniffs and circles and sniffs and looks and finally makes a decisions. today we didn’t see any other dogs which is a good thing. if we see another dog, he’ll chase it.
11:00-12:00 we all went to lunch. when we go to lunch, we tie the dog up outside. we can’t leave him in the room because he’ll fiddle through the trash and take all the good bits up on the bed. he seems to enjoy being on guard duty. he likes to dig and sit in the shade. we tie him up and he watches us leave.
12:05-12:30 jota’s present. we bought him half of a smoked pig’s head for a birthday present. we also made him pose with his birthday hat on. he didn’t like the had but has been working very hard at finishing off the head. he didn’t understand why we were being so incredibly nice to him.
12:30-12:45 he bores with the head and starts going after flies. we have gigantic flies here. they are about the size of a dime and jota has taken it upon himself to rid this part of the world from them. he chases them around the room and snaps at them with his jaw. he is rarely successful and when he is, he ends up being more confused than anything. he caught one today and, after killing it, he just watched it for a minute or as it lay dead on the floor.
12:45-13:45 sleep. when we are up and he is asleep, he sleeps on the far corner of the bed making sure that he can see our every move.
13:45-14:30 he is up and playing with his toys. he has a number of squeaky toys that he throws around. sometimes he decides to find them all and pile them on the bed. he also has a stuffed bull which he was especially violent with today. he tore all the stuffing out of it and left its mangled, wooly corpse on the floor.
14:30-16:30 sleep. lots of playing wears him out.
16:30- 17:30 guarding outside while we get food. no one is exactly sure what he does out there, but we all end up speculating.
17:30-19:00 we all eat on the roof. it’s a special, jota celebration. we give him all the left over bones but he seems to be full from the pig earlier today. he walks around and never strays far. we sing happy birthday for him and he only looks when we say his name in unison. i think he’s a bit worried.
19:00-23:59 sleep. he’ll wake up whenever anyone comes in the room or goes out. he’s a big fan of barking. i don’t understand why he barks when people come in or out. he doesn’t realize that he isn’t really scaring them at all. well, he’s only 1.
total of 18 hours sleeping.
the hat reads 'happy b-day jota #1 dog
Friday, December 05, 2003
i have the cat virus.
a few days ago i noticed some red spots on my face and my left hand. i didn’t think anything of them because, in this tropical environment, we’re exposed to a number of strange flying and crawling things that bite. inevitably you end up with odd bug bites that sometimes hang around for a few days. this, however, was different.
the red marks stayed and grew. they didn’t itch as all red blotches on the skin are supposed to do, but they hurt like a bruise. i put some antibiotic cream on them for a day or so hoping that would cure them. it turns out it was the cat virus.
after about three days i began to worry a bit. the blotches grew and hurt more. they one on my arm turned white in the middle. i asked my friend if i could go and see a doctor.
the doctor’s office was in the middle of long xuyen. it was on the bottom floor of someone’s house. the sign out front said ‘dermatologist and heart disease’ two doctors were working in the same ‘office’. the ‘office’ was two pieces of white wood that were hanging from the ceiling. the room was about 10 feet long and 15 feet wide. the actual office was hidden behind the hanging wood. the waiting room was a row of metal chairs along a wall. we sat and listened to motorbikes and cars scream by.
i was waiting behind three old people. they were all accompanied by younger children and all had a difficult time getting up and around. one old man had spots on his face. one old lady had a sore on her arm and the third old lady had a mystery illness that could not be immediately seen. i waited thought about what it would be like to be old and have skin problems in long xuyen.
finally the doctor arrived. he had been out eating lunch. his motorcycle was not new, but respectable. it had a number of stickers advertising condoms on the front. his hair was long and he wore a hat from the 50’s. he treated the old people first and then it was my turn. i walked in the doctor’s office and sat down. i leaned against one of the wooden walls and it swayed back and forth. there was a short bed to one side, the doctor sitting in the middle, a nurse talking to the doctor and a young girl who handled the money and the medicine. the doctor asked me what was wrong with my arm. i explained what was wrong. he looked at my arm under a large lamp with a magnifying glass. he looked at my eye for a long while. he said something quickly to the nurse and she agreed.
the diagnosis. i had cat virus.
i have no idea what cat virus is or how one can acquire the virus without any contact with cats. i have no idea why one would call something a cat virus if it created red splotches on your skin that hurt like bruises. it should be called the painful red blotch virus. i guess there’s a reason for the name.
i was given medicine and told to rest at home for three to four days. i’m fine. no one worry. i’ve got jota by my side and a good book. the dog’ll surely chase away any cat in me. (couldn’t resist the pun. sorry.)
a few days ago i noticed some red spots on my face and my left hand. i didn’t think anything of them because, in this tropical environment, we’re exposed to a number of strange flying and crawling things that bite. inevitably you end up with odd bug bites that sometimes hang around for a few days. this, however, was different.
the red marks stayed and grew. they didn’t itch as all red blotches on the skin are supposed to do, but they hurt like a bruise. i put some antibiotic cream on them for a day or so hoping that would cure them. it turns out it was the cat virus.
after about three days i began to worry a bit. the blotches grew and hurt more. they one on my arm turned white in the middle. i asked my friend if i could go and see a doctor.
the doctor’s office was in the middle of long xuyen. it was on the bottom floor of someone’s house. the sign out front said ‘dermatologist and heart disease’ two doctors were working in the same ‘office’. the ‘office’ was two pieces of white wood that were hanging from the ceiling. the room was about 10 feet long and 15 feet wide. the actual office was hidden behind the hanging wood. the waiting room was a row of metal chairs along a wall. we sat and listened to motorbikes and cars scream by.
i was waiting behind three old people. they were all accompanied by younger children and all had a difficult time getting up and around. one old man had spots on his face. one old lady had a sore on her arm and the third old lady had a mystery illness that could not be immediately seen. i waited thought about what it would be like to be old and have skin problems in long xuyen.
finally the doctor arrived. he had been out eating lunch. his motorcycle was not new, but respectable. it had a number of stickers advertising condoms on the front. his hair was long and he wore a hat from the 50’s. he treated the old people first and then it was my turn. i walked in the doctor’s office and sat down. i leaned against one of the wooden walls and it swayed back and forth. there was a short bed to one side, the doctor sitting in the middle, a nurse talking to the doctor and a young girl who handled the money and the medicine. the doctor asked me what was wrong with my arm. i explained what was wrong. he looked at my arm under a large lamp with a magnifying glass. he looked at my eye for a long while. he said something quickly to the nurse and she agreed.
the diagnosis. i had cat virus.
i have no idea what cat virus is or how one can acquire the virus without any contact with cats. i have no idea why one would call something a cat virus if it created red splotches on your skin that hurt like bruises. it should be called the painful red blotch virus. i guess there’s a reason for the name.
i was given medicine and told to rest at home for three to four days. i’m fine. no one worry. i’ve got jota by my side and a good book. the dog’ll surely chase away any cat in me. (couldn’t resist the pun. sorry.)
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
here's what's going on in long xuyen, viet nam.
it's the rainy season but there doesn't seem to be any rain. the sky mocks us from above and the clouds have either scattered or been kidnapped by an angry sun. she screams from on high.
it is the beginning of a new semester. new students are arriving in droves. they gawk at the buildings and mull about. classes are all handed out to teachers. we prepare and talk about who is teaching what and why teaching that class will be terrible because such and such is in it and how he never listens and always disrupts. our bosses are more stressed than normal. they call and quickly give instructions and then hang up. none of the mid-summer formality.
everyone's preparing for the fall children's festival. hundreds of moon-cake stands have sprung up on corners throughout the city. moon-cakes are a traditional food eaten during festival. they are full of mysterious things and i'm not a big fan of them. one should never combine eggs, old pork, fruit and vegetables with bread. jota seems to enjoy them.
people still wake up in the morning, make money, feed their families and go to sleep at night. they all want to be happy and smile. they all want to be loved and popular. they all want to have soft lives where they don't have to worry about things. sometimes they go crazy and end up working too much or too little. sometimes they hurt each other. other times they say special things and laugh like children. it's a lot like harleysville, pennsylvania.
it's the rainy season but there doesn't seem to be any rain. the sky mocks us from above and the clouds have either scattered or been kidnapped by an angry sun. she screams from on high.
it is the beginning of a new semester. new students are arriving in droves. they gawk at the buildings and mull about. classes are all handed out to teachers. we prepare and talk about who is teaching what and why teaching that class will be terrible because such and such is in it and how he never listens and always disrupts. our bosses are more stressed than normal. they call and quickly give instructions and then hang up. none of the mid-summer formality.
everyone's preparing for the fall children's festival. hundreds of moon-cake stands have sprung up on corners throughout the city. moon-cakes are a traditional food eaten during festival. they are full of mysterious things and i'm not a big fan of them. one should never combine eggs, old pork, fruit and vegetables with bread. jota seems to enjoy them.
people still wake up in the morning, make money, feed their families and go to sleep at night. they all want to be happy and smile. they all want to be loved and popular. they all want to have soft lives where they don't have to worry about things. sometimes they go crazy and end up working too much or too little. sometimes they hurt each other. other times they say special things and laugh like children. it's a lot like harleysville, pennsylvania.
Saturday, July 19, 2003
today our dog went from a he to an it.
jota was running around too much. he was always chasing girl dogs and getting into fights. he’d leave in the morning without as much as a kiss goodbye and be gone all day roaming from one shanty to another flirting and winking at all of the stray female mutts that passed. i don’t think jota’s responsible enough to be a good parent.
i asked one teacher friend of mine after class this morning if he would be willing to accompany us to the local vet. within ten minutes we had found the dog, found my father, found julie and started to drive into town. jota had no idea what he was getting into.
the whole ride he wagged his tail and barked at dogs. we reached the vet which is nothing more than a glass paneled shack on the side of a large room outfitted with a couple of large, stainless steel mesh tables with drains attached to the bottom. we walked in, no appointment necessary, and told them to take away jota’s manhood.
the vet is quite an odd operation. there are two ‘nurses’ inside that really know their stuff. they have a medicine chest full of brown bottles and a desk full of carefully wrapped knives and needles and what not. they walk from animal to animal giving advice and shots. they seem to always be working on two animals at the same time and they do get quite a variety. we were in there at the same time as a kitten, a duck, a larger dog and a smaller dog.
they gave jota a shot in the legs which was supposed to knock him out. it didn’t. they gave him another shot and his legs became wobbly instantly. he rocked back and forth and laid on the ground. his head rocked back and forth violently as if he knew what was coming and he was protesting by saying no over and over again.
they tied him onto one of the large, stainless steel tables while he was semi-conscience. they tied all four of his legs to the four legs of the table leaving him laying spread eagle. the reality of the operation set in. the reality that i was going to be able to watch the whole process also set in. the reality that the dog was semi conscience set in. the reality that there was a crowd of four or five old people watching through the plate glass also set in. i could watch for a bit, not for too long.
i kept thinking about my grandfather and his farm. i remember being a child and helping him neuter the baby pigs. i didn’t really help, i think i just watched and was scarred as much as any of the pig’s backsides. grandpa would gently swing the baby pig through his legs. he would wipe a bit of iodine on the area where the operation was to take place. he would nimbly slice, remove something, slice again and dab once more with the iodine. he did this over and over and over and over again. that’s all i could think of.
while they were preparing them and i was wondering whether i was going to stay or go, someone brought in a duck. the duck was small and the belly was shaved completely. i watched thinking it would take my mind off of jota’s little procedure. one of the ladies took the duck over to a table (she was helping with jota but the duck took precedence for some reason). the took a long knife out and slit the duck up the middle. the duck was still alive and did put up a bit of a struggle. the duck continued to struggle while it’s insides were cut out and inspected. the ‘nurse’ reached into the duck (the sternum and chest had been exposed. all the skin was cut away) and took out something and snipped it off. she inspected it and threw it in the trashcan. she took out another piece and snipped it off and threw it in the trash can. the duck continued to struggle but it’s movements were now less controlled and more twitch like. she took out the intestine and stretched it out completely. the duck had died. she held it to the light and threw the duck’s carcass into the trashcan at her feet. it made a noise when it landed.
i was baffled for a bit. were they trying to save the duck? was this some sort of manic tumor removal? maybe a bypass? i didn’t know so had my friend ask her exactly what she was doing. it turned out that the man had a whole flock of sick ducks and wanted to know what the problem was.
that whole episode didn’t unnerve me but i couldn’t stay to watch jota’s operation. dad stayed for half of the process (the mid point wasn’t too difficult to judge) and took some pictures which i’m not too enthused to see. we went home and waited for the dog to wake up.
when we returned the dog was sitting on a table moaning and writhing his head back and forth. his tail was also moving in circles. he seemed to be starting back up again from the front and back and working his way to the middle. his head spastically moved back and forth as if he was in denial that the whole operation took place. he didn’t regain consciousness for another twenty minutes or so and he couldn’t control his drooling. we took him back home and he only has been able to walk in the past five minutes. he walks and runs into things and has already vomited once. he’s a new dog, for better or for worse.
jota was running around too much. he was always chasing girl dogs and getting into fights. he’d leave in the morning without as much as a kiss goodbye and be gone all day roaming from one shanty to another flirting and winking at all of the stray female mutts that passed. i don’t think jota’s responsible enough to be a good parent.
i asked one teacher friend of mine after class this morning if he would be willing to accompany us to the local vet. within ten minutes we had found the dog, found my father, found julie and started to drive into town. jota had no idea what he was getting into.
the whole ride he wagged his tail and barked at dogs. we reached the vet which is nothing more than a glass paneled shack on the side of a large room outfitted with a couple of large, stainless steel mesh tables with drains attached to the bottom. we walked in, no appointment necessary, and told them to take away jota’s manhood.
the vet is quite an odd operation. there are two ‘nurses’ inside that really know their stuff. they have a medicine chest full of brown bottles and a desk full of carefully wrapped knives and needles and what not. they walk from animal to animal giving advice and shots. they seem to always be working on two animals at the same time and they do get quite a variety. we were in there at the same time as a kitten, a duck, a larger dog and a smaller dog.
they gave jota a shot in the legs which was supposed to knock him out. it didn’t. they gave him another shot and his legs became wobbly instantly. he rocked back and forth and laid on the ground. his head rocked back and forth violently as if he knew what was coming and he was protesting by saying no over and over again.
they tied him onto one of the large, stainless steel tables while he was semi-conscience. they tied all four of his legs to the four legs of the table leaving him laying spread eagle. the reality of the operation set in. the reality that i was going to be able to watch the whole process also set in. the reality that the dog was semi conscience set in. the reality that there was a crowd of four or five old people watching through the plate glass also set in. i could watch for a bit, not for too long.
i kept thinking about my grandfather and his farm. i remember being a child and helping him neuter the baby pigs. i didn’t really help, i think i just watched and was scarred as much as any of the pig’s backsides. grandpa would gently swing the baby pig through his legs. he would wipe a bit of iodine on the area where the operation was to take place. he would nimbly slice, remove something, slice again and dab once more with the iodine. he did this over and over and over and over again. that’s all i could think of.
while they were preparing them and i was wondering whether i was going to stay or go, someone brought in a duck. the duck was small and the belly was shaved completely. i watched thinking it would take my mind off of jota’s little procedure. one of the ladies took the duck over to a table (she was helping with jota but the duck took precedence for some reason). the took a long knife out and slit the duck up the middle. the duck was still alive and did put up a bit of a struggle. the duck continued to struggle while it’s insides were cut out and inspected. the ‘nurse’ reached into the duck (the sternum and chest had been exposed. all the skin was cut away) and took out something and snipped it off. she inspected it and threw it in the trashcan. she took out another piece and snipped it off and threw it in the trash can. the duck continued to struggle but it’s movements were now less controlled and more twitch like. she took out the intestine and stretched it out completely. the duck had died. she held it to the light and threw the duck’s carcass into the trashcan at her feet. it made a noise when it landed.
i was baffled for a bit. were they trying to save the duck? was this some sort of manic tumor removal? maybe a bypass? i didn’t know so had my friend ask her exactly what she was doing. it turned out that the man had a whole flock of sick ducks and wanted to know what the problem was.
that whole episode didn’t unnerve me but i couldn’t stay to watch jota’s operation. dad stayed for half of the process (the mid point wasn’t too difficult to judge) and took some pictures which i’m not too enthused to see. we went home and waited for the dog to wake up.
when we returned the dog was sitting on a table moaning and writhing his head back and forth. his tail was also moving in circles. he seemed to be starting back up again from the front and back and working his way to the middle. his head spastically moved back and forth as if he was in denial that the whole operation took place. he didn’t regain consciousness for another twenty minutes or so and he couldn’t control his drooling. we took him back home and he only has been able to walk in the past five minutes. he walks and runs into things and has already vomited once. he’s a new dog, for better or for worse.
Thursday, July 03, 2003
jota has one million friends. he follows them everywhere. he strays further and further every day. he goes to the complete other side of campus to see them. he chases girl dogs. he has a girlfriend. her name is mit la. they roll around in the grass and play fight every day. she is charcoal black all over. her tail is absurdly long and her body is oddly squat. she is only a puppy and they say she will be able to have babies in another four months.
jota came home the other day with long gashes in his neck and his leg. his right ear was also missing a piece. he was shy and hid under the desk.
today he didn’t go out. he sat at the door looking pensive. he sat looking out at the world and realized that there were some bad people out there. he was confused. he followed me around where ever i went. when he saw other dogs he would jump up on my leg and try to get my attention. he would bark at them. he wanted them to know i was a member of his pack.
the loss of innocence. before, jota believed that everyone was there to play. before, he used to run up to everyone with his tail wagging and jump and generally have fun. now he sits and stares. i guess we all go through something similar when we realize that the world isn’t the safest place. it’s a sad realization but, with time, we come to terms with it.
jota came home the other day with long gashes in his neck and his leg. his right ear was also missing a piece. he was shy and hid under the desk.
today he didn’t go out. he sat at the door looking pensive. he sat looking out at the world and realized that there were some bad people out there. he was confused. he followed me around where ever i went. when he saw other dogs he would jump up on my leg and try to get my attention. he would bark at them. he wanted them to know i was a member of his pack.
the loss of innocence. before, jota believed that everyone was there to play. before, he used to run up to everyone with his tail wagging and jump and generally have fun. now he sits and stares. i guess we all go through something similar when we realize that the world isn’t the safest place. it’s a sad realization but, with time, we come to terms with it.
Wednesday, June 11, 2003
i haven’t said enough about jack.
i’ve lived with jack since december the second. we haven’t shared a room, but we’ve lived in a cocoon of similarities. he and i are two people that know what this place is like. we understand it from our perspective and our perspectives are remarkably similar.
he’s a tall, thin person with nice features. he has hungarian in his roots and, for some reason, i see that when i look at him. his hair grows quickly and has turned more and more blond the longer it’s exposed to this ferocious sun. he doesn’t wear hats much and likes to loaf around the house in his free time wearing old t-shirts and baggy pants.
he likes to think about politics and economics and how the world works. we sit around on the roof of our building under a starry ceiling. we talk about things that most people aren’t interested in. we talk about why people aren’t interested in them and what we can do about it. we smile and laugh about the same things. we get frustrated by the same things.
we also have a child together: jota. we worry about how to best parent it. we groom it together ruffling his fur and picking out ticks and other odd animals. we sit around and talk about the dog with affection and obsession.
jack and i share the same island. we have walked together and taught together for the past few months. we understand the make-up of this island well. we share a unique situation.
of course we have our run-ins. in my experience, we all do. however, we don’t let these small grievances get in our way and i’ll forever cherish and remember the moments we’ve spent together.
the next month and change won’t be the same without seeing his face and drinking a cup of coffee with him every morning. i’ll be glad when he returns.
i’ve lived with jack since december the second. we haven’t shared a room, but we’ve lived in a cocoon of similarities. he and i are two people that know what this place is like. we understand it from our perspective and our perspectives are remarkably similar.
he’s a tall, thin person with nice features. he has hungarian in his roots and, for some reason, i see that when i look at him. his hair grows quickly and has turned more and more blond the longer it’s exposed to this ferocious sun. he doesn’t wear hats much and likes to loaf around the house in his free time wearing old t-shirts and baggy pants.
he likes to think about politics and economics and how the world works. we sit around on the roof of our building under a starry ceiling. we talk about things that most people aren’t interested in. we talk about why people aren’t interested in them and what we can do about it. we smile and laugh about the same things. we get frustrated by the same things.
we also have a child together: jota. we worry about how to best parent it. we groom it together ruffling his fur and picking out ticks and other odd animals. we sit around and talk about the dog with affection and obsession.
jack and i share the same island. we have walked together and taught together for the past few months. we understand the make-up of this island well. we share a unique situation.
of course we have our run-ins. in my experience, we all do. however, we don’t let these small grievances get in our way and i’ll forever cherish and remember the moments we’ve spent together.
the next month and change won’t be the same without seeing his face and drinking a cup of coffee with him every morning. i’ll be glad when he returns.
Monday, June 02, 2003
jack just took the dog to go get some banana ice cream. they take whole bananas and crush them up with coconuts, peanuts and milk. then it freezes. they have sticks in them.
the ice-cream is really good, especially when it's hot. i like it.
the dog went with jack running beside him while he biked through the mud. dogs like mud just like children do. jota comes back muddy and dirty and smiling. dogs also smile like children: when they've done something wrong.
in the ice-cream store, well, it's not a store but rather the front of someone's house, they're was a pile of sandals. jota must have found one that he either really liked or really didn't like. it was a man's, black leather sandal. he squatted over it in front of everyone and peed in it.
jack said people weren't too angry and most of them laughed. jota left and jack apologized.
this isn't the first time jota has peed in shoes. he peed on jack's sandals when he was a puppy. that was excusable because he was too small and didn't realize that there were certain places he could pee and other places he couldn't.
another time, a friend of ours came over. he was wearing black leather shoes. he took them off before entering the room, as is the custom, and jota found them. well, i was taking jota out for a walk and i stopped to chat for a bit. jota squatted over the shoe and peed inside of it. he looked up and smiled like a child.
the ice-cream is really good, especially when it's hot. i like it.
the dog went with jack running beside him while he biked through the mud. dogs like mud just like children do. jota comes back muddy and dirty and smiling. dogs also smile like children: when they've done something wrong.
in the ice-cream store, well, it's not a store but rather the front of someone's house, they're was a pile of sandals. jota must have found one that he either really liked or really didn't like. it was a man's, black leather sandal. he squatted over it in front of everyone and peed in it.
jack said people weren't too angry and most of them laughed. jota left and jack apologized.
this isn't the first time jota has peed in shoes. he peed on jack's sandals when he was a puppy. that was excusable because he was too small and didn't realize that there were certain places he could pee and other places he couldn't.
another time, a friend of ours came over. he was wearing black leather shoes. he took them off before entering the room, as is the custom, and jota found them. well, i was taking jota out for a walk and i stopped to chat for a bit. jota squatted over the shoe and peed inside of it. he looked up and smiled like a child.
Tuesday, May 06, 2003
julie lives in newcastle which is somewhere in england. she keeps saying it’s in the north of england and i keep reminding her that’s like saying that new jersey has a west coast. the north of england is scottland. (of course, all is in jest)
she is a big fan of the newcastle football team which i refuse to name at this time. all i know is that their manager is bobby robson because she has a large picture of him on her wall signed by his secretary or his wife. it’s not the signature of a football manager.
she received a jersey from her team and was excited to give it to one of the vietnamese students. the students decided that they should have a football tournament (not american football which requires much too much preparation and protective gear). they organized their three classes into teams and everyone was ready for the big match.
the teams all sported new jerseys. some of them had “j. j. j.” on the chest which represented, “jack, julie and jon.” it was a nice gesture. two of the jerseys were the exact same color and make and you couldn’t distinguish the two teams.
they also made a banner for the tournament; white letters set on a red background. it said, “julye’s cup” or something or other. i can’t remember exactly but all i know is that her name was spelled hilariously wrong in bold lettering. i believe a couple students asked her if that was how she spelled her name and she obliged.
jack and i were chosen as referees because we always dictate things in class, we’re tall and we’re different looking. we were given whistles, watches and red/yellow cards. i had to think back hard to my high school days to remember the rules.
the games began and jota and julie and a few hundred vietnamese students stood on the dusty sidelines. the teams played with passion and we blew our whistles too frequently or at inappropriate times. we have learned, though, that when you make a mistake, if it’s a minor one, to save face you must stand by your decision. i decided kicks should go one way with fervor. i said that throw-ins should be given to certain teams with authority. in reality, i didn’t have any idea whose it was.
the games went smoothly and the students ran around on the dirt field and kicked and scored and fouled and lost and won all at the same time. i gave out one red card and two yellow card. the throngs of people on the sidelines cheered and jeered (there really were hundreds of people watching the game). i gave them out when the game didn’t mean anything and when i wanted to test out my new-found authority. it was fun.
she is a big fan of the newcastle football team which i refuse to name at this time. all i know is that their manager is bobby robson because she has a large picture of him on her wall signed by his secretary or his wife. it’s not the signature of a football manager.
she received a jersey from her team and was excited to give it to one of the vietnamese students. the students decided that they should have a football tournament (not american football which requires much too much preparation and protective gear). they organized their three classes into teams and everyone was ready for the big match.
the teams all sported new jerseys. some of them had “j. j. j.” on the chest which represented, “jack, julie and jon.” it was a nice gesture. two of the jerseys were the exact same color and make and you couldn’t distinguish the two teams.
they also made a banner for the tournament; white letters set on a red background. it said, “julye’s cup” or something or other. i can’t remember exactly but all i know is that her name was spelled hilariously wrong in bold lettering. i believe a couple students asked her if that was how she spelled her name and she obliged.
jack and i were chosen as referees because we always dictate things in class, we’re tall and we’re different looking. we were given whistles, watches and red/yellow cards. i had to think back hard to my high school days to remember the rules.
the games began and jota and julie and a few hundred vietnamese students stood on the dusty sidelines. the teams played with passion and we blew our whistles too frequently or at inappropriate times. we have learned, though, that when you make a mistake, if it’s a minor one, to save face you must stand by your decision. i decided kicks should go one way with fervor. i said that throw-ins should be given to certain teams with authority. in reality, i didn’t have any idea whose it was.
the games went smoothly and the students ran around on the dirt field and kicked and scored and fouled and lost and won all at the same time. i gave out one red card and two yellow card. the throngs of people on the sidelines cheered and jeered (there really were hundreds of people watching the game). i gave them out when the game didn’t mean anything and when i wanted to test out my new-found authority. it was fun.
Friday, April 25, 2003
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.
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, March 23, 2003
the youth union was celebrating its anniversary. there were to be small tents set up for each class and long, long nights of fun.
i don’t know what the function of the youth union is nor am i exactly sure how old it is. i would guess it’s somewhere around 30. i would guess its job is to further the desires of the youth whatever they might be.
the tents were each unique and did not at all resemble a tent as we would imagine it. you can’t buy a tent like this at wal-mart. each class went about the exhausting task of creating their own, specific tent. most classes brought long bamboo poles and an old, large tarp. some of the tents were thin and tall. other tents were squat and wide. they each had a unique personality. the vietnamese flag flew from the top of each and inside there was a framed photo of ho chi minh.
the campus instantly transformed into what looked like a refugee camp with a million red and gold flags waving in the breeze. the celebration began sometime after supper and stretched long into the night.
julie, jota and i (she’s a new volunteer here from britain working with vso) made our way to the camp around ten. it was dark and we couldn’t find the english department. the atmosphere was electric. there was movement and noise everywhere and it was all unique. each tent was lit up like a christmas tree and people were happily strolling from one tent to another. we found the english department tents snuggly pressed against the back corner of the security fence.
the next six hours or so were spent walking from tent to tent talking to the students and listening to their questions. for students who normally go to bed around nine or ten at night, staying up until dawn is daunting. some were wide-eyed and energetic. others simply gave in and fell asleep on the ground. some walked around in a daze pretending they weren’t tired but not able to hide the exhaustion in their eyes.
there are three different third year classes and one second year class that i teach. we sat in circles and played games and talked. game one: put a bunch of requests in balloons and hang them from the middle of the room. sit in a circle and take turns urging people to go up to the balloons, pop one and comply with what was written on the slip of paper. most requests were directed at the opposite sex. “go up to the person in the room that you like the most and tell them why.” “find the person you think is the most lovely and dance in the middle of the circle like two birds.” “find someone and pinch them hard.” the students would spend an incredible amount of time selecting who they liked the most. game two: sit in a circle and make up teams of three. each team picks an animal and is assigned a noise. there are three noises each group must make: tac, si and bum. after bum is said that person names another group and they continue the trend. the group is out if they call on a group that doesn’t exist, take too much time or don’t respond when their animal is called. game three: sit in a circle and ask jon as many questions and you can muster up. ask him questions that put him on the spot and make him feel uncomfortable. make sure he is always reeling but stills feels obligated to stay.
and that was the night. i stayed with them until four in the morning and took jota home (who had an incredible reserve of energy and kept digging in the dirt and making a mess). surprisingly, most of the students were still very active. some had fallen asleep in groups but they were tormented by those who stayed awake. i was glad to be able to return to my room and sleep in peace.
i don’t know what the function of the youth union is nor am i exactly sure how old it is. i would guess it’s somewhere around 30. i would guess its job is to further the desires of the youth whatever they might be.
the tents were each unique and did not at all resemble a tent as we would imagine it. you can’t buy a tent like this at wal-mart. each class went about the exhausting task of creating their own, specific tent. most classes brought long bamboo poles and an old, large tarp. some of the tents were thin and tall. other tents were squat and wide. they each had a unique personality. the vietnamese flag flew from the top of each and inside there was a framed photo of ho chi minh.
the campus instantly transformed into what looked like a refugee camp with a million red and gold flags waving in the breeze. the celebration began sometime after supper and stretched long into the night.
julie, jota and i (she’s a new volunteer here from britain working with vso) made our way to the camp around ten. it was dark and we couldn’t find the english department. the atmosphere was electric. there was movement and noise everywhere and it was all unique. each tent was lit up like a christmas tree and people were happily strolling from one tent to another. we found the english department tents snuggly pressed against the back corner of the security fence.
the next six hours or so were spent walking from tent to tent talking to the students and listening to their questions. for students who normally go to bed around nine or ten at night, staying up until dawn is daunting. some were wide-eyed and energetic. others simply gave in and fell asleep on the ground. some walked around in a daze pretending they weren’t tired but not able to hide the exhaustion in their eyes.
there are three different third year classes and one second year class that i teach. we sat in circles and played games and talked. game one: put a bunch of requests in balloons and hang them from the middle of the room. sit in a circle and take turns urging people to go up to the balloons, pop one and comply with what was written on the slip of paper. most requests were directed at the opposite sex. “go up to the person in the room that you like the most and tell them why.” “find the person you think is the most lovely and dance in the middle of the circle like two birds.” “find someone and pinch them hard.” the students would spend an incredible amount of time selecting who they liked the most. game two: sit in a circle and make up teams of three. each team picks an animal and is assigned a noise. there are three noises each group must make: tac, si and bum. after bum is said that person names another group and they continue the trend. the group is out if they call on a group that doesn’t exist, take too much time or don’t respond when their animal is called. game three: sit in a circle and ask jon as many questions and you can muster up. ask him questions that put him on the spot and make him feel uncomfortable. make sure he is always reeling but stills feels obligated to stay.
and that was the night. i stayed with them until four in the morning and took jota home (who had an incredible reserve of energy and kept digging in the dirt and making a mess). surprisingly, most of the students were still very active. some had fallen asleep in groups but they were tormented by those who stayed awake. i was glad to be able to return to my room and sleep in peace.
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