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.

in a place where the heat soars to absurd heights people need ice in their drinks. this constant need for ice presents a problem when people don’t have freezers.

the ice industry in the mekong is booming. there are small, ice works all over. normally they receive a shipment of ice early in the morning. on my way to coffee i see large blocks of water sitting on the sidewalk. the ice is long and thin and is shaped like a thick stick of gum. they are placed in square blocks five or six feet high and about as wide. they sweat and people scurry.

the blocks are then chopped into more manageable squares. they are chopped with a large, metal tool that has many long teeth and a wooden handle. it looks like a set of teeth from some deranged, robotic dog. it’s used like a hammer and the ice comes apart fairly easily.

the ice boys then take the ice on scooters to different restaurants. they drive quickly while the sun slowly eats away at their profits. when they arrive at a restaurant the ice is quickly ushered into the back where it is mashed up into smaller bits suitable for drinks. each bit is a different shape and size. they all look like diamonds and disappear quickly in your glass.

all of the ice must be delivered fairly early in the morning. the afternoon is spent cleaning up the shop and clearing out all of the pools of water that have formed in front. they scoop up this brown street water with a bucket and toss it into the road in order to evaporate quickly.

at home i didn’t have to imagine where ice came from. everyone had their own freezer and, if the need arose, you could open the door, let out a cool blast of air and grab a few pieces. a cold drink in a developing country is just one more conundrum you never really bother to think about.

my neck is soar from the inside out. my head feels like some hot cooking utensil. my stomach won't stay put and anything i try to give it is quickly refused.

being sick in a developing country is quite an adventure. it's quite difficult to point to exactly where you got it.

tonight i had a conversation with julie that went something like this (she is just as sick as me):

'where do you think we got this bug?'
'beats me'
'do you think it was that weird fish we had the other day?'
'don't know, i had that fish before and it looked cooked.'
'well, maybe it was the frog we had yesterday for lunch. they were kinda cold.'
'yea, they were but i've had cold frog before.'
'you think it was a mosquito? maybe we have malaria? what are the symptoms of malaria?'
'umm, i think just about what we have but what are the odds that both of us have malaria?'
'don't know, maybe the same mosquito bit both of us. i hate mosquitoes.'
'yea. who doesn't.'

and that was it. you're left wondering what happened and how to avoid it the second time. your mind races from worse case scenario to, 'i'll be better tomorrow.'

some people just don’t take a hint. i met a man about a month ago and he asked me for my phone number. knowing where such an encounter can lead, i was hesitant to give it to him. i did anyway because i’m a sucker.

he called me a number of times and i was always busy. if i wasn’t busy i mustered up the courage to lie to him and tell him that i was anyway. finally he was able to ring me in.

we were driving home from supper when we saw someone waving to us driving the other direction. i didn’t think anything of it. maybe it was another teacher. he turned around and followed us. when we got home i realized who it was. it was he.

i promised him to go to have coffee with him the next day at two. i hoped he would forget or have another engagement but, at one fifty, he knocked on my door.

he is a very stylish person. his hair is cropped close to his head but he gels it in a very interesting way. every strand of hair seems to be pointing in a different direction. his clothes were only the finest. his shirt was ribbed and his pants had more pockets than i had ever seen. when he drove he wore a dkny hat and sunglasses that stretched across his face and make him look terribly fast.

we had coffee and it was pleasant. he is a modern, independent vietnamese man. he talked about life and what he did and what he wanted to do and where he wanted to go. we got on the subject of girlfriends and he said that he had one but his parents didn’t approve.

i thought surely this man wouldn’t have problems with his parents. he was older than me. he said his old girlfriend was too modern for his parents and that he couldn’t date her anymore. he had stopped dating her because of his parents. old vietnam meets new vietnam and guess who wins?

he took me to karaoke. where else would you take a stranger in long xuyen? we sang a few songs and he sounded like smoky robinson. we had a wonderful night.

today is international labor day. i don’t know how much it’s celebrated in america, if my memory holding up, i don’t think it is.

today no one works. well, no one works except for the skinny girls that serve coffee in small cafes and waitresses, cooks and taxis.

flags line all of the streets and they are relatively empty. it looks a bit like the tet holiday. people are spending their time with friends in bars, restaurants and at home. international labor day is one big party.

there is a large statue of uncle ton in the middle of long xuyen. he is bronze and tall and firmly built. his face is stoic and he looks quite impressive. he stands, immortalized, on a large, marble pedestal. he was the leader of vietnam after uncle ho chi minh. he was raised on a small island on the river. today there will be small marches and parades and banners and people milling about. everything is red and gold. signs proclaim the prowess and pride of workers.

i think international labor day is an important day to celebrate. i guess america doesn’t bother with it because it has its own labor day which i fondly remember as falling sometime before school starts. it was a dreaded omen when i was a child. i never understood its significance.

without labor we would have no shoes. without labor we would have no computers. without labor we would have no cars. without labor gates, buffet, walton, bush, cheney, lay and any other host of incredibly rich and powerful white men would not have their power or their wealth. if anyone should be celebrating international labor day, it should be america. take a moment out of your busy day to say, “thank you” to the hundreds of developing countries throughout the world for providing you with dirt-cheap wages and equally cheap natural resources. walk proudly in your soft, south-east-asian-made tennis shoes.