Boom-Boom and Orwell

Scene 1: Ba Lan. I get a call from my Texan friend. She is having drinks with a Dutch lady and an Englishman. She gives me the address. On the way out I have to give my land lady a piece of paper saying when I will be back so she doesn't lock me out. Where am I going? Oh, Nha Tho, but I don't say it right. This leads to a Vietnamese lesson conducted mostly in broken English and French which ends in me having to look at pictures of Ba Lan (Grandma Lan, my landlady) at Euro Disney with her sister, daughter, and daughter's father-in-law. 

Scene 2: Xe Om to Nha Tho, which is next to the Cathedral. I overpay, of course, because I am Tay (foreigner) and it is late.

Scene 3: Salsa. I'm at a expensive restaurant that is classified as Mexican only because it serves tapas, Sangria, and tortillas. Everything else is French and expensive. We talk about the weird things our students do and say. Sarah has a seven year old student who removes his shoes and socks and dances in class every chance he can. I have students who constantly, innocently ask me what certain Ebonics words and general profanity mean. 

Scene 4: Attack of the Boom-Boom girls! Walking away from the restaurant in search of a xe om I am surrounded by four prostitutes. One hand on my wallet and one fending them away I shrug off their questions (where you from?) and their so handsomes, so strongs and giggles. I stare at the ground. They leave, make a second pass on motorbikes yelling Tay! as if I didn't know already that I'm a foreigner.

Scene 5: The Friendly Xe Om. All negotiation must take place with an exaggerated face. He says nam Muoi! (50 thousand dong) I have a big surprised face. Bun Muoi! (40) completely depressed face. Hai Muoi! a gentle pleased face. He asks me, en route, where I'm from in Vietnamese. I'm able to answer. This obviously means I'm fluent in Vietnamese and much follows. All of which I answer with either pleased grunts, my address, Obama!, or 'I have no idea what you are saying.' Nothing phases him. At 20 kilometers an hour we go down the street shouting Obama! together. He tries to charge me double, I refuse, he thinks this is all very funny.

Scene 6: I open my thankfully not bolted door just as the Orwell truck goes by at midnight. In Vietnamese, I am told, the truck's recording blares on speaker phones, "Why are you up at this hour? You have work tomorrow! You must get up and be productive for you family and the Republic!"

Moto-bi

Let me explain the title. In Vietnamese many nouns are two words. The first is a classifier (I believe) like ‘Xe Dap’, bicycle, or ‘Xe Taxi’, you can guess that one. Xe simply means that the noun is a form of transportation. Also, word endings are not important, which is abundantly obvious even in my intermediate classes where plurals, possessives, and word final consonants in general are dropped. Unfortunately I have been forced to use a yard stick to enforce pronunciation. 
Therefore, Motorbike becomes moto-bi, which sounds like the extreme of sexual deviancy. Anyway, I just rented a bike and talk about a high! The first ride was about two seconds long. Apparently the gas is touchy when the bike is in first gear (you have to shift these things?) It took me across the street and almost over the curb. Good thing there is no such thing as road rage or personal weapons here, just a cacophony of honking. Well I got honked at a bunch, calmed myself down, and eventually figured it out. The first day was full of lurching, apologies to people who don’t understand me, and the general feeling of having adrenaline pumped right into my heart. But, I’m better now. I think I’ll be able to do this, and even enjoy it. I think I'll call my bike Blue Magic.
My driving habits have already taken a down turn by US standards. Signals, what are those for? The Vietnamese don’t know. One ways and solid lines on the road? Mostly just a strong suggestion. The rules of the road: don’t go fast and honk the hell out of everything that moves. Honk even if nobody is around and you just gotta honk. Oh, and keep a hundred in your wallet for the cops.

Monsoon Halloween

It has been raining in Hanoi for two days. Animals are lining up in pairs on the banks of the Red river (namely rats and Chihuahuas, if there is a difference). The streets are often flooded and the Language Link classes are either canceled or have only one or two students in attendance. 

Tonight was Halloween and I forgot the number one rule of being abroad... never, ever trust a Limey (Englishmen). Since classes were so small ( I had only two students for two classes) all the teachers and students gathered up at the restaurant behind the school for a 'party.' We talked, we ate, we drank. After, an Englishman, an Aussie girl and I were supposed to go to a 'saloon.' The Aussie only had a bike and on the way she peeled off and went home. So, it was only the Queen's subject and I. On the way, the dude's motorbike, I was on the back, broke down twice because of two foot water. At one point I was up to my knees wading through the water after the Brit, who was pushing his bike. It looked like some sort of watery exodus. Many people's bikes had given out for good and were pushing them home, others were walking. All quietly.

We arrived at the saloon (and it was a saloon, imagine Stockman's x 3 minus Saudis) soaked and covered in germs and who knows what. The place was filled to the brim with freak music and barmaids. No costumers except some odd Vietnamese guys. Nick bought whiskey and beers. I wondered if he was trying to loosen me up for some ungodly purpose. Met a weird Belgian guy, Nick (the Limey) flirted with everything that was female in the place. And, eventually I got him to give me a lift home. But first, after paying a week's salary (hyperbole) for drinks I stole a jack-o-lantern from the bar and smashed it outside just to prove I was American.

What a Halloween. Tomorrow I might have to swim to work.

Situation Normal

Something I am coming to realize is that people have much less of an idea of what is going on than I have thought in the past. In construction we seemed to improvise from day-to-day, in training camp the Drill Sergeants would have us run in circles for 'discipline' when in fact they did not know what we were supposed to be doing, and at Language Link in Hanoi it seems that few actually can tell me what I am supposed to be doing. Today I started my corporate class. I have not been given a pacing guide which is a requirement for a course (because there isn't a guide.) So I had no idea what I was really supposed to be doing. I didn't really know where the class was, except that it was off site. I assumed I would have the correct book and a chalkboard at the corporate building. All I really knew was that I would be working for a company called IS VNU doing a two hour conversation class. I assumed this meant helping businessmen hone there speaking skills for business and relations purposes.

Well, when I was picked up by a mystery woman to go to the site I had to borrow someone's helmet because we were going by motorbike (I assumed she would have a car with a driver.) We drove way out and stopped in the Hanoi 'projects' and it turned out IS VNU was International School of Vietnam University, whose building was a supposedly renovated high-rise apartment. They were short on teachers and had contracted my services through Language Link. After hurriedly receiving a syllabus (which had nothing to do with me), CDs for my conversation book (which I had been unable to refer to for planning) and basically being told that my pacing guide was to just go for it, I met my students...17-19 year olds. Then it sunk in that this was no corporate class, I actually asked one girl if she worked for IS VNU before the title of the building I had seen on a sign outside and the initials made a connection in my mind.

The students, apparently, have a two hour English grammar instruction from a Vietnamese teacher. Then I come in and converse with them using the conversation and pronunciation books. There is no coordination between me and the other teacher. 

We played a quick vocab. game in the hall (in front of the scuzzy one person WC) first because they have desks set up in straight lines and they are not moveable. Then, I jumped into my lesson, which was perfect, from the book on greetings. I introduced myself and then we were going to rate how formal and informal certain greetings are, etc. I had planned for a long time this morning so I could make a good impression on the 'businessmen.' Then, the students brought it to my attention that I did not have the same book as they did.

Oh! The Humanity! I was about to give an ad hoc lesson on American expletives before I caught myself and quietly said 'well crap.' I grabbed a girl's book and chose something and we did it. I chose something else, and then I figured 'to hell with it' and we just played language games I pulled out of nowhere for the rest of the time and talked about America. 

After class at five I dashed out, found a motorbike dude who ripped me off, and took off for Language Link to teach my 5:45 class that is actually a corporate class. That, at least went well.

Waiting for the Water Heater...

Last night I went to another live music event (and I was told live music is rare here) at an upscale restaurant and bar. Actually had to pay over a dollar for a beer! The band was a mix of expats from around the world doing Santana and other diverse covers. I have now begun to notice faces that I see elsewhere and last night I saw many of the same people I have seen on other weekends or even every weekend. The expat scene is a little ingrown and many seem like not the nicest people. I think I was probably the youngest or second to youngest person there, which surprises me. I expected more people my age with the same 'just got out of college' story. Maybe that is how it is in Korea and Japan and I've landed in the old-hand, committed English Teacher, corner of Asia. 

The music was decent though and it was nice to be out with a few friends, all of whom are from different countries. One of them, Jouke from the Netherlands, got her purse stolen the other day, which reminds me to be vigilant. I keep my wallet in my front pocket and I always check my balcony door before leaving. Grandma is very clear on this, because roof-to-roof jumping thieves are not unknown.

If you are wandering, Grandma is Madame Lan, my landlady. She is incredibly kind, even when, on friday I came back too late (eight past midnight) and she had to unbolt the door. She manages to force food on me as I pass her door no matter how quiet I try to be. Last night it was a tomato (?) a couple nights before it was cake and watermelon. The cake and watermelon was well earned though, I had to listen to her little nephew read in French. I had no idea what he was saying, but it sounded pretty good, so I said he was brilliant. Not that Grandma understands me, she speaks to me in a polyglot of French, English, and Vietnamese. But eyebrows and smiles are usually enough with a 'merci' thrown in. 

Well, I think I'm going to go explore more of my neighborhood.

Culture Clash

I n tonight's Pre-Intermediate class we had a little side conversation at the end of class that started with a reading about Porto, Portugal and a bridge designed there by Eiffel. I was told by the students that a bridge here in Hanoi was designed by Eiffel as well, the old Long Bien Bridge across the Red River. I asked if it had been destroyed, in part, during the wars. But, according to them it had been damaged, but not destroyed, and now only motorbike and bicycle traffic can cross it because of the damage done by the Japanese, or French, or Americans. Also, a bridge near Haiphong was built by Eiffel. I asked if it was still there even though the Americans destroyed Haiphong. We had an argument over if Haiphong had been destroyed or not, and then one guy admitted that some spans (he actually used the word spans) had been destroyed. 

They thought it was funny I called it the American War.

This led naturally to a discussion about John McCain, whom they didn't dislike, but everyone liked Barack Obama better. One lady said she liked him because he is colored. I explained that 'colored' is not a term used anymore, but I didn't tell her it was a bad term. I didn't want it to seem like I was reprimanding her. 

Then, oddly, someone asked what I thought about Putin. I said I thought he was very bad, evil. This surprised many of them. Out of the whole class all but one said they liked Putin. I asked how they could like him when he had journalists murdered and hurt democracy. Either they were unconcerned about democracy or didn't understand. As far as killing journalists all that were Pro-Putin said it was okay sometimes, when necessary.

I was taken aback. I guess I assume that everyone is on a basis of classic liberalism and pluralism and all that other good Baroque/Renaissance Locke, Rousseau, and Jefferson system of politics. But, this is Asia. And this country still calls itself Communist. 

The side conversation ended with me saying 'We are very different,' everyone laughing and us returning to our reading skills lesson. But, I felt like a stranger in a very different place, something that had worn away somewhat.

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Today, for me, is also the 9th anniversary of Rebecca's death and two days ago was the one decade anniversary of Catey's death. It seems so long ago, and truly it was almost half my life ago. I have left middle school and High school since then, graduated from college, seen much of the world, survived a boot camp, and in someways become the vagabond I wanted to be in junior high. I am now six years older than Catey, but she is still my older sister. I haven't seen her in ten years and I have done a lot, but I still miss my big sister. I wish she was still a presence somewhere in my life, to talk to, and look up to, to come visit me. I think she would have enjoyed Hanoi and Vietnam very much. 

Here Goes...

Hello From Hanoi,

I decided to create a blog so I could communicate with everybody at once and so I would actually put down some of my thoughts and experiences. I'll write more later.