ethno what?

When meeting new people, I often have a conversation something like this:

NP: Oh, you're a grad student! What are you studying?
AB: I'm doing a dual master's in journalism and ethnomusicology [always "journalism" first so people get through that before being tripped up].
NP: Ethno... what?
AB: Ethno.music.ology. It's like a combination of music and anthropology.
NP: Right, anthropolani.
AB: Um, like the study of music in culture.
NP: Oh, ok. And journalism. Well that's an... interesting... combination. What do you plan to do with that?
AB: Well [see previous blog post], I'll find out in three years...

It's a peculiar feeling to devote myself to a discipline (or idea) that most people have never heard of before. They can't say, "Right on, ethnomusicology. My great aunt Bertha was a ethnomusicologist. One day she..."

It's even more disconcerting when that discipline doesn't even know what to call itself. I just read an article titled, "Ethnomusicology, Alterity, and Disciplinary Identity; or, 'Do We Still Need an Ethno-?' 'Do We Still Need an -ology?'" Scholars say maybe we're actually all musicologists. Or maybe we truly belong in anthropology. Or maybe just "music scholars." I wrote in the margins, "And we take ourselves way too seriously." Some of this writing is so convoluted it's like reading words through the church potluck fruit Jell-O. If I ever wrote like that for a newspaper article, I think I'd be fired.

So who are we, anyway, these so-called (ethno)(music)(ologists)? Let me take a stab:

• We study how music is used in cultures.
• We do a lot of research--usually first-hand, primary information gathering--in places that we find interesting (sometimes a foreign country, sometimes home communities).
• We are not necessarily musicians. We can spew out a great deal of theory on musical practices, but don't ask us to actually perform them. That said, many do learn new instruments and styles in the process.
• An example: if you say you like folk music, an ethnomusicologists might ask, "Who (what?) are (is?) the 'folk'? What prompted the emergence of this music? Who practices it and why? What impact does folk music have on the way people think about politics or religion?" The questions could go on and on.
  

And about me, specifically?

• I'm interested in two major areas: medical ethnomusicology (health and healing with music, especially in the HIV/AIDS crises) and applied ethnomusicology (working outside academia and using my knowledge and skills to help people, otherwise known as advocacy).
• I want to research in, I think, Uganda (where I lived in 2006).
• The journalism angle gives me practical skills in addition to the more theoretical and prepares me to, say, write for an arts column or create documentaries on musical practices.

So next time you meet someone who says they're an ethnomusicologist, you can say, "Right on. That's cool. So what's your research in?"

window reflections

I was driving up to Hood River in Oregon last week with some dear ol' Wheaton housemates, past gorgeous mountains and rushing rivers. I began looking out the window silently and was transported to another time and another place. It was a land of memories, a place of unanswered questions, where I wander, lost in a forest of uncertain decisions. Looking out windows tends to take me to this place. I'm sure I'm not the only one.

But then the car stopped at a glorious overlook and when I climbed out, the wind blew straight into me, as if singing--Anna, you are HERE, here in Oregon, in this beautiful creation, here at this time with your lovely companions, and it is beautiful and it is good.

I was snapped back to the moment, back to Oregon, and it was beautiful and it was good. It was good to be me, be there, at that moment.

Our next stop was at a winery. We took small sips of 14 different wines, all unique in their flavors, smells, and even colors. It was a spiritual experience, in a way. Each day brings its own flavors--here a sweet cherry, there a smokey oak. They mix together and present the palette with a rich aroma and full flavor. I sip and try to taste each ingredient, each moment of this crazy life. Sometimes life gets confusing and the flavors of the wine are too strong and bitter. Yet I bring the glass to my lips and drink.

My companions seemed to be living full lives, enjoying the richness each day brings. I began thinking about how future-focused I am, constantly planning the Next Step and asking other people what their plans are. This is how I grew up--just ask my dad. And people ask me all the time what my plans are after this grad school deal. But truth is, I don't know. I give a different answer to each person, hoping that I'll verbally stumble onto something that sounds perfect and then have a definite goal to work towards. But hell, I simply don't know where I'll be three years from now, and I'm not sure I want to know. I'm enjoying school, here and now, and that's sufficient. Maybe I don't need answers about the future. This is what I'm doing now and, well, that's that.

"Be patient towards all that is unsolved. Try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms, not seek the answers that cannot be given because you would not be able to live with them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then, gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer." (Rilke)

"to remove a wrinkle or not" (or, "ethics of light and photoshop")

Here are two examples of photography ethical dilemmas which border the ridiculous and the hilarious (brought up in my photojournalism class):

The first: You'd think people would be upset for magazine covers being over-manipulated. But here Fox is infuriated with Newsweek not touching up its cover of Sarah Palin:



The second: Photographer Jill Greenburg gets grilled for unprofessional behavior at a photoshoot with John McCain for The Atlantic, where she manipulated lighting to cast McCain with horror movie shadows. Again, Fox reports:



Sorry to overuse Fox... I'm not such a fan of their reporting, but find the ethical issues wrapped up in these interviews fascinating.

"I take photo? It ok?" (or, "Ethics and Photography Methodology")

It seems that photographers often disregard the living and breathing context around them and do whatever it takes to get the shot that they are looking for, that they 'need.' In the name of publication, in the name of a demanding editor, in the name of promotion, regular social rules are broken and the photographer points a metal box into someone’s face. The outcome is, usually, beautiful pictures that could not be taken if social rules had been adhered to. But I wonder, is it ethical?

Let me give an example. I was at a performance tonight of two well-known musicians from New York. A photographer from the university paper walked up to the stage during the performance, in his gym shorts and bright orange t-shirt, and started snapping pictures of the instruments and the performers. I’m sure they were great pictures, but it was very distracting for the audience, never mind the musicians.

I respect performance space. I’ve had a definite sense of boundaries ever since I gave a piano recital in 4th grade and a boy my age put his chin on the edge, staring straight at my lanky fingers. I wanted to play a scale up the piano and smack him in the face! Performance space is sacred. A photographer breaks the charm and draws attention away from the central space.

The ethics of space becomes messier when placed in a context of poverty. When I lived in Uganda, we would walk around the slums and visit widows and orphans with HIV/AIDS. These people are noble and beautiful, broken and hungry all at the same time. Perfect photographing opportunities, right? When those slick and glossy pictures from World Vision are walking and breathing and living around you, there is an urge to pull out the camera and begin snapping. This is exactly what some western visitors did when they visited the slums. After a brief 'agreement' of a nod from Victim Exhibit A, snap snap! their face is stuck in a metal box. I admit: I’ve done this. But my boss asked me one day, "You are taking away their voice, their face, and what are you giving back?" I began to see this kind of photography as a type of exploitation. Here’s the rich white westerner going into poor dirty slum with fancy camera, capturing images in boxes, and going back home to showcase a brilliant portfolio. What does the "subject" receive? Nothing. "Exploitation: to use unfairly for one’s own advantage." Hm.

This issue of ethics and fieldwork methodology seems to be a fundamental difference between my two degrees--journalism and ethnomusicology. In journalism, you get the shot no matter what that means. Capture the moment, we’re told. Be there. Do what it takes to get a clean background, a neat shot. Ethnomusicology, on the other hand, espouses more of a participant-observation approach. You become part of the scene. Listen. Stay out of the way. Make notes and interact with people, but don’t let your presence affect the scene in any way.

I know that a good argument can be given for the purposes of either side. I know the output of both professions are much appreciated, by different audiences and for different purposes. But how do I be an excellent photographer without being a jerk? I have not yet found a balance that I am comfortable with.

Your comments most welcome!

honeymooning grad school

These days are full of meeting new people, trying to remember names, figuring out exactly how many minutes it takes to bike to class, delving into subjects I've wanted to study for a long time (like ethnomusicology and photography), discovering places to dance!, and beginning to commit to a few things beyond the basics. Basically, I'm having a great time and am not nearly as overwhelmed as I anticipated (but maybe I'm speaking too soon? or maybe it's just the glorious fact that everything is in English and I understand what's going on?).

They say the first stage of cross-cultural adjustment is like a honeymoon--everything is great; there are some emotional highs and lows, but the sun is shining and life is good. Bloomington isn't exactly cross-cultural, but whatever you want to call it, I'll ride this honeymoon as long as I can. It will probably change with the weather, haha... check back here in about two months.

The Church talks a lot about a theology of suffering, a theology of going through the rough times. We memorize the Phil. 4:13 and Ps. 23 passages. But what about a theology of joy, even a theology of monotony, when everything is going along smoothly? I'm convinced that at the center of this theology must lay an outpouring of thanksgiving and appreciation. By my door, I have this verse posted:

Rejoice always
Pray without ceasing
In everything give thanks.

Then next to that, I've put up a sheet where I write things I'm thankful for. Some bits up there now: Baganda music in the archives, the smell of wet earth after long fall rains, tired green leaves ready to burst into color, blue skies, audio transformers, recognizing familiar faces at new places, bike brakes that work in the rain, and new friends over coffee. This kind of conscious daily thanksgiving helps, well, helps the honeymoon last. Of course I'm far from having this a 24/7 life attitude, but hey, it's a start right?

On another not-so-holy note, I got hit by a car the other day. Notice how I wrote that. I *got hit by* a car. It was clearly all the car's fault. Never mind that I was crossing a street during (the wrong direction's) green light, onto a one-way (the wrong way) street. Oh no, that $&#*@ car swiped my front tire and drove off. I didn't fall but the speed at which it happened certainly took me by surprise and I gave my best "what the hell?!" glare to the fading outline of the driver. Damn car. Ok, and stupid me. I really have got to let go of the aggressive riding style I adopted in Viet Nam. There are a lot of cars here and they go fast and stay in their lanes (imagine that!), leaving little space for bikers. I think it should be a requirement for drivers (and pedestrians, for that matter) to live for at least a month in a place like Viet Nam to understand the marvelous riverlike flow of traffic. In Viet Nam, when someone crosses a street, they just start walking and the traffic flows beautifully around them. But here, crossing pedestrians look at me speeding towards them and stop in their tracks, like "oa! that bike is headed right towards me." It's more like a cement wall than a river. See, one month in Hanoi would solve so many problems.

Ok, off my stump. Another week awaits me and I must begin it with sleep.

new horizons

After a whirl of traveling, seeing old friends and family, and packing or unpacking many times, I have learned that it's not natural for the body to travel over 16,000 miles in the span of a month. Someone once said that the body is not meant to travel faster than an oxcart, and I certainly see the wisdom of that now! But I've landed in Bloomington, Indiana and have permanently unpacked my boxes and bags, breathing a sigh of relief--"ah, now I can relax in grad school!"

Well, maybe not. I have registered for 12 credits, which I've heard is a dangerous amount. Oh, plus my job. The thing is, I'm really excited about everything I'm doing, so while I may burn up this semester, at least the fire will be a energizing, exciting one. I'm taking "The Study of Ethnomusicology" (lots of reading), "Intensive Reporting, Writing, and Editing" (lots of writing), "Photojournalism" (lots of visual work), and "Ghanaian Performance and Culture" (lots of singing and dancing!). So the hope is that the diversity of assignments will balance out the sheer mass of it all.

I'm working 15 hrs/week as a GA at the Archives of Traditional Music, mostly digitizing old analog field recordings. My introductory training included this defensive quote: "The field of audiovisual archiving rarely shares the glamour or profile of the industries whose output it protects. It is neither well funded nor well known, and is often very demanding of time and energy. It attracts and holds motivated individuals with a sense of vocation, for whom the achievements of their work are their own reward." Motivated--yes; sense of vocation--hmm? But I'm excited to get my hands back on audio equipment!

I would be remiss in this blog if I didn't give a shout out to my wonderful family for helping me move in and settle into my new house. Together we did in just one day what would have taken me over a month... unpacking, decorating, cleaning, shopping, etc etc. We even managed to squeeze in a picnic dinner and lots of good conversations. I should also note that my house has plenty of space for visitors, so my doors are open to you, my friends...

"Oh! Right..." -initial impressions and reactions-

I'm writing now from Akron, Pennsylvania, after traveling nearly 40 hours from Hanoi, through Hong Kong and LA, to Philadelphia. It's been 11 months since leaving this place I think I call "home," and I've been keeping a list of things that surprise me or that I've forgotten about:

• water fountains. Public water. For. Free. Too bads it tastes like chlorine.
• bottled water for $5. $5!!! That much would buy about 10 bottles in Hanoi...
• informality between officials, store clerks, and me. Maybe it's just because I can actually understand what they're saying now, but I'm taken back by how friendly and chatty people are here.
• cool, dry air that smells amazing. I was trying to figure out what it is that smells so wonderful and fresh, but I'm pretty sure it's just the lack of exhaust fumes and pollution. Whatever it is, it smells and feels like HOME.
• diversity. Standing in the "US-passport holders" line, I was amazed at the diversity of people standing with me.
• passing money with one hand. In Vietnam, it's polite to give money or other items with two hands. Not so here.
• overhearing conversations in English-! I was expecting this, but it really is an amazing thing to be waiting in a line (and LINES themselves are another blessed surprise) and understand the people around me. Too bad they're complaining.
• cheese. Gobs of it on my pizza.
• gallons of real skim milk rolling by in a cart (at the airport). Skim milk!
• I'm no longer a giant. Looking in a mirror, I'm not conspicuous. People are big here. This also means that I loose my birds-eye perspective in big crowds.

I'm sure more surprises will come. I've only been here a day, after all. But it feels real good. All the SALTers are together for a re-entry retreat, so we're doing lots of story-swapping, laughing, and sleeping. Good times...

motorbikes to the market!

Come to Vietnam and you will be astounded by what Vietnamese can fit on their motor scooters. When I first came I was continually surprised at the huge loads of vegetables on motos, a man driving and a woman crouched down in front of him with her head just barely visible; or nine bird cages (yes I counted) precariously hanging behind the driver, the birds twittering along in the traffic; or long metal poles five times the length of the moto being transported to some construction site; or a family of five crammed on one moto. These things amazed me.

But I've been here almost one year by now. Not much fazes me any more. I hardly look twice at the 3-foot stack of eggs breezing by me.

This morning, however, I nearly fell off my bike as a moto pulled past me with a full cow laid on the back, its skinned hide bright and white, its nose bouncing off the pavement on one side, its tail flying in the wind on the other, its legs flopping around with every bump, and its eyes staring...straight at me. I guess you have to get your goods to the market somehow and if all you have is a moto, well, moto it is.

...on entering the boundary waters...

"What do we leave behind when we cross a frontier? Each moment seems split in two: meloncholy for what is left behind, and the excitement of entering a new land." (Che Guevara, Motorcycle Diaries)

Exactly.

It is now July and I'm entering those boundary waters between Vietnam and USA. My calendar tells me the jump is on July 19th, when I embark on travels to PA, NH, UK, NY, and finally IN to begin grad school. Each moment indeed seems split in two...

Melancholy...

...For dear friends, coworkers, and host family that I have grown close to here. While this year has been challenging in some ways, these people are the ones who keep the laugh in my heart and joy in my steps.
...For a go-with-the-flow lifestyle. I often have no idea about the agenda of a given day, but have learned to take things as they come (or don't come). I eat what's put in my bowl. I go where the van takes me. I have few expectations so I'm not upset by changes.
...For fresh fruits and veggies, every day, year-round. When it's mango season, we eat mangos (and lots of them). When it's lychee season, we eat lychee every day. My food comes from the same country I eat it in, and probably just outside of town. As my fellow SALTer Rachel put it, eating local isn't a movement here, it's life.
...For rice. If it's true that you are what you eat, I may resemble a giant grain of rice when I return. Sticky rice for breakfast, rice for lunch, rice for dinner, and rice noodles thrown in for variation. I've grown so accustomed to it that a meal without rice just doesn't quite seem complete A rice cooker is at the top of my shopping list for grad school!
...For language. I've spent nearly a year working so hard on learning Vietnamese--language school, private study, working with my host sister, hours with friends over coffee (or mango smoothies)--and I've come to the point where I can understand quite a bit. I can strike a hard bargain in Vietnamese and make people laugh with simple stories. When I return, all that hard work will be complete jibberish to everyone I know. Fun sayings like "ơi giời ơi," and "ăn cơm chưa?" will be as void of meaning as they were for me a year ago. If I bow my head to you, consider that a greeting or a thank you. If I wave my fingers with my palm down, please come to closer. Work with me--I've lost track of what's Vietnamese, what's American, and what's Ugandan.

Excitement...

...For dear friends and family who I haven't seen in far too long. Big hugs and long chats coming your way... :)
...For fresh air and grass between my toes. These are both unattainable in Hanoi.
...For eavesdropping. To be able to understand fast, quiet conversations around me without any effort may leave me overstimulated for some weeks. Newspapers and radio in English. One-liners and language puns that used to be a large part of my joking around.
...For big family gatherings where I know everyone, everyone knows me, and I can understand and contribute to conversations without feeling dumb. It's the simple things in life.
...For libraries with shelves and shelves of books in English that I can borrow for free. Whoever invented this concept was a genius.
...For autonomy. Being able to make decisions about what to cook and cooking it myself without being told I'm peeling the wrong way or using not enough MSG, where to go, who to meet, etc. Being an adult, basically.
...For grad school--both terrifying and exciting. Mostly exciting, if I don't think of the stress of papers and long readings. Ethnomusicology and journalism is pretty much my dream degree.

Right-o, that's enough for now. As each moment is split in two, I grieve for what is left behind and push forward to what is ahead, fully embracing the contradictions and ironies as I navigate the boundary waters.

Fun in the Sun

Pictures from April, May & June... a little of work, a lot of play (this ratio is more proportionate to the times I had a camera and wanted to take pictures than to how my time was actually spent).

Green Transport Day

The last project of Action for the City that I want to highlight is Green Transport Day. This film explains it well (can you spot me?):

Photovoice: river pollution through fresh lenses

Another major project that I've been involved with this year is a photography exhibition called, "Mirror? If the river could speak." But it's not just an exhibition. Here's a press release that I helped write for the Museum of Ethnology, one of the most prominent museums in Hà Nội:

"On 1 June 2008, Mirror? If the river could speak will open at the outdoor exhibition area of the Vietnam Museum of Ethnology. This photography exhibition is the result of a project that brings together community, environment, youth, and creativity. 19 young photographers from the Youth Union of Thinh Quang ward in Hanoi worked under the guidance of Paul Zetter, director of Ensemble Creative Training and Development, and Action for the City, a local NGO with a passion for the city. The project was funded by the SIDA Environmental Fund.

"Mirror? uses the technique of photovoice, a community-building methodology that aims to deepen and enrich a person’s engagement with their community at different levels, both personal and social. The end product of mainstream photography projects—the photographs—becomes secondary in photovoice where a renewed sense of engagement in the community, the making of new relationships and personal growth are the primary goals.

"The project focused on building the participant’s confidence, self esteem and self expression so they feel confident to use basic cameras as a tool of inquiry—a mirror for their new awareness and interest to rediscover their community. The cameras were basic and the photography training rudimentary to minimize pressure to take ‘beautiful’ photographs at the expense of full engagement with the community.

"60 photographs will be displayed at the exhibition. The main subject of Mirror? is the To Lich River, famous for its past beauty and present pollution. Some pictures in this exhibition expose the raw and filthy aspects of the river while others depict hope and humor. The questions asked by all of them are, 'If the river could speak, what would it say? Is the river a reflection of our lives?' The exhibition invites the viewers to reflect on issues that face the city.

"Before this exhibition, Mirror? was displayed at the Thinh Quang Primary School, Thai Thinh Junior Secondary School, and a teacher's conference put on by UNESCO. The current exhibition has been redesigned and reprinted for display at the Vietnam Museum of Ethnology."

We began this project back in September and it is still going. I helped document the workshops in photos and notes, helped design the exhibition, and did a lot of the behind-the-scenes tasks along with the other staff at Action for the City. This project has been especially exciting for me, to see an alternative and creative approach to development and to use stories and photos for a potentially heavy and dry topic like river pollution.

Just Massage: Empowerment, Opportunity, Dignity

Just Massage is the longest-term and most involved project of Action for the City. Instead of trying to explain everything, let me just post an article that I wrote for a women's magazine in Hanoi:

"A young woman kneels in a gently-lit room and pours oil into her hands. After making sure it is warm, she spreads it onto the back that is resting before her and begins to work the oil in, up the spine and over the shoulder blades. The only sound in the room is meditative music and soft breathing. The woman is centered and mindful of her movements but at the same time beams from the inside out.

"This is Nguyễn Thị Hè and she is proud of her work at Just Massage. 'When I do this job,' she says, 'I can give pleasure and relaxation to the clients, to the other people—this is my happiness. Other people’s happiness means my happiness. When clients feel stressed and troubled, they come here and I can help them release the tensions.'

"Hè was born in 1986 in Gia Lam district, Hanoi. As a visually-impaired youth, however, she had few opportunities for employment and little chance for a fair wage. Along with four other visually-impaired youth, she has found a home at Just Massage. She explains, 'At first my family also didn’t like the idea of massage, but after I expressed my feelings and opinions about my job, they understood and changed their opinion. Now they feel very happy because I finally found a stable and well-paid job.'

"Just Massage began as a collaborative effort between Action for the City (a local non-profit organization) and Maryknoll (an American Catholic mission organization in Vietnam). A professional massage therapist from the USA worked for months with the youth, teaching them Shiatsu and Swedish Therapeutic massage, human anatomy, hygiene, English, and business and marketing skills. This will eventually enable the youth to run their own business without external help. In order to deeply understand the ritual of massage, the therapists also spend time meditating and learning to focus. Just Massage opened in December 2007 and has been steadily attracting more clients.

"In a city where being visually-impaired is a serious handicap, Just Massage is a kind of haven for both therapists and clients. When asked what her favorite aspect of massage is, Hè responded, 'The most interesting thing when I do massage for the clients is that I can help them relieve tensions and help them become happier. After finishing the massage, I usually ask them, "How do you feel?" And often they say, "Very good," and I feel happy. I feel the most important thing is to concentrate hard on doing massage for the client to help them relax a lot.'"

This is Just Massage. This is a place of empowerment, opportunity, and dignity. What is my specific role here? I write articles such as the one above, design flyers, update the website, take photos for promotional use (or recruit others with better cameras to take photos--thanks Brent), teach English (back in the Fall), offer my body for massage practice (so sacrificial, I know), and work together on marketing strategies. Now that our funder has pulled out, we are working hard to break even and be self-sufficient. It's exciting for me to write an article, have it published in a popular in-flight magazine, then hear of people coming to Just Massage from the airport. Hey, this real-world stuff is pretty great! :) If you're ever in Hanoi, you know where to come for a Just Massage...

an overdue introduction: Action for the City

I realized that I haven't adequately described the NGO I work for on this blog. Since I just spent four hours speaking about Action for the City to middle-schoolers at the UN International School, now seems a good time to remedy the silence. If it sounds like I'm giving an infomercial, it's because, well, that's my job as the "communications officer."

Action for the City was started in 2006 by a small group of Vietnamese with a passion for the city. They saw many problems in this capital--traffic, pollution, loss of green space, discrimination--and had a vision of a green, clean city, 'where the livin' is easy.' But everyone has dreams and we can all make up visions. The difference is that this group acted on their passions and founded Action for the City, a local NGO committed to "bringing people together for livable cities," committed to integrity as an NGO, and committed to creativity and playfulness. We recently had a workshop to re-evaluate the goals and values after being in operation for two years and to renew our friendships. We drew pictures of our dreams, we shared with each other on a personal level (the first question I was asked: "So how about your boyfriend?" -!-), we lay on the grass with our heads together and stared up at the unusually blue skies... and we clarified our mission:

"Our mission is to improve the quality of life for all in Hanoi and other cities by increasing community participation, bringing common voices to policy-makers, and using a variety of creative forms and media as tools for social change. We focus on three main areas:
Environment: We work to slow down the process of climate change and create a healthy environment for all.
Social development: We work to reduce urban poverty, promote equal access to social services, and advocate for disadvantaged groups.
Creative urban living: We work to bring out and celebrate the creativity of individuals and communities for a sustainable lifestyle."

It all sounds pretty lofty, especially when you realize there's only five staff and two volunteers, and when you see our tiny one-room office with one octagonal table and little loft area. But we're all about bringing people together and as such have an extended networking system. There are always visitors coming in the office and emails fly around faster than you can say, "Tôi yêu Hà Nội" (I love Hanoi). And, my coworkers are simply amazing people who inspire me with their passion, creativity, and dedication. Being able to work alongside them has made this entire year worth it. Sometimes I come in to work discouraged or depressed, and they greet me warmly and simply love me. Once a week we have a "Buddhist lunch," where we eat vegetarian food in meditative silence, focusing on eating slowly and being fully aware of where our food comes from. Doing this together adds a kind of spiritual bond between us. I should also add that we rent our small room from the History Museum which has an amazing, quiet courtyard filled with blossoming trees and ancient artifacts (and occasional drunk karaoke parties and military drills).
So now, what do we actually do and what is my specific role in it all? We have a number of projects running concurrently, funded by different agencies (like the Worldbank or a Swedish environmental group) and working with different people and issues. In future blog entries, I will write specifically about Just Massage, Photovoice, and Green Transport Day. My role as communications officer is to develop PR--flyers, brochures, website material, writing articles, photography, etc--but I end up doing a lot more, including English editing, tech support, office interior design, English teaching, evaluations, massage tester (my favorite! :), receptionist, and many other odds and ends. I have a great deal of variety every day, which keeps life interesting. Because it's a small office, I can be part of discussions on new proposals, meet many people, and work on my Vietnamese! Action for the City has become my second (or third?) home, my little family...

elephants, monks, & hymn-sings: adventures in Laos

As our car pulled away from the airport in Vientiane, Laos, we passed quiet streets and spread-out houses. "When will we reach downtown?" I asked as we came to a small town. "This is it. This IS the downtown of the capital city." "Oh wow, I like this place! So quiet and peaceful."

And indeed, that feeling didn't leave me the whole time I was in Laos, a small communist country that nests snugly between Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and China. I was there for a regional SE Asia MCC retreat along with about 40 other expat volunteers, many of them on the same 1-year SALT program. The last time I saw these fun friends was in August during orientation, so we had a lot to catch up on and a lot of stories to share.
Before the retreat actually started, we took a very long, bumpy, curvy bus ride up to Luang Prabang, hugging the curves of steep mountains, catching glimpses of bamboo stilt houses balancing between road and cliff, and trying to avoid drips of condensed AC water falling from above our heads. Luang Prabang is a tourist town, and for good reason. It's nestled among spectacular mountains with the Mekong River flowing through its heart and old French architecture and wats gracing its streets. We had a chance to ride elephants (if only I was wearing white clothes and a pith helmet, I could be one of those colonialist "explorers" one sees in old photos), kayak through rapids and past fishermen throwing their nets in perfect circles (in pouring rain), hike up and over a gorgeous waterfall (in flip-flips and skirt--whoops!, bad choice for jungles Anna), jump fully-clothed in a pool at the bottom of the falls, greet monks with a small bow as they walked by in bright orange robes, walk around a night market with colorful ethnic patterns, sip fresh fruit shakes, and generally relax and be full-blown tourists. Good times.
Back in Vientiane, our retreat started with communion and me giving a short homily about drinking the cups of our lives to the dregs (an image from Nouwen's "Can You Drink the Cup?" which I highly recommend). Sometimes the cup is bitter and sorrowful, sometimes it's sweet and joyful, but no matter what it is we are called to hold it and embrace all the flavors, lift it to one another in community, and drink it to the bottom. Later on, each country shared what MCC is doing and we got to experience first hand some of the work in Laos, like teaching English to kids and translating women's health books. A Mennonite retreat wouldn't be complete without singing hymns in beautiful 4-part a capela harmony, so we definitely had a few good hours of harmonic bliss. :)
Laos is a beautiful, quiet, relaxing country, reminding me more of Papua New Guinea than anything in Vietnam. But now I'm back in the chaos of Hanoi, trying to be fully present and content, trying to drink my cup slowly and fully...

(note: more pictures are on Facebook; I'll get them up here before long...)

photo slideshow

Pictures as (not) promised... As usual, click on the photo to be directed to the Picasa page for detailed captions.



Click here for pictures my parents took on their visit here.

through the eyes of mom

A post written by my mom (click here for related pictures)...

I'd like to tell about our boat trip at Ba Be National Park, in northern Vietnam. On April 3^rd, 2008, we drove 6 hours north to Ba Be with a hired driver and car. We weren't far from China when we got there! The next morning we gathered a few things, and were driven to a boat launch with our new guide, whose name sounded like Chip. He spoke very little English, and Anna had to do lots of translating! We climbed into our 20' open boat with tarp/thatch awning. Our pilot cranked the handle of the engine, and we were off down the Nang River. How exciting to see wild countryside, mountains, and rice paddies chugging by us! After awhile the river disappeared around a corner and into a gaping hole in the hillside. We went right into a cave!

There were stalactites coming down from the ceiling, and flowstone in places. Swifts zoomed in and out of the high chamber, disappearing up a ceiling hole. Our boat docked, and we got out, walking along the wide ledge on one bank. When we got farthest back in the cave, we stared into a black cavern. There must've been a kajillion bats in there, by the sounds of their chippering and the smell of their droppings. When I took a picture, there were eye-shines here and there in the flash. Too bad we didn't have a flashlight! These flitter-mice would've been fascinating to see, especially pouring out of the cave at dusk!

We continued down the river, stopping at a Tay minority village to walk around. We felt like we were the local clown show as villagers watched us try to negotiate 8" wide rice paddy dikes! At one point, 3 men had to pass me going in the opposite direction. They scootched down and passed behind by legs as I stood sideways. They commented in Vietnamese "so big" according to Anna…little did they know she could understand! They only came up to my shoulder , but I'm not sure that was the "big" they were commenting on! We saw water buffalo, and a woman with a shoulder pole with rice seedlings to be transplanted. We walked the village paths, and the dogs barked and growled at us in the same dog language they use back home! I liked trying to imagine what it was like to live there, with the rice fields, mountains, and river around me. How secluded! Yet what community they must have!

Back on the boat, we continued downstream past mountain views and wonderful smells of flowering trees. We disembarked at another Tay village, and walked to a waterfall. The water really rushed and pounded through the rocks, and both the guide and Butch grew alarmed when Anna ventured down close in her flip-flops. Later I read that there had been tourist fatalities there, so no wonder the guide was worried!

We trekked back to the village, and stopped at a house for lunch. It was just the 3 of us and our guide there. I watched as the woman of the house and her daughter chopped cabbage and potatoes on a wooden counter. They cooked over a cement hearth, fed with bamboo trunks. We sat at a table, looking up at the thatched roof and the bamboo gutter pipes. The room was fairly spacious, with a hard bed in one corner, about 5 tables, and a little "store" counter at the front. We drank tea from small ceramic cups with the guide. We really enjoyed being in the hut and having the village experience, even if only for an hour.

Boating up-river after lunch, we snuck over to Ba Be Lake on a connector canal. We landed on a shore of the lake and took a quick hike to a small pond. It was great to get away for the noise of the diesel engine, and hear strange bird songs across the water. I'd read about this pond too: "Ao Tien is a small lake on the top of the mountain. The climate around here is very cool and fresh. Legend said that the fairies above always go down in this place to swim and play chess. Therefore, people name this place Ao Tien (the lake of fairy)." There were no fairies, no swimming, and no chess, but it was a wonderful place nevertheless!

Our next stop was at a pagoda on an island. Climbing to the top of the hill, we arrived in an open area with a temple on one side and a house on another. We visited the pagoda first, an open building with a huge drum at the end. The priest greeted us, and was quite intrigued that Anna could speak Vietnamese. They rattled on about what she was doing there and that we were her folks from the U.S. We took some pictures of the elaborate and colorful altar with statues of Confucius (complete with beard hairs, so you could tell it wasn't Buddha!). Then the priest invited us to the house for tea! We sat overlooking Lake Ba Be, and visiting. All Vietnamese want to know how old you are, so they know how to address you properly. It turns out that our host was only 5 months older than Butch. I ruminated about how their lives were so different, and yet about the same length. What an experience to have that shared moment of juncture. If the Vietnamese war had lasted longer, these 2 might have been enemy combatants, but here they sat drinking tea together in peace. Ahhh, peace is good.

We finished our boat trip with a chug around Widow's Island and landed at the boat launch. The vendors were ready for us, and moved in to sell us local tea, sesame candies, and clothes. We drove back to our bungalow at park headquarters for a long snooze. We finished the day with dinner at the park restaurant (accompanied by a French woman traveling by herself and a Vietnamese Karaoke party). The skinny kitchen kitty gladly helped us finish our meal of rice and lake fish. What a long and wonderful day we'd had, experiencing so many aspects of rural Vietnam!

Vietnam through the eyes of dad

A blog post written by my dad after visiting earlier this month...

"There is nothing subtle about Ha Noi. It is a complete sensory experience--overwhelming sounds, sights, and smells. First and foremost is the traffic, unlike anything seen or heard before: Motor scooters zigging and zagging in apparent chaos; the occasional car weaving in and out; and the lumbering bus clearing through all. A bit unsettling is the fact that everyone uses their horn to signal presence. It's as if there was a consensus to dispose with rear view mirrors and over-the-shoulder-checks before changing 'lanes.' For a Westerner used to vehicular order, this was a challenge to say the least. But it quickly became apparent that there actually was a set of rules that everyone seemed to be following, and one could indeed adapt and survive. For the pedestrian trying to cross the road, this meant disposing with the time honored practice of looking both ways, and only walking when clear in all directions. Instead, one simply walks....right through it all, and like the water around a stone in a chaotic rapid, everyone moves around you and the system actually works. One must have the courage to take the plunge through the traffic in a deliberate and predictable manner, or risk a true collision if one hesitates, causing confusion among oncoming traffic. A great confidence builder for first-time tourists is the firm hand-hold of our experienced daughter, Anna, guiding her parents through the chaos. If you want to see Ha Noi, you have no choice than to adapt to these unaccustomed rules.

"Ha Noi is a maze of streets and I never did figure any of it out. I had brought my running gear thinking I would explore the city on foot during early morning runs. Nothing doing. I know I would have been lost within a half mile of our hotel. Once you venture off the main roads, especially in the so-called 'Old Quarter,' the roads go every which way. It is on these smaller roads where one really experiences Ha Noi. There are people everywhere and most of them seem to be taking in a meal or a cup of tea or a warm beer. As one walks through these narrow roads, the sensory experiences becomes mostly one of diverse smells, primarily of various cooked foods.

"There was one particular smell that I couldn't quite put an identity to until about mid-week, and it turned out to be the burning of their coal stoves used to fire nearly all street-side dishes. Everyone seemed to have a specialty--One restaurant would serve 'Phở,' a type of stew/soup very famous in Ha Noi; another would serve up pork; still another might specialize in fish dishes. Customers would sit around a tiny plastic table with tiny chairs, almost play-like in appearance, and take their meal. It seemed that meals were served at all hours of the day, from early morning to late at night, and there were always peddlers walking around with fresh produce to supply their customers.

"This was one of the enduring visions of Ha Noi--the stooped woman (always a woman) bearing a heavy load over her shoulder: two dangling baskets balanced at either end of a bamboo strut supported by first a left, than a right shoulder. Where do this woman come from and how long and far have they walked bearing these burdens? While Ha Noi appears to be on the cusp of becoming a modern city with all the trappings that Westerners seem to expect (five star hotels, posh restaurants), these woman seem to be guardians of the old ways, and are just one element of the great charm that one feels in Ha Noi."

While on a trip to Hạ Long Bay, Dad asked our tour guide, "I wonder how many caves haven't been discovered yet?" The reply: "21."

meanwhile...

Oh right, I have a blog. Good thing I didn't make that New Years' resolution to write here every other week because I'd be feeling really guilty right now. Some of my fellow SALTers have the excuse of little internet access or funky connections, while here in Hanoi I'm on a wireless connections all day every day at work. Truth is, this winter has been a bit rough and I find myself staring at a blank page thinking, "what can I write that people would want to read?"

The cold, damp winter that overstayed its visit has finally been shooed out the door by Mr. Humidity and Mrs. Heat. This is the month where windows drip with condensation and towels never dry. Some weeks ago I thought I'd be all cool and artsy and hang up some roses to dry. I guess I forgot that "dry" isn't in vocabulary usage here, for my lovely roses have sprouted fuzzy, white and green hair and have now been laid to rest in the waste bin.

I've had the fun of hosting and/or meeting several visitors lately, including Tim and Dale from The Mennonite (check out Tim's blog here), friends I met in Indonesia at the Indigenous Spirituality conference, and, most recently, my parents. It's refreshing to see Hanoi through their eyes and realize how far I've come in navigating traffic to ensure survival, conversing in Vietnamese (I even set up our Vietnamese-speaking driver on a date with a friend of mine), eating with chopsticks correctly, and understanding some underlying values that lay the foundation for once-unfamiliar customs. See future blog posts for first-person accounts from my parents (hear that mom and dad? you now have people waiting for your entries).

I guess the big news for me is that I've decided to attend Indiana University (Bloomington) this fall for a dual MA in ethnomusicology and journalism. Part of me (most of me actually) is really excited for this next turn in the pilgrimage, but part of me is dreading moving yet again--to midwest suburbia at that. I'm thinking of putting an ad in the "wanted" section for a home that reminds me of Hanoi: "Looking for crowded, narrow, loud apartment. Honking motorbikes, crowing roosters, barking dogs, and a locked gateway are requirements. Bonuses include nearby walking peddlers with singsong cries, street vendors with $1 lunches, fresh fruit markets year-round, and potted green plants gracing every courtyard. Only basic facilities and furniture needed, but these include rice cooker, wash basin, mattress pad, mosquito net, gas stove top, electric hot pot, and TV playing movies with monotone, emotionless Vietnamese overdubbing. Please call with openings at +84947404086. Loving host family should be included." I'll be waiting.

Ok, xin chào for now. Pictures coming soon (but no promises).

happy new year!

We have just finished Tet, the lunar new year celebration, and I finally realized what they meant when they said it's like Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving all rolled into one. Pictures up now, more to come...

day of celebration

Today is a day of celebration. Why? Because for the first time in over a month and half, the sun is shining and the sky shows hues of blue!!!! Shadows! Warmth! An end to the perpetual gray and cold of the winter! Spring fragrances! It does wonders to my attitude and general outlook on life in Vietnam. Even though I got a flat tire on my way to work and forgot about a meeting, "zippy-di-do-da" is bursting from my heart. Everything's gonna be a-ok.

from Niu y ooc to Phi lip pin

There's a wonderful, big, pacific-centered map in my room with countries like Papua New Guinea and Vietnam dead center and all the words in Vietnamese. I look it over while I brush my teeth and try not to gag on my toothpaste while I figure out the phonetically-spelled names. It's kind of like the game "Mad Gab" if that means anything to you. So I thought I'd share a few with you... If anyone posts a comment with them all correct, I'll send you something. Really. :-)

(pronunciation hint: â - "uh," d & r - "z," x - "s," ô - "oh," o - "aw," and ơ - "uoh".. or something)

US cities:
Xin xin nơ ti
Oa sinh tôn
Bo xtân
Niu y ooc
Giăc xân
Niu o liên
Hơ xtân
Lôt an giơ let
Pooc lân
Xi a tơn
Fac gô
Mi ni ơ pô lit
Si ca gô
Uyn stân xa lem
Bât tơ
Fi la đen fi a

World countries:
Phi lip pin
Ô xtrây li a
Mi an ma
Ka dắc xtan
Mô dăm bích
Ca mơ run
Cốt di voa
Hôn đu rat
Ác hen ti na
Ê cu a đo
Vê nê duy ê la
Mông cổ
Tác dích ki xtan
Dam bi a
Ma rốc
Ai len

in the bleak midwinter

Before I came to Hanoi I was told that winters can be quite cold and rainy. I didn't really realize what that meant until now... It means temperatures down in the 50's (10 deg C), a light mist all day, no indoor heating, biking through puddles with my face mask and helmet hiding all but my eyes, dodging under umbrellas as I bike narrow alleys, weeks without sunshine, clothes that never dry, cold fingers that are still supposed type all day, feet that never warm up, and getting tired quickly. They've even closed the schools (not a snow day, but a "cold day"?). Blech. Sound like I'm complaining? I am. My bad. My friends here think it's funny that I--the American who's used to worse winters--am so cold. My family in the States thinks it's funny that I'm complaining about 50 deg weather when it's below 0 at home. But you try setting your thermastat at 55, biking in the rain, and eating in the cold. At least I have a huge blanket for my bed that keeps me toasty. Maybe I should start carrying it around to work with me.

I've been following the news in Kenya closely and am blown away with how quickly and seriously the violence has escalated. I was just there last year and didn't see anything that would prompt this kind of killing. It seems there are a lot of ethnic/economic tensions lying just under the surface that erupted when the election set things off-balance. But "vengence is a lazy form of grief." My prayer is that the Church will be a prophetic voice of reconciliation and a place of togetherness amidst the strife.

On a happier note, my work is generally going well and keeps me busy. We just had a photography exhibition called, "Mirror? If the river could speak"... more on that later. Tet--the lunar new year--is coming up in early February and is a huge holiday here. They say it's like Christmas, Thanksgiving and Easter all rolled into one. People have been talking about it since I arrived, so I'm excited to see what it's all about!