- 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.
21 July 2008
"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:
10 July 2008
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.
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.
06 July 2008
...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.
...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.
...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.
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