Tom’s Travels

Hello Everyone,

Well, I’m still here in Hanoi. There hasn’t been much to report so I haven’t written. Things have been pretty much the same here. Grey skies overhead. Noise and traffic in the streets. Teaching schedule has been light so there has been time to go to the gym. I’ve lost a little weight and toned up a bit. Still have a ways to go. It seems harder and harder to lose that roll around the middle. Anyone else noticed that problem?

But something did happen that I want to share with you. One of my corporate classes invited me to dinner last week. They took me by car to a village about 5 kilometers from Hanoi. Some of the students went by motorbike, the major means of transportation in Hanoi. Actually, they had taken me there before but we had not had the specialty of the village. This time we did. (No, not dog meat. That was another place). The specialty of this village is snake. Yeah, that slithery reptile that lurks in the bushes.

The restaurant is in a beautiful old house, very ornate with lots of carved and polished wood. A beautiful location. The entry foyer is lined with large bottles, probably two feet high, that are filled with snakes preserved in an alcoholic mixture. This is snake wine and is a delicacy in the area. They told me that the snakes are placed in the alcoholic concoction and allowed to mature for at least three months before being served. Don’t know how many snakes are in each bottle but there are many and usually they are topped with a cobra, erect and neck expanded. Makes for a warm greeting in a restaurant.

The students had made all the arrangements and we were shown to our table in a private room. The menu had been predetermined so the food began to come out as soon as we sat down. The usual first round is rice cake, round and about the size of a tortilla. Crispy and tasteless. I prefer cardboard.

Then the entree was presented. No, not served on a plate, brought to the table in a bag. Two men came to the end of our table, one carrying a cloth bag that was wriggling. The man with the bag opened it, looked inside, and plunged his hand within. He stood there with his hand in the bag for several seconds as he looked around. Then he pulled out a snake that he was holding just behind the head. The other man grabbed the snake by the tail and they held it up for us to see. What I couldn’t understand and never got an answer for was why he wasn’t bitten by the snake when he put his hand in the bag. He didn’t seem be concerned when he put his hand in the bag. Nevertheless, he seemed to be unharmed. Lucky guy because the snake was a Horse Cobra. Don’t know what that is but I assume it is poisonous. I wouldn’t put my hand in that bag.
Ok, so they have the snake held up at the end of the table. The man at the head then took a knife and made an incision about four inches long in the body of the snake. They drained blood into a cup and then cut the heart out of the snake. The heart was placed into a shot glass of rice wine (the Vietnamese version of firewater. Tastes like vodka). It’s a great honor to eat the heart of the snake so it is always presented to the guest of honor. And who was the guest of honor? Lucky me. Now the heart of a snake is only about as big as the end of your little finger from the last knuckle to the tip. It sits there in the rice wine and your can see little waves of pink spreading out in the wine. The told me it is very lucky if you eat the heart while it is still beating. Well, I don’t think I made it but I didn’t hesitate and drank it down.

Actually, there was nothing to it. There was not taste except for the alcohol. It was like a small oyster in a drink. No chewing, just swallowing, no aftertaste. I was awarded with a round of applause. (I knew it was coming so it wasn’t a surprise when they placed the heart in front of me). Then everyone at the table was presented with a shot glass of rice wine to which had been added some of the snake blood making it a red drink. We all toasted and drank it down. They told me that the snake heart makes you virile. There was much joking and laughter.

Next, everyone got a small bowl of soup. Don’t know what it was but it was very thick and gooey and they told me it was best drunk when it was hot. I think if it cooled off, it would gel. Very little taste. Nothing you would order from the menu.

Then we began to eat the snake. Actually, there were seven courses of snake, each cooked in a different manner. The first was a bowl of dark brown crispy dried stuff that looked like tiny pieces of bacon bits. When I asked, “What is this?”, I was told, “It’s the bone of the snake.” Evidently, they take the snake skeleton, grind it up and somehow cook it. We used the rice cake as a spoon to scoop it up. Neither had any taste.

Next came fried snake, little pieces of meat about the size of a pencil and an inch long. And I’m here to tell you, it was delicious! Really. As tasty as beef or chicken with consistency about mid-way between. It was really good.

Then grilled snake. Just as good.

Snake meat wrapped in a leaf.

Snake spring rolls.

Everything was really delicious. No joke. And it was a lot easier to get down than dog meat. Somehow I didn’t have an affinity for the snake that I had had for the dog. I’ve never named a snake or kept one as a pet.

The next course was a bit different. The meat was all eaten so we ate the skin. Evidently, they place the snake skin on the grill and dry it out, break it up into pieces and put it on a plate. It was thick and crispy and you could see the scales on the skin. Think pork rind. Again, no taste was detectable.

The last snake course was a plate of rice with green beans mixed in and soaked in oil from cooking the snake that tasted like and had the consistency of grits. They told me that it was lucky to have rice and green beans on that particular day. They Vietnamese have lots of “lucky” days on the lunar calendar and they act accordingly. My land lord wanted me to sign the lease on a particular day because it was a “lucky” day.

The dinner was topped off with two different soups served consecutively. One was Chinese herbs. Don’t know what the other was.

Then slices of watermelon and finally tea.

Now, don’t forget that throughout the meal they kept pouring shots and toasting. Rice wine, snake wine with blood, honey wine, herbal wine. All tasted like vodka. Nothing to taste and savor. Just throw it down. Amazingly, I felt little effect of all the drinking.

Let me tell you, if you have the chance to eat snake, don’t hesitate. I think it was the best meal I have had in Vietnam. You don’t have to watch them kill the snake. They will do it in the kitchen if you prefer. And no one will force you to eat the heart or drink the blood. But the meat is really tasty and worth the experience.

Ok, to another subject. My last teaching day at Language Link is May 18th. I leave the house on the 23rd. But I don’t know exactly where I am going. Want to travel to Cambodia, Singapore and Malaysia. Then head to China. Trying to find a job there for three or four months beginning in July. No luck so far. Will keep you posted.

This weekend, six of us have rented a van, a driver and a guide to take us into northwest Vietnam, one of the most remote areas in the country. This will necessitate another letter so be ready.

Hope everyone is well and happy.

Love to all

Tom

Hello Everyone,
A long delayed update on my adventures in Vietnam.
The weather is getting cooler. It dropped down into the high fifties last night. They tell me it gets own to the mid-forties and is bitter cold because of the humidity. Evidently, during the winter, there is a constant drizzle, just enough to keep things damp. Clothes won’t dry and the cold settles in your bones. So far, it hasn’t been too bad. I’ve worn a light jacket a few times and have been comfortable. Bought a space heater which I will carry around the house with me if I need to. The Vietnamese have complained about the COLD since the temperature got down to the low 70s. Course, riding around on a motorbike would create a chill factor, but they often sit in my class and never take off the jackets or sweaters. There is no heat in most of the buildings so it will be interesting to see what develops.
My teaching schedule is horrendous, the reason for my lack of communication. We are supposed to get a day and a half off per week. I finish at 4PM on Saturday, have Sunday off and then go in Monday at 2PM. The problem is that I then teach two classes, the second of which ends at 9PM. So I’m at the school 7 hours on Monday. Doesn’t really feel like a half dya off. Worse than that, actually, is that there is no time to get out of town. Full time teachers have no opportunity to make overnight trips outside of the city, something which was a mainstay in Prague. We can’t get a feel for life in the countryside. At a teacher’s meeting the other day, I brought this up and there was immediate support from the other teachers. Don’t know that anything will change, however, as the main focus here seems to be the bottom line. I’ll give them until Tet which is the big New Year’s Holiday in mid-February. If nothing is done, I’ll either go on a part-time basis or quit entirely. I want to be able to travel, at least within the country.
Classes are good and students are friendly and enthusiastic. My largest class (22 students, too large for a communications class) is composed of employees of the Customs Department. Ages range from mid twenties to mid fifties. This is the class which took me out to a restaurant for National Teachers Day. (If I didn’t tell you about that, please let me know). Last Saturday they invited me to a local restaurant having discovered that I had never indulged in one of the local delicacies, dog meat. They drove me into the Old Quarter with it narrow,shop lined streets. We drove in a sea of motorcycles and pedestrians. I’m always amazed that people are not crushed in the melee. They parked on the side of the street and walked down a dark corridor between two shops. I had to duck my head to get through. Then up a cflight of rickety stairs to a room with a balcony overlooking the street. Our “waiter” was asleep in a loft above the room when we arrived. He came down a ladder to take our order. In Vietnamese restaurants, at least those which primarily serve the locals, the food is served family style. They brought out three platters of dog meat, each cooked in a different manner, which, of course, I can’t fully explain since I don’t cook. One was broiled or steamed (I got different explanations) and the other two were fried or something but in slightly different manners. There were vegetables, some kind of green plant, maybe spinach and an onion like thing they insisted was good for my health. It was very bitter. And they had Vodka which was used to toast the occasion and, I hoped, to deaden my tastebuds and my olfactory mechanism.
The dog meat actually wasn’t bad. The texture was somewhere between steak and chicken. The taste was OK but not something I would order again from a menu. There was too much fat on the portion that was steamed. The other too were well cooked and, if drowned in tomato ketchup, might have been OK. There was no Ketchup, of course. But I got it all down. The biggest thing was to try not to think that you were eating dog. Here, you often see puppies and small dogs playing on the street. I wondered where they found the dogs for the restaurant. Was it one of the two puppies wrestlin on the side walk that I had stepped over on the way in? I tried not to think about it. I didn’t here any barking coming from the kitchen. But I’m not sure where the kitchen was. Things went well with one exception.
The fish sauce! The most vile smelling stuff I have ever found on a dining table. It’s purple, not my favorite color for something I’m going to eat. They told me it’s made with a layer of shrimp covered in some sauce, then another layer of shrimp, more sauce, etc. THEN, it is allowed to sit for THREE months, I assume, not refrigerated. So, essentially, it’s a sauce of rotten fish. And it smelled like it. It was nauseating, literally. I had them move it down the table from me. I tasted it on the dog meat and it wasn’t bad but the smell was awful. It kept my stomach doing flip flops all night. Without the sauce, it could have been a pleasant evening.
I have yet to try snake but I’m sure that’s on the agenda for the future.
Must run. Have do go to the American Embassy to get something signed to get working papers. And then to school.
Love to all,
Tom

Hello Everyone,
 
(Warning ! Here’s another long one. Delete button is an option.)
 
Well, I just got back from ten days in Thailand. It was great! Not only was it super to out of Hanoi for a while but now that I’m back, I will be on a parttime basis at the school. No more Saturday classes. Weekends are free so I’ll be able to take excursions outside of Hanoi and see the countryside.
 
Colleen and I went to Thailand. Others went to China or Malasia or rode motorcycles around Vietnam. Everyone had a good time and had great weather only to return to Hanoi after Tet to grey clouds and drizzling rain. I’ll find out exactly what the others did and where they went because I want to do more traveling before I leave this part of the country.
 
But more about me. Flew to Bangkok and was surprized at what a huge, modern city it is. The skyline looks like Chicago or St. Louis. Lots and lots of tall buildings, something of which Hanoi has only a few scattered about. The ride into town was on a road similar to our interstate, four or six lanes wide. Very impressive. The man at the airport called a cab and told us the ride into town would be 900 Thai Bahts (THB). I later realized you can’t believe anyone trying to help you at the airport or someone who engages you in conversation on the street. Airport taxis  ALWAYS try to overcharge you! Beware! The hotel was nice but not in the center of town as I had thought. Next morning, I wlked to the river, under the bridge and caught a river taxi. It’s a long, narrow boat that makes regulars runs to spots along the river and is the easiest way to get around. The river was full of boats, barges, river taxis, tour boats and long-tail boats (long narrow boats with a long pole out the back with a propellor on the end powered by what looked like a Ford V engine. You saw them in on of the James Bond movies.) I loved being on the river.  
 
Headed to the Royal Palace. A “man on the street” fell into step with us and began asking questions in English. “Where are you from?” “Is this your first trip to Thailand?” We assumed he was practicing his English. Finally, unbeknownst to us, his main question, “Where are you going?” “The Royal Palace.” “Oh, unfortunately, the Royal Palace is closed today. I suggest you visit some temples.” and he took my map and started marking sites of interest on it. “You can hire a tuk-tuk to take you, but don’t pay him 200 THB. He should do it for 20THB.” And miraculously, a tuk-tuk appeared curbside. Our “man on the street” negotiated a price of 20THB for trips to three temples and we got in. Now, a tuk-tuk is about like like a golf cart with a mororcycle built onto the front. It’s open all around and built for Asians (the roof was so low I couldn’t sit up straight). It’s a three wheeled apparatus. The driver sits up front and has a stick shift on the floor but handlebars for steering. The tuk-tuk is narrow enough that has can weave in and out of traffic and he does. We went to three temples which were impressive. One was outside, a standing Buddha that was maybe sixty feet high and gold. There were always monks wandering around and people saying their prayers and offering gifts to the Buddha, flowers, incense, small money. Our tuk-tuk driver also took us to a jewelry shop and  a tailor shop. The Lonely Planet Guidebook said that they get a commission for bringing people to the shops. (But it made me mad. I walked in and walked out). The third temple was the “Golden Mountain” standin high above the city on an artificial hill (Bangkok is essentially flat). The temple has a huge golden dome and offers a good view of the city. People were writing prayers for the departed or wishes for the future on little slips of gold foil looking paper and placing them into a large container. These were to be burned at Tet and their messages taken to heaven and preented to the Jade Emperor.
 
The next day, we, once again, started for the Royal Palace. We got off the river taxi at the Palace. We were inundated by people trying to sell us something. We tried to make our way through the crowd and one guy said,”where are you going?”  “The Royal Palace.” “Oh, sorry, it’s closed until 2 o’clock. You should go to the Half Moon Temple.” “Well, we’ll just check and he directed  down a street away from the entrance to the palace. We eventually found our way to the entrance and people were streaming in and out.
 
The Palace grounds are divided into two main parts. The Royal Palace area where the King greets dignitaries and State functions are held and the area surrounding the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, the more ornate and interesting part. In order to enter the Temple area, you have to be dressed properly, no shorts, tank tops, exposed shoulders. They were doing a lively business at the entrance selling (or renting, I don’t know which) sarongs to the women and brightly colored pants to the men. Trying to create a fashion ensemble was not a perogative. Some interesting outfits resulted.   
 
You enter the area surrounding the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. Think “Anna and the King of Siam”. It is actually a complex of beautiful, ornate buildings, each more beautiful and interesting than the last. Some are covered with mosaics, some with ceramics, some are painted. All are incredible. It reminded me of the temples of Egypt in that every square inch, fllor to ceiling and outside, is covered ith some decoration. There is not a single spot that is left untouched. And there are acres of building, each having some significance, surrrounded by tourists or followers praying to the various Buddhas. I know almost nothin about the Buddhist reliogion thus I don’t understand where the people are supposed to be praying but it seems that all the images of the Buddha are sacred and drawn some followers. The Emerald Buddha (actually, it’s made of jade) is about three feet high, resting on an elevated alter surrounded by other buddhas of gold. no pictures are allowed and you must remove your shoes before entering. (This is true of all temples). Only pictures, which I will send along soon can show the beuty of the place and honestly, they won’t do it justice.
 
The Royal Palace is stately but not as ornate. It would rival the palaces in Europe. In fact, I prefer it to Versailles. Versailles seems to just want to show off the opulence of Louis XIV. This Palace is not as ornate, as rococco, as Versailles but is beautiful and seems to be designed around a more useful purpose. 
 
The next day, we flew up to Chiang Mai in the north. It’s an ancient city and used to be very powerful. It’s much smaller tha n Bangkok but has almost as many temples. The old city was surrounded by walls and a broad moat. Most of the old city gates are still standing and portions of the walls but the moat is still there forming a barrier to entry except through the gates. It’s a nice town, a walking town, and has a bookstore with “the largest selection of English language books in southeast Asia.” Yes, I went there. The first night, hoping to see some traditional dancing, we went to Simon’s Palace. Don’t go! It turned out to be a Las Vegas type show with elaborate costumes, bright lights and loud music. The singing was ok but the choreography was terrible and the dancers seemed to ahve learned the steps by rote. There was no emotion to the dancing. “OK, my hand goes out, then up, I turn around, then twist…. ” Bad! It might have been ok if they had billed it as a parody of a Las Vegas show. Some of the girls ended up in g-strings and pasties. The worst part was that as you left the theatre, and I was anxious to get away, the performers had formed a semi-circle out front are tried to get the patrons to have their pictures made with them. I tried to hold back and finally just pushed my way through. First time I didn’t want to be around half dressed women. 
 
We took an all day tour outside the city and it was great! Went first to a hill village. A pretty good hike up a mountain that included crossing a swinging bamboo bridge over a creek. Tarzan, Indiana Jones and me. Bought little elephants for my granddaughters. The village was very primitive. Elevated huts with bamboo walls and dried leaves for the roofs. Chickens and pigs and little children played in the dirt. 
 
Next, we went bamboo rafting. They rafts were twenty five to thirty feet long and about four feet wide, made of six to eight long bamboo poles tied together. The river/creek was not very wide and never very deep. There were four of us plus a guide who asked if I would like to pole the back of the boat, which I did, of course. Actually, he did all the work and I just fended us off a few rocks. I stood the entire trip and only had one brief moment early in the trip when I was almost swept off the raft by a low hanging limb. Luckily, due to my amazing agility and incredible strenghth I was able to maintain control and save the other members of the expedition from being tosse into the shark infested waters. Make that piranha infested. I enjoyed it immensely. We went through some small rapids. The rapids were not the problem. The trick was to maneuver this long raft between the boulders in the water and our guide did a marvelous job.
 
We had lunch in a crude, roadside restaurant but the food was good, rice and anything that goes with it.
 
Next was the elephant ride. Some of the elephants were huge, majestic, making their riders look small. Ours was somewhat smaller and we were chosen to ride it because we were lighter than the two overweight isters in our group. But there was a benefit. Ours had a baby about four feet tall which tagged along close to Mama during the trip. We sat on a wood bench in a metal frame which was padded with several thick blankets to protect the elephants back. No protection was given to our backsides.The guide put a bar across in front of us like you have on a roller coaster. And we were off! We had bought bananas to feed the elephant along the ride and he immediately reached back with has trunk hoping to be fed. We followed a well worn path through the jungle. There were several stops along the way where you could buy more bananas from an elevated stand designed to deal with people atop the elephants. We had to ration our bananas because we didn’t have the right cash with us. Several times, make that often, during the trip our elephant had to clear his trunk. It was never pointed at us over his head but was always hanging in front of him. However, the tip of his trunk must have been pointed upward as we were frequently sprayed by what we chose to believe were chunks of banana. Not the best part of the trip. The best part was when we got to the river/creek and watched the baby elephant roll in the water and rub up against the muddy bank and the wash off again. He was really cute. All the elephants considered the river as their bathroom and all relieved themselves. Huge, round, green balls of manure. An elephants penis is about the size of a firehose and puts out as much liquid. I was glad that our rafting trip had been upstream. 
 
We went to another village where the primarily made woven goods. Beautiful material with beautiful designs made on home made looms. 
 
Our final stop was a waterfall in the jungle. Only about twenty five feet high but with a lovely, deep pool beneath. I couldn’t resist going for a swim. The water was cold and refreshing and I rode back to Chiang Mai in wet shorts.
 
That night, we went to a real traditional dance show, which included a meal. We ate sitting on the floor which is difficult for me since my knees don’t bend so well. Not sure what we ate, except for the rice, but it was very good. There were seven or eight dances performed, very formal and stylized, dances you would expect to see performed before the King and dignitaries. Beautiful women in beautiful costumes. Slow, graceful movements, probably ritualized with some underlying meaning. The first was the fingernail dance. Each dancer had four inch gold fingernails on each finger. Each dance had a name but I didn’t get the others. Then we went outside to a small amphitheatre where we saw dances performed by members of the hill tribe villages. These were very simple, primitive dances designs to evoke rain or insure a good harvest. Each had a definite purpose and each village had their own native costume. Nothing as interesting or as lively as the dances I had seen in the Czech Republic but very interesting.
 
Then we headed down south to the Ko Phi Phi Islands near Phuket. This is an area that was hit by the Sunami a couple of years ago. It’s a tropical paradise. Blue sky, sunshine, clear water. My kind of place. There are two Phi Phi Islands. Phi Phi Don which is inhabited and Phi Phi Ley which is not. We stayed in a bungalow on Don. The only road is a paved path about eight feet wide, large enough for the carts that carry your luggage from the boat to the hotel. We swam in the Andaman Sea, lay on the beach, got some sun, read a lot, ate in restaurants next to the water and relaxed. Went on a half day boat trip. Monkey Beach (these monkeys were nicer than the others and came up to be fed), fantastic snorkeling (beautiful fish and coral), kayaking, watching the sunset. One stop was Phi Phi Ley which is the island where the movie “The Beach” was filmed. It has a beautiful bay with crystal clear water. 
 
Thailand is more prosperous than Vietnam. The people are a little taller and a little heavier. This could be because they have more food or that they have McDonalds. The airports in Thailand all had Burger King and Duncan Donuts. Bangkok airport could have been anywhere in the world. It is brand new and has everything. It is effecient but not attractice, reminded me of a big cage made of glass and metal bars.
 
Then it was back to Hanoi. Greeted by rain and it has rained every day since. BUT I don’t have to work on weekends and my hours are reduced. I wouldn’t mind working more hours, just not on weekends.
 
So Im back at it. That’s my news. What’s yours?
 
Love to all,
 
Tom    
 
   

Hello Everyone,
 
My name is Tom. Remember me? I know I haven’t written in quite some time and I apologize. Really, not much has been going on here and there hasn’t been much to report. The internet here seems incredibly slow and very inconsistent. Half the time I can’t get on Yahoo and the other half I can get on Yahoo but I can’t get to my mail. I get very frustrated and finally give up. Thus no outgoing mail. I’ve decided to write this and save as a draft before trying to mail in case it won’tgo through, which is a good possibility.
 
OK, and here’s the news. I have told the school I will not stay in Hanoi for a full year and requested a parttime schedule. Also requested that I have no Saturday or Sunday classes. That’s OK as well. So life is getting better, or, at least, I will have a life. This new schedule will start after the Tet Holiday (the New Year). Of course I don’t know how many hours I will have. Hopefully, enough to live on. If not, you people in The States keep paying taxes so I can draw my Social Security.
 
The first day of the “New Year” is Feb. 17th. It’s the biggest holiday of the year here. School will be closed from Feb. 11th to 21st. So I’m going to Thailand for ten days. Bangkok, Chiang Mai (an old city in the north) and Phuket (a beach resort in the south). I must find the sun!!!!! I haven’t actually seen blue sky and sunshine since October. Hanoi is perpetually overcast. I truly believe that the absence of sunshine has contributed to my lack of energy, the cold I’ve toyed with for about six weeks and the doldrums I’ve been in. Surely a trip to a sunny beach will make things better. I’ll send pictures when I get back. (another project that this internet makes difficult.
 
Must run and prepare for a class.
 
Will try to send this now. Wish me luck.
 
Love to all,
 
Tom

Hello Everyone,
Sorry I haven’t written but those of you living in the western hemisphere might not know that there was a sizeable earthquake near Taiwan a few weeks ago. Since then the internet has been a disaster. Sometimes I couldn’t get on the net. Sometimes I could get on the net but not get to yahoo. Sometimes I could get to yahoo but not get to my mailbox. Sometimes I could get to my mailbox but not open my mail. Sometimes I could open my mail but not send a letter. Sometimes I could send a letter but it disappeared into cyberspace. And always, it was slow as hell. I would get frustrated and just give up!!!
But, today things seem to be working OK and a little faster than usual so I hope this gets to you.
Christmas was interesting in a country that is not christian. Christmas was HUGE here! There were decorations everywhere and Santa Clauses all over the place, especially in the big modern building (The Vincom Towers) near the school. I was very surprised and asked my students and they told me it was mainly for the children, only the children get gifts at Christmas. Decorations started going up about three weeks before Christmas but they were still adding things Dec. 23rd. I went to Vincom Towers Christmas Eve morning and it was packed with kids to see Santa Claus (there were several). You could barely walk around. There were two Christmas trees in the lobby and everyone, including adults, was having his picture made in front of the ttree or with Santa. Outside the building were two inflated figures, a Santa and a Snowman, popular backgrounds for photos, and there was also Santa in his sleigh and the kids could climb into the sleigh for a Kodak moment. (This display was sponsored by Heinekins).
I went to a party given by a couple of teachers, got appropriately tipsy and was home by 2:30 AM. Christmas day was a sit down dinner with turkey at another teacher’s house. It was pretty quiet as most of us were still feeling the effects of the night before.
New Years was a quiet dinner at a restaurant with a select group and I was home by 10:30. The Vietnamese had some festivities which ended early. They celebrate the new year as we do but rather quietly. Their big celebration is the Lunar New Year which is in February. It lasts three days and is the biggest holiday of the year. It’s called Tet. You older folks may remember the Tet offensive that made the news a few years ago. Ill tell you more about that when it gets closer.
Nothing exciting going on here. Still teaching six days a week and don’t have time to do anything. My first holiday will be Feb. 11 to 21. School will be closed for Tet. I will definitely get out of town then.
I was terribly disappointed that we lost the Outback Bowl game. I followed it until halftime and then had to go to bed. We were on their twelve and fumbled!!! Shades of last year. Oh well, looking forward to next season. Also disappointed that Arkansas lost. Wanted the SEC to look good. At least LSU thumped Notre Dame, course they have lost badly to all three teams they played that are ranked in the top 25. Hope Florida wins, but only because they represent the SEC.
Let me know if you get this and did you get the letter titled “canine cuisine”?
I’ve had a cold for about a week but am getting better now.
Love to all,
Tom

AFTER A WAR

After a war, men gather in a dimly lighted room and draw lines on maps. Powerful men who are engaged in the eternal practice of dividing the spoils of war, much like the Greeks divided the treasures of Troy, including the women, after the terrible destruction reigned on the city in the war that lasted ten, long, exhausting years. Much like the Plains Indians collecting trinkets and valuables from the prostate bodies of the members of the Seventh Cavalry after the Battle of the Little Big Horn. Much like American soldiers stripped swords are souvenirs from the Japanese dead during the Second World War. Much like the victor has done throughout history, war after war, conflict after conflict. The spoils of war have always been divided among the victorious. Else, why have a war.

But these men in the dimly lighted rooms drawing lines on maps are different. They didn’t participate in the war. At least, they did not participate in the actual combat. There lives were never at risk. They may have been involved in the planning, they may have followed closely the progress of the fighting, but they never participated in the fighting itself. They never shrank into a foxhole as bullets whizzed overhead. They never heard the sound of screaming bombs falling from the sky or felt an enraged enemy’s hand clutching at their throat. No, their participation was always limited to looking at numbers or discussing strategy over cocktails or planning how to divide the spoils of war after the victory.

These men are called politicians and after a war, they meet with other politicians, representatives of the other members of the victorious forces. They meet behind closed doors and divide the spoils of war, the countries they have conquered. They draw lines on the map, erase them and draw them again as the bickering and bartering of the winners goes on into the night and draws on for weeks and maybe months. After a war, there is always another battle to be fought, a battle between the victorious to determine who controls what. Each looks after his on best interest and only his own. Compromise comes after long and heated discussions, even arguments. No one is completely satisfied. Each wants more than he gets and the final decisions are often determined by who is the most determined, the least willing to compromise, the least willing to give that piece of the spoils that he wants and the most willing to continue the arguments and the drawing lines on maps until he gets exactly what he wants. It is the one who just wants to get the whole thing over with and move on who weakens and gives in to the demands of the most determined. And often, the most determined is not the one who contributed most to the outcome of the war but a minor player who has not contributed much to the war effort but knows that the real victories are not won on the battle fields but in the dimly lit rooms where men are drawing lines on maps.

And the loser whose land is being divided, whose country as he knows it might disappear from the map, is not present in the dimly lit room. He is not a participant. He is not consulted. His views, his knowledge of the land, it’s history, it’s people are not considered, are not important to the victors divided the spoils. They only see the the country in terms of rich mineral resources, good farmland, vast forests, rivers, mountains, and access to the sea. They look for strategic positions that they want to be under their control so they can maintain or even expand their position in the conquered land. In the old West, one who controlled the water supply, controlled all the land that was dependent upon that water supply for survival. It wasn’t important to have all the land in your possession, only those portions without which the others could not survive.

And so the new map is drawn, often using obvious and easy to determine dividing lines, a river, a mountain range, but just as often using arbitrary divisions based on mineral deposits or strategic positions of strength.

Never, never are the people who are living on the land and who will continue to inhabit it consulted. Their wishes are never known, never considered. No thought is given to homogeneous groupings of ethnic groups. No consideration is given to the culture or cultures of the people who will dwell side by side in the new land. People who share the same religions and beliefs are separated by the lines drawn by the men in the dimly lighted rooms. People of conflicting religions and beliefs may be thrown together, confined within the new lines, each struggling to maintain its own culture.

The lines are drawn. Homogeneous groups are divided. Peoples that have been in conflict for centuries are thrown together. And so the seeds of the next war are sown. Unwittingly, maybe, thoughtlessly, certainly, but sown nevertheless. So that one war begets another and another and another. The men who draw the lines never seem to to learn the lessons of history. Mistakes are always made. Errors are always repeated. And new wars are always fought. Young men die and old men draw lines on maps.

MOTORCYCLE DIARIES

Los Angeles has cars. Amsterdam has bicycles. Hanoi has motorbikes. Thousands of them, nay, millions of them. A mere thousand might be in view at a single major intersection during rush hour. They’re everywhere _ on the streets, on the sidewalks, inside buildings, behind the locked gates at home, everywhere.

The American Plains Indians fashioned their lives around the buffalo. The Vietnamese fashion their lives around the motorcycle.

They use motorbikes for transportation. They go everywhere on motorbikes. I don’t know exactly where they are going but at any given moment, it seems that at least half the population of Hanoi is riding a bike creating noise pollution that is impenetrable by the human voice. They fill the streets. Maybe a majority of the riders are a alone but, more than likely, there will be at least two people on a bike: two boys riding to school, a young man with his wife or girlfriend behind holding him around the waist, a woman with her small child standing on the small platform between her legs, two young women dressed in skirts, one sitting behind, sidesaddle, holding her purse in her lap, looking as if she were at home with her family watching TV. And occasionally, you’ll see a tourist who has accepted the constant offer of “motorbike?” sitting on the back of a motorcycle, brow furrowed and eyes open wide, a look of terror on their face, trying not to clutch too tightly the driver whom she has never seen before, silently praying that she will be delivered to her destination safely and promising the Almighty she will never again put her life in such jeopardy.

Three people on a bike is nothing, commonplace, a daily occurrence. But often, too often, there will be a group or an entire family occupying one motorbike. I once saw a man, his wife, and their THREE small children of various ages perched on a bike and blissfully moving along in a massive stream of traffic. A woman navigates through the hazards of traffic guiding the bike with one hand while holding her nursing baby to her breast with the other.

The motorbike is THE primary means of transportation. It’s less expensive than a car. It’s fast, or at least as fast as any of the cars caught up in the endless movement of humanity on the roads. Nothing is truly fast. In many cases the bicycles will catch up with the motorbikes at the next traffic light (if there is one) and a lot of the time, the fastest vehicle can only move as fast as the slowest vehicle in front of it. And it’s small. It can go anywhere. It can maneuver through traffic and down the narrow alleys and be kept in the gated entry way to the house beside all the shoes that are left there. It can be parked on the sidewalk when the owner stops for lunch in a sidewalk cafe.

They use motorbikes for food. No, they don’t shoot them and eat them. But it seems that most everything is delivered by motorbike. I’ve seen very few delivery trucks and none anywhere near the size of the massive eighteen wheelers that inhabit the roadways of America, more the size of a mini-van, not the size of a big, gas guzzling Suburban but maybe slightly larger than a VW station wagon. The trucks here make me think of a Tonka toy with a thyroid problem. And the trucks are used for things that can’t possibly be delivered on a motorbike. Don’t think a bed and a mattress. A bed can be broken down and tied on and the mattress can be balanced on top of the rider’s head. Don’t think twenty foot sections of plastic pipe. That can be tied on. The only problem is making turns and, in that case, the other drivers have to watch out for themselves. Don’t think twenty bars of thirty foot metal reinforcing rods bent double. They can be looped around the driver’s waist, supported by his co-pilot and allowed to drag along behind throwing sparks at everyone in their wake. No, don’t think any of these. They’re just simple delivery tasks for the dauntless motorcycle driver.

Think washing machines and refrigerators, something too large , heavy or bulky to possibly be tied on or hand held, though I venture to say it’s been done. I just haven’t seen it yet. Nothing would surprise me.

But anything which can be piled on or tied to a motorcycle without seriously impairing the driver’s ability balance the vehicle and maneuver through traffic is delivered in that fashion. You might think that two containers of twelve 1.5 liter bottles of water would be a heavy load. Not so. Three? Piece of cake. Try five. Five! Five containers with sixty 1.5 liter bottles of water balanced precariously and tied down on the back of a motorcycle, rising high above the driver’s head. Too heavy? Not so. Too bulky? Not so? Did the driver arrive at his destination safely with his still intact? I don’t know but he certainly began his journey with an air of confidence that was astounding.

A motorbike just passed with a table on the back that would easily accommodate four people, the driver blithely holding it in place and keeping it balanced with his free hand. One cycle just zoomed by with eight of those large water bottles that you see in the reception room of the doctors office strapped to the back.

But food is delivered by motorbike. All the women street vendors who peddle their wares on the street from the two baskets balanced on their shoulder get their supplies by motorbike. The vegetables and fruit and grain are all brought into town from the farms on motorbikes. The women who set up their curbside markets to supply food to the passersby on their way home as the sun goes down get their offerings by motorbike. The chickens and geese and pork and fish and eels and mussels are all brought into the city by motorbike.
(expand here)

They use motorbikes for shelter. Well, not really shelter. They don’t crawl under them at night to sleep or try to escape the rain by getting under them but they do use them as a convenient bed for the afternoon siesta. Somehow the Vietnamese are able to find a comfortable position stretched out on a motorbike so they can catch an hour’s rest in the early afternoon. Now, we’re not talking one of those Harley Hogs that look big enough to be able to invite your friends over to visit. The motorbikes in Vietnam are smaller, Hondas or XXXXXXX, slightly larger than a motorscooter or a bicycle that has had a motor attached. Nevertheless, many is the time I’ve seen a Vietnamese stretched out on his bike, lying on his back, his rear on the seat and and his shoulders and head at an oblique angle resting on the handlebars, oblivious to the undying noise surrounding him, sleeping peacefully. Remember, the Vietnamese are not as large as we Westerners. I normally stand a full head above the men and tower over the women. But still, it seems a feat to be able to sleep on something that was not designed for that purpose and offers neither proper support nor adequate comfort.

More than once I’ve seen a young couple wrapped around each other in romantic bliss on a motorbike. He sitting on the seat and leaning back against the handlebars. She resting comfortably on the back portion of the long seat resting her head on his chest, enfolded in his arms. Don’t now if he was comfortable or not. Can’t imagine that he could be without any padding for his back but he seemed content to continue in that position as long as she would remain in his arms.

In Hanoi, one is immediately struck by the number of motorbikes filling their streets and sidewalks and the many uses to which they put this versatile vehicle. Not only is it a right of passage to own your own bike but it is a way of life without which, I don’t believe, the current lifestyle could not be maintained. Nothing could replace them. No means of transportation would adequately fill the niche in Vietnamese life currently occupied by the motorcycle. The horse would be too slow and would lack the stamina to make the long trip from the countryside into the city day after day. It would never get used to the never-ending jarring of taxi horns announcing their presence and urging you to get out of their way. It couldn’t navigate the narrow streets without treading not gently on the toes of an innocent street vendor. And who would follow along cleaning the streets in it wake. I’m not sure the Vietnamese are aware of the “diapers” worn by the somnambulatory horses encircling the streets of New York.

Delivery trucks wouldn’t work, not even the miniature models described above. Too bulky. If every motorbike delivering goods were replaced by a truck, it would create a traffic jam that would eventually be referred to as “the traffic jam” of Hanoi. Many of the streets, maybe most away from the few major thoroughfares, would not be able to accommodate two of these vehicles passing in opposite directions. The streets are too narrow. The city would have to develop an intricate system of one way streets. And even then the cost of the minivans would be prohibitive for many of the small but growing businesses in the city. Individuals certainly could not afford to invest in a larger vehicle.

No, the motorbike is a fixture in Vietnam, for economic as well as physical reasons. It’s a way of life, nothing can change it. There will always be cars in Los Angeles. There will always be bicycles in Amsterdam. And there will always be motorbikes in Hanoi.

So, if you’re coming for a visit, prepare yourself. If you’re planning to hop on one for a ride across town, bring a helmet. If you’re planning to cross the street, step fearlessly off the curb and walk slowly at a constant pace. And don’t make eye contact. If you’re planning to walk everywhere and avoid getting out into the street except where there is a traffic light, forget it. The motorbikes, when not in use inhabit the sidewalks. They control the sidewalks. They dominate them. So, if you want to go anywhere, you’ll spend a lot of time walking in the road. Be brave. Don’t worry. They’ll really try not to hit you.

You’ve been warned! Welcome to Hanoi!!!!

Hi Everyone,
 
Sorry I haven’t written lately. I’ve been very busy and the compuyer at home has not been working. Had it looked at twice and it seems to be OK now.  
 
I’m teaching a full load (24 hours per week) and it is very hectic. For those of you who are not teachers, let me explain that the 24 hours represents only the time that you are in class and for which I am paid. I’m getting $16 per hour here which is a handsome salary as the average in come in the country is less than $700 per year. But when I also include the time spent planning my lessons, the per hour rate drops considerably.
 
On Monday and Wednesday, I teach from 2:30 to 4:30 and from 7:30 to 9:30. Tuesday, Thursday and saturday, it’s 9:00 to 11:00 and 4:30 to 7:00. Saturday it’s 9:00 to 11:00 and 1:30 to 4:00. So the schedule is such that I teach six days a week and it is spaced out so that there is not quite enough time to do anything in between classes. Luckily, all the classes are at the school so I don’t have to travel all over town. These classes all end in January and I will get a new schedule. Hopefully a better one that will at least allow me to get out of town on weekends.
 
The weather has cooled down into the seventies. Feels great to me but the Vietnamese are complaining about the heat. Monday, every one of my students was wearing a jacket. Usually I catch a cab to work because if I walk, I get sweaty and feel clammy all day. But Monday was so nice I considered walking. For the Vietnamese, winter had set in!
 
Novenber 20th was National Teacher’s Day in Vietnam. It’s a big thing. Teachers are very well respected here much like Doctors used to be in the US. Teachers at the school got large bouquets of flowers, scarves, ties, appointment books, wall decorations, etc. It was quite impressive. My class of adults who work for Vietnam Customs, invited me to a restaurant in a village outside of town. The specialty of the village is snake but they assured me that the main course was pork. It was delightful. The restaurant was beautiful, a converted old house with lots of beautifully carved and polished wood. Very ornate. The meal lasted a couple of hours with different courses which seemed to appear at random without being requested. It was served family style and we ate with chopsticks (I’m getting pretty good). We drnk wine which was more like a strong after dinner liquor. They kept making toasts and i kept drinking. They presented flowers and we took pictures. After the meal, we moved to an outside balcony and had tea and fruit. I didn’t see anyone pay the bill but it was taken care of and then one of the students announced, “Mr. Tom, we go home now.” It was very nice and I appreciated it. As we left the restaurant, I noticed several large jars (probably 5 to 10 gallon jars) with dead snakes soaking in some sort of liquid. The snake on top was  a cobra and its nech was flared and its mouth was open. This, I was told, is snake wine and the snakes soak for a year before the wine is finally prepared and served. I will try it before I leave. I will also try cat and dog meat, which my students assure me is delicious.
 
Went to a pavilion which was set up during APEC to display the history and culture of Vietnam. I went to see a concert of traditional music but unfortunately, it turned out to be modern music from many Asian countries. I was wearing sorts and carrying groceries I had just bought. As I was sitting there, a lady came up and asked if I would move down to the front where there were tables set up for VIPs. I declined because I wasn’t sure i wanted to stay and I wasn’t dressed properly. A short time later, a woman wih a TV crew came up and asked if I would answer two questions on TV. Again, I declined. It seems that the vietnames are very happy to have westerners here and want to show them on TV etc. People still say hello as I walk down the street.
 
OK, must run for now. More later.
 
Love to all,
 
Tom 
 
 
 

Hello All You Lovely People,
 
Well, I have begun teaching in Hanoi. So far I have one class but others will begin next week. Should have 21 to 23 hours within a short period of time. The class consists of 22,  yes, that’s right 22, students all of hom work for the Vietnam Customs Department (which could be good for me if I get into any kind of passport trouble).  They range in age from about 24 to 55 and fom executives to receptionists, but this does not seem to be a problem for them. So far I have not seen any indication of a “pecking order”. The students are very nice, friendly, talkative and enthusiastic. They are well motivated and actually want to have homework. When I say, “OK, now likes do exercise B on page 31,” I walk around the room and discover that half the students have already done the exercise. It’s refreshing but I’ll have to bring in a lot of supplementary materials.
 
It is an Elementary Class and therein lise my problem. Supposedly, they are elementary one and two, with a few elementary threes thrown in. When I gave them a writing assignment after the first lesson (write something about yourself) they made the common errors of “no ‘s’ on third person singular verbs, missing and incorrect articles, and incorrect spelling. HOWEVER, there was also:
 
“I enjoy learning English because it is useful in my job and I can talk with everyone in the world.”
 
English is a means to help me go abroad.
 
I have worked here for over five years.
 
She has studied English since 1996.
 
I’ve been working here for ten years.
 
I hope that after this course, my English will be better and I can communicate with foreigners fluently.
 
I was and am impressed. This seems far above elementary work and each example is from a different pupil in the class. They seem to have a good grasp of the rules of grammar. We began past tense the other night and they already knew the past tense of both regular and irregular verbs. I asked if they knew the past participle of the verbs and they looked at me with blank faces. When I said, “Do you know ‘go, went, gone;  see, saw, seen?'” they brightened up and nodded their heads enthusiactically. This will be an easy class to teach when I figure what they know and don’t know and what they need. to learn.
 
Though they were placed as elementary students they have a lot on knowledge already. They are generally very polite but the minute I ask someone to read something or to answer a question, there are about ten other voices in the room reading or answering.
 
The class runs for two and a half hours and meets three times a week. I’ll send you me schedule when it is complete but this class Tuesday and Thursday from 4:30 to 7:00 PM and from 1:30 to 4:00 PM on SATURDAY. YES, SATURDAY!!!! There are also classes on Sunday but that’s my day off. Most of the classes are mid-afternoon to 9PM. Very few early morning classes. Actually, the earliest may be 9AM. (I have one of those).
 
OK, so much for now. You should have gotten some photos the other day. If you did not, please let me know.
 
Hope all is well with you. Let me hear from you,
 
Love to all,
 
Tom

Hello Everyone,
Thought I should bring you up to date since I haven’t written recently. The monkey bite is healing slowly but I should have a nice scar to punctuate my story about the time I was attacked by a horde of wild monkeys in the jungle of Vietnam.
Since that trip to HaLong Bay, I’ve been to Hoi An, a small town just north of DaNang. Lots of damage due to Typhoon Xangsane still evident. Visited lots of temples and pagodas. Interesting but I don’t know anything about the symbolism. They are always crowded with statues, lots of gold and red color, incense burning and offerings of fruit in front of the statues. I want to learn more about the religion and the history. Would make me better appreciate what I see. From Hoi An, went to My Son (pronounced me sun) which is an ancient Hindu religious site built in the 1500’s and discovered by the French in 1896.
Am currently in Nha Trang enjoying a few days on the beach before starting to work next week. Went to the beach yesterday and got toasted. Today visited a temple with a reclining Buddha 18 meters long and another standing on top of the hill that is 24 meters high. Both look to be made of white marble. Impressive. Tomorrow I take a boat trip to several islands and I’ll probably get toasted again. What the hack. I never see the sun in Hanoi.
I’ve rented a four story house a fifteen minute walk from my school. A house is larger and cheaper here than an apartment. Go figure. A house in Vietnam is a vertical structure, one room wide and several stories high. There is a room in the front and one in the back on each floor. A stairway going up separates the two rooms.
I’ll send pictures of everything when I get back to my computer in Hanoi. Did you get the pictures I sent the other day?
I’ll send a group e-mail soon which will give more details of my travels. It’s been fun so far. But soon I go to work. I’ll only have one and a half days off each week so my traveling will be reduced. And so will my expenses.
How ’bout them Vols!!! Hope we can win out.
Go Georgia!! Beat Florida!!!
Go South Carolina!! Beat Florida!!!
Love to all,
PaPa, Dad, Tom