Tom’s Travels

Took a wonderful trip to Ha Giang Province in the north of Vietnam on the Chinese border. Incredible, mountainous terrain with ethnic minority groups in traditional dress. Film at eleven.

Saturday, April 28

We met at the travel agency who had arranged the trip at 7AM Saturday morning. Seven of us, six women and me, all teachers, 3 Americans (Colleen, Stephanie and I), 2 Brits (Caroline and Vicki), 1 Australian (Michelle) and 1 South African (Michelle). A good group, very compatible.

Left home at six AM and was surprised to see so many people out in the streets. The parks were full of people playing badminton, walking, doing Tai Chi, stretching. The streets were full of people opening their shops and setting out their wares. The city was alive at a time that I was usually still asleep.

We had rented a nine passenger van with a driver and a guide. Luckily, this was upgraded at no charge to a sixteen passenger Mercedes van that we filled but still had enough room to be comfortable. Westerners take up more space than Vietnamese. We stowed our luggage, piled and and were delighted to be headed out of town. At this point, anything outside of the city limits of Hanoi would have been considered a wonderful vacation. The city is incredibly noisy and crowded. Everyone honks their horns constantly, even the motorbikes. There seems to be some rule that you should honk in order to let the person in front of you know that you are there (as if he couldn’t hear you or see you in his rear view mirror). And you honk so that the motorbikes and bicycles will move out of your way, which they seldom do. And sometimes it seems you honk just to for the sheer joy of hearing your horn. Life in the street is never quiet. When we got out of the city, we could see open land, flat land, vast, green, rice paddies with women and men bent at the waist working in the fields, people hoeing the land in preparation for planting or tending one or two or several water buffalo. I saw a woman bent over working in a rice field. She suddenly squatted down and all I could see was the cone shaped hat that everyone wore. I’m always amazed at how low the Vietnamese can get when they squat down. They sit on stools that are about six inches high when they eat and all can squat to rest or talk or work in the streets. When they huddle over a heated game of Vietnamese “Chess”, they are usually below the level of my knees.

The roads around Hanoi are not good and we bumped along, honking all the way. Generally we drove down the middle of the road allowing motorbikes to pass on each side going in both directions. Vietnam has wasted money painting white lines in the middle of the road as they are ignored, even in the city. Two vehicles approaching each other head on move over at the last minute. There are thirty motorcycle deaths a day in Vietnam, one a day in Hanoi. From what I’ve witnessed, I would expect more. Almost no one wears a helmet.

So there we are, bumping along on crowded roads, going through small towns with crowded streets, passing an occasional factory belching smoke in to the air. Life in Vietnam is conducted in the streets. Shops are almost always open front so you can see all the merchandise from the street and when they open, they expand out into what should be a side walk but seldom is. We stopped for a coffee break and a pit stop. The “rest room” consisted of two “urinals” and one “stall”. The “urinals” were 3 feet by 3 feet enclosures with concrete floors and brick walls about four feet high, open to the sky and no door. There were two bricks on the floor on which you could stand, supposedly so you wouldn’t splash on your shoes. There was no water and no hole. The urine drained downhill through a hole in the wall to the next urinal which was a duplicate of the first. The ladies had to walk past the two urinals to get to the “stall”. The “stall” had a hole in the floor and, again, two bricks. Walls but no roof and the door wouldn’t close completely. You had to hold the hold onto the door to keep it shut. Privacy is not a big commodity in Vietnam. But we managed.

Everyone ordered coffee except me. I can’t drink Vietnamese coffee. Essentially, it’s tar, unless you add a lot of water. And i can’t add enough sugar to get away from the bitter taste. So I ordered a coke. Not a diet coke, my drink of choice, which is available in only a few places in Hanoi, and rare as hen’s teeth outside the city, but a regular coke with a syrupy taste. The lady picked up a bottle coke, warm, which had been sitting out, collecting what looked like decades of road dust. She took a rag and carefully wiped off the dust. Then she used the same rag, untouched, to wipe out the glass I was to use to drink my coke. I drank from the bottle.

The motorbike is the major form of transportation as well as transport in Vietnam. Everything is delivered on motorbikes. It’s hard to believe what volumes and quantities they will put on the back of a motorbike. I’ve often said that if you bought a car in Vietnam, they would deliver it on a motorbike. Some of what we saw in the country was very upsetting. One man had three grown pigs in wire cages, alive and struggling in their confined pens, plus one tied down on his back on top of the cages. Another had three wire cages of mid-sized dogs that were stuffed in so tight they were literally unable to move. It was appalling. They were probably on their way to a restaurant where they would be someone’s supper.

We stopped at Tuyen Quang for lunch. As usual, we ordered several different dishes and shared. Anything you can reach with your chopsticks is yours. Standard fare. Tofu, morning glory (some sort of cooked green plant, similar to spinach), French fries, and what South African Michelle described as “whitefish”. They turned out to be minnows, cooked whole, probably fried. They weren’t bad but not particularly good either. Not something I’ll be searching out in my travels. The tails and fins were a little too sharp and pointy for my taste.

After lunch and some distance from Hanoi, the roads got wider and better. Strange that the worst roads are close to the capital city. We left the flat land and drove through rolling hills. It began to drizzle and was raining lightly when we arrived at Ha Giang, the major city in the Ha Giang province. We had left Hanoi at seven and arrived in the late afternoon, approximately 150 miles in about eight hours. Did I mention the roads were bad? The motorbikes were making better time. They could dodge potholes and other vehicles. The rooms in the hotel were large, usually two double beds, but the mattresses could have been used as a torture mechanism. They were hard, real hard. There was no give whatsoever. The floor seemed softer. The Vietnamese seem to like hard furniture. The chairs and sofa in my living room are massive carved wooden pieces. I couldn’t sit on them for very long without having a sore behind, so I got some pillows. When the Vietnamese landlady comes over, she removes the pillows before she sits down.

We went for a walk around Ha Giang. Ha Giang Province is not a heavily traveled tourist area. We were the attraction. People always looked at us as we passed by. Most yelled out “Hello”, especially the young people. When we answered “Hello” many began to giggle and look at their friends. Look what I did! I made them say something. In most cases, that was the extent of their English, though some were able to respond to “How are you?” Passed a small shop where they were making heavy wooden furniture by hand. I think this is standard procedure. One man was using a hammer and chisel to carve an elaborate design in the headboard for a bed. The other was sanding another piece which had three dimensional figures. I watched for a while. It was amazing. One slip and you start over. A lot of work for one piece of furniture.

We had dinner on a barge in the river. The menu was in Vietnamese so we had to walk around other people’s tables and point to their dishes to let the waitress know what we wanted. The locals were very understanding about this. The service was bad but the food was good. However, I didn’t like the way the chicken was prepared. The roast a whole chicken and then just chop it up with a meat cleaver and serve it on a plate. So, instead of getting a nice slice of chicken breast, you get a cross-section of chicken, bones and all. There was no drumstick, just a chopped up piece of chicken. The dinner which was very nice and a lot of food cost 283VND (about $18 for seven people). Lunch had cost 480VND (about $29). We soon realized that anytime we went into a restaurant with our guide, the meal usually cost twice as much as when he was not along. It seems that he always got a free meal we paid for it, and more. Later that evening, we had drinks overlooking the river. 4 beers and 3 Vodka and Orange juice. 7 drinks for $6. That was a good deal, but, of course, the guide was not along.

Sunday, April 29

We had a breakfast of Pho (pronounced “fuh”), the typical morning meal for Vietnamese, essentially a bowl of chicken soup without the chicken and some greens thrown in and some of that coffee which I can’t drink. Then we headed for a village nearby, our first encounter with the locals. The village was nestled in gently rolling hills but provided plenty of flat land for rice farming and rice was obviously the principle crop. The village was off the road but on the beaten path. The people seemed accustomed to having visitors as they ignored us or briefly acknowledged us as we walked through. Most of the homes were thatched huts on stilts. The houses had walls that were not completely closed in and the inhabitants were exposed to the weather. The thatched roofs were almost a foot thick so they were protected from the rain but not the cold. There were lots of animals, water buffalo, ducks, chickens and horses, and lots of children who were very friendly and always said “Hello”. They loved to have their pictures made and then see them in the digital cameras. All the adults were working. Women and men bent over in the rice fields, back breaking work. No wonder we saw so many older people who were stooped. There was a woman washing rice in a woven basket and a man brewing rice wine, a staple of the area, and young girls fishing. The village had an intricate irrigation system fashioned from bamboo split in half. Water flowed down from the hills and they trapped it to feed the rice paddies. They even devised a primitive method to lower the water, run it under the paved pathway and then raise it back up so it could continue into the fields. Difficult to explain but fascinating. All done with bamboo, the most plentiful building material in the area.

Next we drove to a small town where we wanted to see the street market that is frequently by local ethnic minorities, Unfortunately, we were too late on a rainy morning and the market had closed down. So they took us to where we were to spend the night, a homestay with a local family. Well this was part of the tour and they were prepared to have guests. We didn’t actually stay with the family, we had our our stilt house with eight mattresses on the floor separated by curtains that could be drawn for a bit of privacy. Those who had made other trips with homestays indicated that we were in the lap of luxury. Yes, the shower was underneath the main house some twenty yards away, but, at least, we had a shower. The family provided lunch for us. We sat on the floor, a good trick for me since my knees don’t bend very well, and shared from bowls of food laid out on a mat. The family ate separately on a different mat. The food was good. There was a dark meat which was excellent, tender and tasty. The told us it was beef but we were pretty sure it was water buffalo. Maybe the best meat I have ever tasted. We had beer for lunch and then the man of the house wanted to toast us with rice wine. He especially want to toast with me since I was the only man and the oldest (I guess). Anyway, I had five shots of rice wine in addition to the beer. Needless to say, we all took naps after lunch.

After the nap, we were to go to a village some 15 kilometers away. The guide wanted to drive us but we insisted on walking. We walked through several small towns and we were the highlight of the day for the locals. Everyone said “Hello”. They called their families out of the house to see us going by. Kids came across the street to speak to us. They shook our hands and laughed. They wanted photos made and wanted to look at them. One man tried to hand me his baby but the baby started crying. Think the general thought was, “What are these westerners doing walking way out here?” Along the way, we saw a group of boys sitting on a boulder fishing in the river, two guys on motorbikes crossing the river on a narrow bamboo bridge, several waterwheels, and several women carrying heavy loads on their shoulders in the twin baskets. Some of the women had black teeth, the result of chewing betel nuts, evidently a desirable look in this area. The guide showed us the “plant that sleeps”, a small low growing fern like plant. When you touch it, it seems to wilt but recovers in about fifteen minutes. He said that the Vietnamese were able to track the Americans during the “American War” by following the trail left by this plant. My thought was, “Why didn’t our South Vietnamese allies warn us about it?”

We finally got to the village. They flat land was planted in rice and corn and the village was in the foothills. The village was not very interesting and it was getting late in the day so we quickly walked through. One old man latched on to us and wanted to have his picture made with us. He shook our hands and saluted and smiled a lot. He didn’t speak any English so the guide interpreted. He was 74 years old, had fought in the war and had killed 13 Americans. He had been shot in the head and the hip. Some of what he said the guide did not interpret claiming that it was a dialect he did not understand. We weren’t sure what to believe as he seemed drunk or many even mentally unbalanced. He shook hands and wouldn’t let go. As we walked away from the village, he accompanied us, held the girls’ hands and sang to them. A happy, jovial man, but strange.

Supper was a duplication of lunch. Lots of good food and plenty of rice wine. We all slept well that night under mosquito nets.

Monday, April 30

The guide took us back to the same restaurant where we had had breakfast the day before. We decided against Pho and walked across the street hoping to find something else. No luck, so we ordered coffee ( I got a seven up) and juice. We asked for bread and one of the women got on her bike and rode away. A few minutes later she came back with a plastic bag of four baguettes. We asked for more and she rode away again. In the car we broke out the peanut butter we had brought and made sandwiches. They were delicious.

We left Ha Giang and started our climb in to the mountains. We would leave the valley floor and snake our way upward on narrow, winding roads. The driver, an excellent driver I might add, honked the horn before making each turn to announce to anyone approaching that we our van was just around the corner. We never really got away from the constant noise even in the peaceful, isolated mountains. We climbed up, up, up, hairpin curve after hairpin curve. We stopped for pictures and watched families planting crops on the hillside, and when I say “hillside”, I mean a steep slope. They had carved out narrow terraces that stretched from the top to the bottom of the hill and worked in groups as they tilled the land. Children looked after babies and some women worked with a baby strapped to their back. Others left their infants on the hillside in the shade of an umbrella. One maybe eight year old boy had a one year old on his back and held the hand of a three year old as the wandered up and down the slopes. Other children walked along the road tending their water buffalo. They were somewhat stand-offish but also curious and came toward us and let us take pictures. Large areas of land were under cultivation but there weren’t very many people working and they seemed to be working as a unit.

We passed through Quang Ba and continued to climb. The major crop at this altitude and in this terrain was corn. We saw long irrigation ditches made of concrete, probably constructed by the government. We stopped in Yen Minh for lunch of tofu (standard), noodles, beef, morning glory and iced coffee. I was able to drink the iced coffee because they put so much condensed milk in it that it kills the task and makes it seem more like chocolate milk. We saw another group of westerners, 4 adults (one man and three women) and 7 children, the only other westerners we saw on the entire trip. They were French and were teachers in Ho Chi Minh City. We agreed that we were happy not to be traveling with children though they were very well behaved and ate what was placed before them with chopsticks. At the end of the meal, the children were given brownies. I whined, “Oh, I want a brownie.” The man heard me and brought me a slice of brownie. I tried to refuse but he insisted explaining that they had more and saying, “You’re traveling with six women. You need it.” I took it and shared with my group. It was delicious!

After lunch, we continued our climb upward. Wooden plows were used to loosen the soil where possible. Houses were made of mud and clay. This was Black H’mong country, one of the ethnic minority groups in the mountains. Our guide told us and we were able to distinguish them by the two panels of black on the women’s black skirts. (Blue H’mong had two blue panels on black skirts). At this altitude the land was very rocky but it seemed that every inch of available soil was planted in corn. (Some one told us that the dirt had been “brought in” but I question this. Literally, a square foot of dirt surrounded by boulders had a sprig of corn starting to grow. Everyone, including old people, was bending over doing manual labor, chopping, hoeing, cutting, and weeding on the steep hillsides. At one point, we stopped to get pictures of the spectacular view. A family of Black H’mong walked down the narrow path from their house on the hill to see us. Several adults and four or five children. The man carried his naked son in his arms. They were excited to have their pictures made and see them in the cameras. One woman had four gold teeth across the front. Saw this a few times and maybe it is a symbol of wealth. A better symbol would have been to have running water. It seemed that none of them had had a bath in quite some time. Beautiful, friendly people but living a hard life scratching a living our of the hills with little chance for improvement in the future. I admired them a great deal. I would not have wanted to live like that and yet they smiled and seemed happy.

We passed through Meo Vac and entered the land of the Blue H’Mong. This area provided the most spectacular scenery. High Mountains topped by what looked to be volcanic rocks. Big country with high mountains and deep valleys. It reminded me of the Alps or the Pyrenees. It didn’t have snow capped mountains but the distance from the valley floor to the top of the mountain felt like the Alps. Vast and magnificent. We all agreed that the photos we were taking now and would look at later would not capture the majesty and beauty of the landscape.

We decided to walk along the road for a kilometer or two taking pictures and watching the people working n the hillsides. It seemed almost impossible to plant crops of the steep mountains. We felt that if we slipped we would be unable to stop ourselves and would roll all the way to the bottom. And yet these people worked the soil and moved easily along narrow paths worn by years of climbing the mountains.

We spent the night in Dong Van, about 15 or 20 miles from the Chinese border. This has always been a tense area and we had to have permits to enter. Saw several signs in the area that said “Frontier Area”. Evidently, in years past, the Chinese would come across the border and steal Vietnamese women for wives. Now they pay families for their daughters. April 30th is the anniversary of reunification of North and South. There was a big celebration on TV. Singing, fireworks, ceremonies, men in military uniforms and old film clips. I can’t really get a handle on the feelings of the people. Are they expressing their sentiments or are they parroting the dictates of the government? Were they celebrating the reunification of the country or a victory over the Americans? I’ve talked to my students about the American War and there seems to be no animosity toward Americans or me. I told them I would not wear a t-shirt with the Vietnamese flag on it if I were in America because of the reaction it would cause. One student pointed out that that response was probably because we lost the war. I asked what happened to the leaders of the South Vietnamese military (our allies) after the war. They told me they were “reeducated”. I found out later that some stayed in “reeducation” camps for ten years. I don’t really have a grasp on the lasting effects of the war.

That night we walked the streets. People called out “Hello’. Children came up and said “Hello”, shook our hands, giggled and ran away. One man brought his babe in arms up to me and held the baby up to my face. The baby made a kissing sound against my cheek. I think they feel it brings good luck. We were sitting on the curb drinking beer when a man went by on a bicycle with a box on the back. A really strange sound was coming from the box. A person?, an animal?, a cry for help? We referred to him as the Poltergeist Man. He passed by and we hoped he would continue away, but he turned around after about a hundred yards and headed back our way. He passed us again but stopped nearby and opened the box when someone came out to him. We walked over and discovered that he was selling bread from the box. The sound coming from the box was his advertisement but it almost scared us away. We bought some bread.

Tuesday, May 1

May 1st is Labor Day in most of the world. There was a parade of school children down the main street of Dong Van. Bread and peanut butter for breakfast. We stopped at a Lo Lo village. Interesting but not much to see. One young girl put on their native costume, a patchwork of bright colors, and posed for pictures. We continued through the mountains but had started our descent. Still spectacular. We could see paths winding from the valley floors to high in the peaks. Every available bit of space was cultivated, but there never seemed to be enough people to farm such a vast area. Maybe they practiced crop rotation.

We stopped at a village called Pho Cao (not sure if this was just the name of the village or the ethnic minority that lived there). We walked along the main street, the only street as far as I could tell. Everyone was dressed in black. They didn’t say must, just looked at us. I got the impression that they didn’t have many visitors. All the men were dressed in the same black outfit, black pants and jacket with buttons up the front. They were having lunch from a common pot. Meat was being cut up, cooked and served on a long board with the men sitting on each side. The women wore black, heavily pleated wrap around skirts with colored panels and brocade down the back. They displayed more color. Everyone seemed shy and suspicious. We found out later that it was a funeral. The grandfather had been killed in a motorcycle accident.

We took pictures and when we showed them, everyone began to gather around until we were surrounded by people eager to see their images in the camera. They began to offer us food and drink, goat meat, very fatty and rice wine out of a common cup. The funeral was evidently an occasion for eating and drinking. One man passed out and was lying on the ground. Everyone simply ignored him. I was amazed that no one stepped on him as they crowded around to look at pictures.

We continued our descent through the mountains. We stopped beside the river and went wading. Two women were planting corn on the slope between the road and the river. I’m sure it was not their land but I doubt that anyone would question their us of the land. Life in the mountains is a hard life and no one should limit their ability to scratch out an existence.

We had lunch in Yen Minh, the restaurant where we had seen the French travelers, completing the loop of the mountain area. Amazing country. Vast and beautiful. Stopped at Heaven’s Gate, a high pass through the mountains, our last chance to get good pictures of the terrain. Then down the mountains to Ha Giang. Had a nice, inexpensive dinner (without the guide) and then went to a bar. Two of the ladies in our group ordered drinks the locals didn’t know how to mix so our ladies went behind the bar and made their own drinks. A good time was had by all.

Wednesday, May 2nd

Our sightseeing was over. This day would be devoted to making the run back to Hanoi in order to teach at two in the afternoon. We decided to leave at 5AM. We piled into the van, hoping to get some more sleep. The motor wouldn’t start. The battery was dead, really dead. After several adjustments to the engine (don’t know what he did), the motor started and we were on our way. At 6AM, we saw children with backpacks walking to school and others riding their bikes. 6AM! The streets were full of people and all the little roadside markets were open. They start early in Vietnam. We passed buses absolutely packed with people. Some even had people riding on top of the bus with all the luggage including motorbikes tied on. And on those roads that would have been a real heart pounding experience. The trip back was uneventful and a little sad. Back to work. Back to the noise and crowds of Hanoi. Away from the beauty of the mountains.

It was a wonderful trip and I recommend it to everyone.

Hello Everyone,
Here’s a long over-due update. I’ll try to cover a lot of topics. If they’re of interest to you, you might want to fix yourself a cuppa tea or a drink and sit back and enjoy. This is going to be a long one. If it isn’t of interest, no worries. That’s what the delete button is for.
Travels, Hoi An: We went this ancient UNESCO town in central Vietnam several weeks ago. The highlights were the quaintness of the town itself; getting clothes made to fit by one of the dozens of tailors there — I had a couple nice blouses made, slacks and a skirt that fit better than any I’ve ever had, a silk bathrobe, and an ao dai–traditional Vietnamese outfit; the Children’s Mid-Autumn festival going on, which included groups of boys going around with a couple dressed as dragons, one in a mask collecting money, and the contstant drum beats of the drummer. In Hoi An we had one of the best meals yet — veggies and shrimp and spices all carmelized in a clay pot, served with rice, 2 appetizers and flan for less than $4 per person. We went on a river cruise and on one side of the boat they saw a large rat swimming in the river, whereas on my side, I saw a water snake.
Travels, Nha Trang: after we got our jobs and housing arranged but not yet ready to start, we headed to this wonderful beach resort town. There were luxury rooms for hundreds of dollars, backpacker beds for just a couple dollars, and plenty of decent rooms for a few dollars more. I can’t imagine who stays in those luxury hotels. The beach was fabulous for swimming in the surf (no rats or snakes) and for relaxing in beach chairs, which you could rent for the whole day and move in and out of the shade as needed. We had great seafood and fresh fruit. There were vendors going up and down the beach, selling everything from books and sunglasses to fresh pineapple. But the highlight was the lobster lady — she carried 2 pots hanging from her bamboo pole. One had limes, oil, plates, knife, other supplies. The other had a small and burning coal brazier topped with a large pot loaded with steaming lobsters. She carried this up and down the beach all day. We went on a very entertaining boat trip, which Tom described best in his email. I’ll attach the description at the end here, for those of you who haven’t already read it. We also went to a beautiful Cham (Hindu) Tower complex, similar to Angor Wat in Cambodia, but on a smaller scale. Still intact, despite unknown construction techniques and 800-1000 years old. Much more impressive than the partial towers we had seen at My Son, but those had been heavily damaged during the 70’s — if I type out the reason why, it will trigger the automatic censor that will prevent my email from going through. But, ancient religious towers that had stood for over 800 years were doing fine until certain things fell on them about 35 years ago.
Coffee: Yes, there’s coffee here. Vietnam is the world’s 2nd exporter of coffee, after Brazil. They serve it very strong here. They put the grounds in an individual cup with a lid on top and a seize on the bottom, and set this on top of your coffee cup. They pour hot water over this and it slowly drips down into your coffee cup. Or, you can drink it iced and white — with sweet, syrupy condensed milk. On a hot afternoon, this is as refreshing as having a bucket of cold water dumped on your head, but not as messy. I love it.
Food: we’ve had plenty of good food and some really fabulous food here, and nothing bad at all. I admit we’ve been pretty cautious and eating only at restaurants and cafes. There are little stands all up and down the street, with people cooking something right there, and tiny little stools where people stop by to buy a cheap, hot meal and sit down to eat. I know we’re missing out on part of the culture and some good food by not going to these. Some of them look fine, but others have some meat that looks like it’s been around quite a while. It’s a tropical climate. There’s no sign of reridgeration on the streets, and plenty of dirt and flies. But these stands are not really an option because the stools are SOOO tiny and SOOO low to the ground, that even if we could sit on them comfortably and not break them (both unlikely), we still couldnt’ get back up. Wll, maybe if we rolled off them onto the sidewalk first and then … nevermind, it just isn’t happening. We’re going to start trying more of the small local cafes, with full size chairs.
People: Everyone is at least pleasant, if not out-of-their-way friendly. (Although many taxi drivers do try to charge double — I guess we have to accept that this is common in a lot of countries.) Vietnamese smile a lot by nature, and it’s nice to see. Little kids often shout “hello! hello!” at foreigners, and giggle when we say hello back. Lonely Planet says this is similar to kids tapping on the glass at an aquarium to see if the strange creature will respond. Whatever, the kids are adorable and this always makes us smile.
Jobs: we decided to work at a school in Hanoi that seems very professionally run, has plenty of resources and a new building, and agreed to let us teach adults at first but then let me take a few kids classes to develop my skills there. Being in the north, in the large and noisy city, wasn’t our first choice, but it looks like a good school, and our job offer in Danang (near “China Beach”) wasn’t due to start for a couple more months. We’ve been working part time for 2 weeks, and starting tomorrow we’ll have full schedules. So far, I can see that the students are very motivated and the staff is very friendly. More details after I’ve been there awhile.
Our house– We found out that apartments are less available and much more expensive than renting an entire house. The typical Vietnamese city house is very tall, long and narrow. Ours is 10 feet wide, which doesn’t sound like much, but it’s fine, considering the house goes back 40 feet and is 4 storeys tall. A wooden spiral staircase runs through the center of the whole thing, and looking from the top down is an amazing shot. The first floor has entry, living room, hall with bathroom and kitchen/dining area. There are 2 bedrooms and a bathroom on each of the next 2 floors, with tiny balconies that are filled with plants. The top floor has the ancestor room (where our landlords have left their “altar” with candles and other items dedicated to their ancestors) and then instead of another room, a top floor covered patio with washer, laundry lines and a view of all the other rooftops around. We are down a nice alley away from the very noisy main street, but unfortunately we are right next to the community announcements loudspeakers, which go off at least once a day.
This is where the title of my email fits in. We have a few pets that came with the house–geckos. They are quiet, feed themselves, don’t make a mess, and just greet us when we enter and then scamper quickly away.
After living in small hotel rooms, we’re now getting used to all this space. We’ve each got our own office set up. But, there’s still plenty of room for guests — if you don’t mind the geckos or the community service announcements blaring in, or the stairs; each storey is 12 feet high, or 20 stairs each — that’s 80 stairs from the kitchen to the laundry room. But, despite these oddities, it’s a pretty nice setup and there’s room for 4 easily, and more in a pinch. Anyone interested???? We’ll be here for a year.
Our local: After our first day of cleaning, moving furniture and unpacking, we headed down the main street to find a place to eat and get a cool drink. The closest restaurant (again, not counting those streetside stands with the tiny little chairs) was called “Pragold, Czech Restaurant.” We were delighted to go inside and find pictures of Prague, the Good Soldier Svejk, and copper vats with Pilsner fresh-brewed on the premises. They even brought us a little dish of peanuts and then charged us when we started eating them, just like the waiters in Prague! I confess that I became teary-eyed when I saw the pictures of Old Town Square.
Well, that’s more than enough for now. I want to spend some time organizing photos and getting them on yahoo to send in a convenient way, but now that I’m starting a heavy work schedule, I’m not sure how long it will take me. If I can’t get to it, I’ll send just a few as attachments before long.
For those of you that didn’t already read Tom’s group update, our Nha Trang boat trip is described below. And here’s where I’ll sign off.
Hope all is well with you and yours.
Take care,
Colleen
Nha Trang boat tour: It was a covered boat with about twenty people. We visited four different islands. At the first, we went snorkeling. Visibility was about 20 to 25 feet so we could see lots of tropical fish, many of which I had seen before but couldn’t name now. It made me remember how much I enjoyed scuba diving. I was the last out of the water.
Our guide, Dat, was very lively, very animated. He promised us a strip show after lunch. “You know the Chippendale’s? Same, same, only better.” He said “same, same” a lot. The strip show didn’t happen but we did have entertainment. At the next island, we anchored and had lunch, a huge spread that was served family style and we ate with chopsticks. (I’m getting pretty proficient at that). There was more food than we could eat and it was very good. The benches in the middle of the boat had been folded flat to make a table for the meal. After lunch it served as a platform for the entertainment.
There was a group led by Dat, the lead singer. He had a back up singer (wearing a cook’s apron and no shirt), an electric guitarist and a drummer. The drummer was the most interesting as his “drums” consisted of several plastic buckets of various sizes that looked as if they had been rescued form the trash heap. He had an actual cymbal but it had a piece missing from one side. However, they made good music and were entertaining and loud. A cross between rock and roll and heavy metal. They sang a song for each country represented by their international group of boaters. Waltzing Matilda for the Aussies and Yellow Submarine for the Brits. there was even a song for the South Koreans on board. When Dat got to the lone Finn, he said “Finland, England, same,same.” A New Zealander got up and he and Dat did a chant with fierce looking threatening movements and facial expressions. Must have been something from the Kiwi Natives. Reminded me of the movie, Whale Rider. For Americans they played played a Twist song and got some of us up on the platform to dance. Modest though I am, I did get up. They finished with a song they sang to the tune of Aulde Land Syne. (sp)
Then Dat announced Happy Hour! He got into a round, floating apparatus in the water that had a box full of bottles of wine and plastic cups. We grabbed life preservers and jumped in. Everytime we swam up to him he refilled our cups. We drank and floated for about an hour.
Next we went to a beach on another island, and finally, we went to the last island and visited an aquarium. Sharks and sea turtles and eels and grouper and assorted tropical fish. It was a great day, and easily well worth the $10!
&&&&&&&&&

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.
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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