With the permission of my talented and eager grade ten student, I am "publishing" her work here. I hope you will enjoy reading the personal experience of this gifted ESL student.
Away Off
…
It was a sad, beautiful painting.
It was a small puzzle left out of life’s picture.
It was a marigold petal falling on the roadside, silently and painfully.
She was standing there, on the side of the street, beside her old bike, setting up the flowers. The sun hid behind the clouds. The dawn laid on the ground, making her silhouette fall into a crooked shape on the pavement. She stood still, held the basket, her glint wandering onto the street as if she was trying to penetrate the sea of people to find someone over there.
She wore a plain brown shirt, plain black trousers with a white cloth wrapped around her head: a typical picture of a Vietnamese woman. Simple and charming. Most people can see the simpleness by the clothes she wear, but not everyone can see the charm in her. The charm of the way she fondled the flowers, as gently as a mother takes a loving care of her child. The charm of her fortitude for life that left those wrinkles on her forehead. The charm of her lonely silhouette merging into the dawn. The charm of her beautiful eyes as she silently watched the sea of people floating over her. The charm as she smiles at life and pretend there’s no such thing as sadness. The charm that nobody noticed. The charm that had been dimmed by the dusk of life. The charm that was just a blur. She stood still in front of a wall of shut grey door, as life went on and no one came.
As I lowered my Canon down and I now realized that not everyone could notice the grace in her, because they always see things by the lens of prejudice and indifference to people who are like her. The lens would grow dim with dust and all they would be able to recognize would be just foggy fact. It’s sad when we walk by a daisy field in a misty day and miss the white of the daisies: never knowing.
We live depending on the lens that we create ourselves and decide to see life through it, ignoring the beauty of life on the roadside.
My sister suddenly grabbed my hand as we slowly walked up to the women. My sister bought a bouquet of marigolds then she gave it to the women and said “This is for you, ma’am.” The women looked at us in surprise. She was trembling as my sister handed the bouquet to her. My sister held her hands, and for a moment, I saw tears dewing in her eyes. It was a beautiful moment, filled with warmth and love. Just a moment tucked into the rush hour. She smiled tenderly.
We gave her marigolds, wishing her happiness, love and longevity so that she would always retain her grace in life.
We were startled by a loud voice shouting at us. The women’s smile slowly faded away.
“Hey hey! Go away, go away,” a voice sounded from the house behind her.
A lady appeared, still in her pajamas, chasing the poor women away.
She said thanks to us then quickly packed up her things and went off
From afar, through the morning mist, I still could see the glimpse of yellow marigolds shining beautifully in the sunlight.
There were petals left on the street where she had stood. They must have fallen out as she went away.
The lady came out from the house, sweeping all the trash away, included those petals. The wind took the petals away with her.
And nobody noticed.
It was a sad, beautiful painting.
It was a small puzzle left out of life’s picture.
It was a petal of marigold falling on the roadside, silently and painfully.
September 21, 2010.
Ivy Nguyen.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
A quick snippet so that my next entry may not be as long and rambly as my former.
Interesting tidbits:
1) My computer was stolen from my classroom on the day of the Grand Opening Ceremonies. Slightly inconvenient and disconcerting.
2) I stayed late yesterday to work, and from my classroom window saw what was perhaps one of the most beautiful Saigon sunsets I have ever seen. I then returned to my new desktop background, which was an image of the sun setting over Ho Chi Minh City, and I reveled in this silly subversion of the theft. My new computer a reminder of the daily beauty that can be found, even in spite of chaos. Yes--cheesy, I know.
3) On the same day, I returned to my classroom to find the following note on my board: "Kista. I love you! If I to be a big stong man I want to marry with you." Courtesy of one of our female, Vietnamese staff members.
4) Some gastronomical happenings. Since returning, I have consumed fetal duck egg (yes, a fertilized, partly grown, duck embryo). Crunchy, soft, raunchy, and ordinary all at the same time. I have enjoyed snake (and all that entails--snake heart, snake blood, etc) once more--this time, by accident, as some Vietnamese friends and I were simply "going to dinner." Today was another consumption first, as a friend and I landed in some tucked away, Vietnamese only joint and winded up with dog meat soup. The Vietnamese patrons looked at myself and my blond haired, six foot six companion and I with studied curiosity.
5) No matter how many squat toilets I use and no matter how many techniques I employ, I always get back spray on my feet. Any suggestions?
All for tonight.
Interesting tidbits:
1) My computer was stolen from my classroom on the day of the Grand Opening Ceremonies. Slightly inconvenient and disconcerting.
2) I stayed late yesterday to work, and from my classroom window saw what was perhaps one of the most beautiful Saigon sunsets I have ever seen. I then returned to my new desktop background, which was an image of the sun setting over Ho Chi Minh City, and I reveled in this silly subversion of the theft. My new computer a reminder of the daily beauty that can be found, even in spite of chaos. Yes--cheesy, I know.
3) On the same day, I returned to my classroom to find the following note on my board: "Kista. I love you! If I to be a big stong man I want to marry with you." Courtesy of one of our female, Vietnamese staff members.
4) Some gastronomical happenings. Since returning, I have consumed fetal duck egg (yes, a fertilized, partly grown, duck embryo). Crunchy, soft, raunchy, and ordinary all at the same time. I have enjoyed snake (and all that entails--snake heart, snake blood, etc) once more--this time, by accident, as some Vietnamese friends and I were simply "going to dinner." Today was another consumption first, as a friend and I landed in some tucked away, Vietnamese only joint and winded up with dog meat soup. The Vietnamese patrons looked at myself and my blond haired, six foot six companion and I with studied curiosity.
5) No matter how many squat toilets I use and no matter how many techniques I employ, I always get back spray on my feet. Any suggestions?
All for tonight.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Em di ve Saigon!
I won’t even hazard a guess at when my last blog post was, nor will I look back to confirm my suspicions that it was stupidly long ago. For your reading pleasure, I will offer a short synopsis of my life since then.
It was an absolute pleasure to have my sister come and visit for four weeks over June and July. She explored Ho Chi Minh City as I finished up my teaching, and in the evenings we enjoyed time with my friends and excellent meals. After, we headed out on a three week venture through Thailand and Laos.
We started out in Luang Prabang, where I fell in love. With the town, that is. It was absolutely beautiful: a pleasantly slow town perched between two meandering rivers. Highlights of our long time in LP include, but are not limited to:
Taking a silk dyeing and weaving course at a cultural arts preservation centre on the bank of the Mekong. We learned how to make natural dyes with a variety of seeds, nuts, leaves, and bark. We then, wove our own small piece of silk.
Trekking to a beautiful waterfall. It has many tiers, for swimming, rope swinging and the like. En route, I enjoyed playing small games with the curious Laotian children. The guide told them to be careful or I would shove them in by backpack and take them home. After I insisted on a translation, I turned around and pointed to my backpack, at which point all the children ran away screaming with a delicate mixture of fear and delight.
Time lounging at “Utopia” a river side haunt, perched on a hill side.
Exploring the many grassroots and development programs sprouting up in the city.
We then took an excruciating night bus into Northern Laos. Not long after we were on the road, the drivers cut the A.C. and cranked the startlingly loud Laotian pop music. We had a silent battled brewing for the entirety of the trip; every time we stopped and they disembarked, I would race to the front and turn the music down. This would be unaltered for about one hour and then those tunes would rise one again. The only positive of this situation was that my lack of sleep allowed me to strike up a friendship with a monk sitting behind me, who also couldn’t find rest. At the conclusion of the trip, he stated, “I have called my parents and you will come to my hometown with me for three days .” I explained kindly that I had already booked my next days, but would gladly do so another time.
The next three days we spent at The Gibbon Experience. These days were absolutely wonderful in mostly every way. The Gibbon Experience is an eco tourism project in the Bokeo jungle of Northern Laos. For three days,a group of eight of us, trekked, ziplinned from mountain range to mountain range (300 feet up), and lived in treehouses (200 feet up). See Facebook photos for a more vivid image of this spectacularness. We met some lovely folks—two of whom taught in a project based, alternative, publically funded school in California. Got me curious. Perhaps one the most exhilarating parts of this venture was showering in the tree houses. Standing 200 feet up, naked to the wilds, made me feel like quite an exhibitionist. Brilliant.
After this, we crossed into Thailand by boat, and made our way to Chiang Mai. We stayed at a large hostel/hotel with a pool. Dara and I enjoyed swims, after sticky days of exploring the city. I woke every morning, early, to run about the city. Most mornings it was usually just myself and the monks collecting their morning alms. I most appreciated the contrast of the barefooted monks with their alms bowls walking under Starbucks and McDonald signs. We attended a session at one Wat called “Monk Chat,” during which you sit with two or three monks and chat about nearly anything. Of course I had a huge slew of questions to ask, and my partner answered thoroughly and gladly. I was able to get some insight into this way of life that characterized much of South East Asian culture. One interesting tidbit I learned was that these monks are no longer entirely vegetarian, for they feel that because their sustenance is provided by the community and the community’s diets have changed, they too must adapt their diet. One of our partners wanted to be a lawyer, and so found Dara to be a kindred.
In Chiang Mai, we also enjoyed taking classes in Thai massage, reflexology, cooking, and yoga. Our cooking class turned us into gluttons for a day, as we pestled, chopped, sliced, and spooned our way through a wide selection of Thai dishes. We also enjoyed wandering through a myriad of bookshops and the expansive Chiang Mai markets (so big they require zones and involved kilometres of street).
From Chiang Mai, we made our way to Phuket where we stayed at the colourful Dara Hotel. Dara, in Thai, means star and so it is a much more visible word than in Canada. Dara revelled in her perfect hotel.
From Phuket to Railay—a water access peninsula known for its beautiful beaches and rock climbing. Dara and I stayed in an out of the way bungalow, went rock climbing with a casual, tiny, Rastafarian Thai man. The views were spectacular and all words will fall short in describing this experience. Dara was able to live out one of her life goals, and I was so happy to be able to accompany her in this. We also took a sea kayaking adventure, ate grilled meat and corn on the beach, went for evening runs along the beaches, and ate lots of mango sticky rice.
After our three weeks of travel, I returned to Canada for three and had an absolutely tiring but lovely time with friends and family. Thanks to all of you for making me feel, through your love and care, as though we hadn’t been separated for a year. I was fortunate enough to have my whole family home for a portion of the time. We took to doing sporting as a collective. Running, swimming, hiking. It was so lovely to have this common interest in fitness, that didn’t span all three of us siblings when we were growing up (that belonged mostly to David). Dara is now doing triathlons!
The first few weeks back have been chaotic, for sure. With two new administrators and 20 new teachers our staff is now immense. We moved into a new temporary facility, while our new school building was being completed. We moved in this past week, while, to be honest, construction was still taking place. We witnessed some unprotected welding (bare-chested, bare-footed, sunglassed men), some free-style painting of heights (read: no safety gear). We get the pleasant white noise of drills every so often, and the pleasant smell of plaster dust. The building is immense—a startling six stories tall. Our Grand Opening Ceremonies were yesterday, which were attended by the Deputy Prime Minister of Vietnam (kind of a big deal!). The events were decidedly Vietnamese in style—confetti shooting out of machines, balloons being released (image the Canadian teachers’ horror at this environmental no-no), drum banging, screaming children, etc. All in all, not as bad as it could have been. For all the insanity, it was a happy day for so many who have put heaps of energy into this massive project. Will the ceremonies over, we can move onto other issues---like how to stop the lockers from toppling over and hydroplaning at high speeds down the corridors during rain storms!
Cheratien and I have been making the 16 km trip to and from school by bike. I have enjoyed witnessing the early morning routines of the streets—bustling markets, intestines being thrown in gutters, chickens tied and waiting on the side of the road to be purchased for a lunch time meal, children pedaling to school, new construction, landfills, and so on. Once at school, we go for a swim at the cultural centre and then get ready for the day. Our bike home sometimes occurs in massive rainfall, at which time my feet are often totally immersed in water, and my body entirely soaked by swampy water. While a challenge, these times prove to be quite fun.
A few weekends ago, I enjoyed time in Mui Ne. We had a small place right on the beach. I fell asleep and woke to the sights and sounds of the South China Sea. The Vietnamese staff were lovely and entirely accommodating. We took a jeep trip to the impressively large sand dunes, red sand hills, and a fishing beach. I enjoyed the fly infested fishing beach. I took up conversation with some women shucking shellfish, who informed me that they process nearly 10 000 a day. The dunes provided excellent exfoliation, as the sand was whipping with fierce force. I found my way to the tallest dune and absolutely marveled at the sight. All in all, a lovely way to spend a few days.
I am thrilled to have the companionship of my dear friend Michelle, in only a few short days. She will be here for ten days. We are going to run a mountain race together on the 25th. Whoot.
I shall try not to let such time pass before my next post! Speaking of post—I love to receive it. My new address is 11C5-8 Sky Garden 3, Phu My Hung, Quan 7, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.
Much love!
It was an absolute pleasure to have my sister come and visit for four weeks over June and July. She explored Ho Chi Minh City as I finished up my teaching, and in the evenings we enjoyed time with my friends and excellent meals. After, we headed out on a three week venture through Thailand and Laos.
We started out in Luang Prabang, where I fell in love. With the town, that is. It was absolutely beautiful: a pleasantly slow town perched between two meandering rivers. Highlights of our long time in LP include, but are not limited to:
Taking a silk dyeing and weaving course at a cultural arts preservation centre on the bank of the Mekong. We learned how to make natural dyes with a variety of seeds, nuts, leaves, and bark. We then, wove our own small piece of silk.
Trekking to a beautiful waterfall. It has many tiers, for swimming, rope swinging and the like. En route, I enjoyed playing small games with the curious Laotian children. The guide told them to be careful or I would shove them in by backpack and take them home. After I insisted on a translation, I turned around and pointed to my backpack, at which point all the children ran away screaming with a delicate mixture of fear and delight.
Time lounging at “Utopia” a river side haunt, perched on a hill side.
Exploring the many grassroots and development programs sprouting up in the city.
We then took an excruciating night bus into Northern Laos. Not long after we were on the road, the drivers cut the A.C. and cranked the startlingly loud Laotian pop music. We had a silent battled brewing for the entirety of the trip; every time we stopped and they disembarked, I would race to the front and turn the music down. This would be unaltered for about one hour and then those tunes would rise one again. The only positive of this situation was that my lack of sleep allowed me to strike up a friendship with a monk sitting behind me, who also couldn’t find rest. At the conclusion of the trip, he stated, “I have called my parents and you will come to my hometown with me for three days .” I explained kindly that I had already booked my next days, but would gladly do so another time.
The next three days we spent at The Gibbon Experience. These days were absolutely wonderful in mostly every way. The Gibbon Experience is an eco tourism project in the Bokeo jungle of Northern Laos. For three days,a group of eight of us, trekked, ziplinned from mountain range to mountain range (300 feet up), and lived in treehouses (200 feet up). See Facebook photos for a more vivid image of this spectacularness. We met some lovely folks—two of whom taught in a project based, alternative, publically funded school in California. Got me curious. Perhaps one the most exhilarating parts of this venture was showering in the tree houses. Standing 200 feet up, naked to the wilds, made me feel like quite an exhibitionist. Brilliant.
After this, we crossed into Thailand by boat, and made our way to Chiang Mai. We stayed at a large hostel/hotel with a pool. Dara and I enjoyed swims, after sticky days of exploring the city. I woke every morning, early, to run about the city. Most mornings it was usually just myself and the monks collecting their morning alms. I most appreciated the contrast of the barefooted monks with their alms bowls walking under Starbucks and McDonald signs. We attended a session at one Wat called “Monk Chat,” during which you sit with two or three monks and chat about nearly anything. Of course I had a huge slew of questions to ask, and my partner answered thoroughly and gladly. I was able to get some insight into this way of life that characterized much of South East Asian culture. One interesting tidbit I learned was that these monks are no longer entirely vegetarian, for they feel that because their sustenance is provided by the community and the community’s diets have changed, they too must adapt their diet. One of our partners wanted to be a lawyer, and so found Dara to be a kindred.
In Chiang Mai, we also enjoyed taking classes in Thai massage, reflexology, cooking, and yoga. Our cooking class turned us into gluttons for a day, as we pestled, chopped, sliced, and spooned our way through a wide selection of Thai dishes. We also enjoyed wandering through a myriad of bookshops and the expansive Chiang Mai markets (so big they require zones and involved kilometres of street).
From Chiang Mai, we made our way to Phuket where we stayed at the colourful Dara Hotel. Dara, in Thai, means star and so it is a much more visible word than in Canada. Dara revelled in her perfect hotel.
From Phuket to Railay—a water access peninsula known for its beautiful beaches and rock climbing. Dara and I stayed in an out of the way bungalow, went rock climbing with a casual, tiny, Rastafarian Thai man. The views were spectacular and all words will fall short in describing this experience. Dara was able to live out one of her life goals, and I was so happy to be able to accompany her in this. We also took a sea kayaking adventure, ate grilled meat and corn on the beach, went for evening runs along the beaches, and ate lots of mango sticky rice.
After our three weeks of travel, I returned to Canada for three and had an absolutely tiring but lovely time with friends and family. Thanks to all of you for making me feel, through your love and care, as though we hadn’t been separated for a year. I was fortunate enough to have my whole family home for a portion of the time. We took to doing sporting as a collective. Running, swimming, hiking. It was so lovely to have this common interest in fitness, that didn’t span all three of us siblings when we were growing up (that belonged mostly to David). Dara is now doing triathlons!
The first few weeks back have been chaotic, for sure. With two new administrators and 20 new teachers our staff is now immense. We moved into a new temporary facility, while our new school building was being completed. We moved in this past week, while, to be honest, construction was still taking place. We witnessed some unprotected welding (bare-chested, bare-footed, sunglassed men), some free-style painting of heights (read: no safety gear). We get the pleasant white noise of drills every so often, and the pleasant smell of plaster dust. The building is immense—a startling six stories tall. Our Grand Opening Ceremonies were yesterday, which were attended by the Deputy Prime Minister of Vietnam (kind of a big deal!). The events were decidedly Vietnamese in style—confetti shooting out of machines, balloons being released (image the Canadian teachers’ horror at this environmental no-no), drum banging, screaming children, etc. All in all, not as bad as it could have been. For all the insanity, it was a happy day for so many who have put heaps of energy into this massive project. Will the ceremonies over, we can move onto other issues---like how to stop the lockers from toppling over and hydroplaning at high speeds down the corridors during rain storms!
Cheratien and I have been making the 16 km trip to and from school by bike. I have enjoyed witnessing the early morning routines of the streets—bustling markets, intestines being thrown in gutters, chickens tied and waiting on the side of the road to be purchased for a lunch time meal, children pedaling to school, new construction, landfills, and so on. Once at school, we go for a swim at the cultural centre and then get ready for the day. Our bike home sometimes occurs in massive rainfall, at which time my feet are often totally immersed in water, and my body entirely soaked by swampy water. While a challenge, these times prove to be quite fun.
A few weekends ago, I enjoyed time in Mui Ne. We had a small place right on the beach. I fell asleep and woke to the sights and sounds of the South China Sea. The Vietnamese staff were lovely and entirely accommodating. We took a jeep trip to the impressively large sand dunes, red sand hills, and a fishing beach. I enjoyed the fly infested fishing beach. I took up conversation with some women shucking shellfish, who informed me that they process nearly 10 000 a day. The dunes provided excellent exfoliation, as the sand was whipping with fierce force. I found my way to the tallest dune and absolutely marveled at the sight. All in all, a lovely way to spend a few days.
I am thrilled to have the companionship of my dear friend Michelle, in only a few short days. She will be here for ten days. We are going to run a mountain race together on the 25th. Whoot.
I shall try not to let such time pass before my next post! Speaking of post—I love to receive it. My new address is 11C5-8 Sky Garden 3, Phu My Hung, Quan 7, Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.
Much love!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
A busy schedule and weeks without internet at my apartment have made me sorely neglect this blog. I can hardly remember all that has transpired since my last entry.
A trip to Singapore—A few weekends ago, Cheratien, Jennifer, Erin, and I took a long weekend trip to Singapore. The place is truly unique and worlds apart from Vietnam. With its clean streets, orderly traffic, and expensive prices, we hardly knew what to do with ourselves. The mere existence of taxi stands absolutely dumbfounded us. We took advantage of vast bookstores and drugstores, and my companions of Starbucks. Some highlights of the trip include a vast array of delicious food, walking about the botanical gardens, dancing the nights away, and so on. We made some good fun by creating alter egos and sticking to them.
The story goes as such: We are all friends from Alabama, and all practicing athletes. We were recruited by Vietnamese Athletics for Girls (VAG for short), an organization that is trying to promote the increasing participation of females in athletics. I was, of course, an aspiring UFC fighter.
Cat Tien and Madagui with the Grade Nines—Upon return from Singapore, I took off once again. This time, I took my grade nine students to the jungle in more central Vietnam. Cat Tien is a national park with some of the last species of wild life left in Vietnam. We took the kids hiking (which is, as one student declared, “really just a secret word for walking in the woods”) at a VERY slow pace. They all complained immensely, as they are not used to such physical exertion. One even suggested that we should make a call to Prudential, her insurance company, because she would surely die in the woods. Alas, they all came out alive and, I think, were proud of their accomplishment. We took the kids to a Primate Rehabilitation Centre, which focuses primarily on the rehabilitation of Gibbons and the Slow Loris. Poaching is still a tremendous problem in the park for a myriad of reasons. Primarily, the native people are impoverished, and so use the poaching as sustenance. The local guards at the park have little investment in conservation, and so often turn a blind eye. The situation is improving, though, due to increased training and awareness. We did team building and other activities with the students—from bon fires to boating.
I, likely, have the best job in the world. My students, in spite of their complaining, ate up each teachable moment. I would wish to always teach like this—with natural moments of learning. Instructing in drama, literature, science, and life as the inspirations arise in natural living. For example, the students made the spontaneous, mid-hike request for me to structure environmental related improve games for them to play en route.
Reunification Day---Friday of last week was a national holiday here in Vietnam. 35 years since the reunification of the north and the south. In the evening, the city streets became parking lots as fireworks lit up the night sky. Once again, the main street s were decorated with lights of all sorts.
Spring break—I have had this week off. I decided to stay in the city and study Vietnamese for the week. Our translator at school says that I “speak horrible Vietnamese... for a Vietnamese person.” I explored the city a bit more, finding several great treasures. I also got in a motorbike accident, smashing up my leg a bit. Some soft tissue damage and stitches. I am hoping for a quick recovery so that I can return to training for the tri and half marathon coming at the end of this month and next month respectively. I also spent some of the week working with friends to create some promotional material for the sponsorship program. Hopefully our “Kickstart” website will be up soon, and you can all check it out. If –any of you are interested in sponsoring one of our students (for about 50 dollars), you can ensure that one of our kids has school fees, supplies, and other necessities covered for the year. Let me know!
I also spent a few days with friends at Thao’s brother’s resort. I spoke of it once before. We spent the night on the island. I slept atop the tower, savouring a beautiful full moon and cool breezes.
Ben Tre, once again---A few weekends ago, the students from my community involvement club went to Ben Tre to complete work on five bridges being built in a small hamlet there. The students, after visiting the first time, decided (in conjunction with the local community) to raise money to build these bridges. The community relied on several unreliable and unsteady bamboo bridges, making passage by bike impossible and passage in the rainy season highly treacherous. The five new cement bridges are helping 40 students get to school with greater ease and safety, and assisting with transportation for the community at large.
My students, many of whom had never even TOUCHED a shovel, made and mixed cement (from scratch) and poured the concrete. I brimmed with pride as they each requested a turn using the shovel and completing the manual labour. Members of the community came out to watch our students at work. Women of the community expressed their thanks, and told the students that they are welcome in the homes of the community at any time. The students were proud of their accomplishment, and many of them expressed new learnings. Days later, as we were walking along a cement path, one of my students looked up and stated, “I look at cement differently now. Now I know how hard it is to make and I think of the people who put their sweat into it.” I know. I know. Cheesy TEACHER MOMENT!
The Bike/Run--As part of our adventure circuit of insanity, Kelly, Kristi, Cheratien and I participated in the VietAdventure Bike-Run some weekends ago. We were meant to do a 26 KM bike-run, which participants had to complete in pairs, never straying more than 100 meters from one another. After a series of mishaps (on the bus for 5 hours, instead of the 2 it was supposed to be....the last group to arrive to the race.... waiting in line to use the one washroom as our race started... lost on the trail, as local people had moved the markers (and wouldn't you for a bit of entertainment?)... flat tires.....separated.....waterless and running 8 km in the midday sun.....) we completed only 19 of those 30. Still, a hilarious and fun experience.
Chauro Trip-- We took a trip to a minority village about 3 hours off of HCMC. We led some simple English language instruction and hygiene training (how to brush your teeth). The kids went about their study diligently, and used the brushes and paste we provided to practice according to our instruction,taking the task VERY seriously. We visited many of the families in the area to get an idea of the living conditions, meeting a variety of candidates for the scholarship program, which we hope to expand to this area in the fall. We visited several young families, who lived on essentially no income. The major problem in the area is a lack of clean water--they have to purchase their water at a high cost, and then it has to be transported to the town. Although wells and some rain harvesting systems exist, the dry seasons leaves the community waterless, making hygiene and sanitation not a high priority. Consequently, we are putting this issue on our list for future projects, as we investigate some possibilities and make connections with some folks connected to water related non-for-profits.
Alright. I am off to get my brain into school mode. I have been spoiled with an all too long vacation and need to transition with some extensive marking.
Love to all.
A trip to Singapore—A few weekends ago, Cheratien, Jennifer, Erin, and I took a long weekend trip to Singapore. The place is truly unique and worlds apart from Vietnam. With its clean streets, orderly traffic, and expensive prices, we hardly knew what to do with ourselves. The mere existence of taxi stands absolutely dumbfounded us. We took advantage of vast bookstores and drugstores, and my companions of Starbucks. Some highlights of the trip include a vast array of delicious food, walking about the botanical gardens, dancing the nights away, and so on. We made some good fun by creating alter egos and sticking to them.
The story goes as such: We are all friends from Alabama, and all practicing athletes. We were recruited by Vietnamese Athletics for Girls (VAG for short), an organization that is trying to promote the increasing participation of females in athletics. I was, of course, an aspiring UFC fighter.
Cat Tien and Madagui with the Grade Nines—Upon return from Singapore, I took off once again. This time, I took my grade nine students to the jungle in more central Vietnam. Cat Tien is a national park with some of the last species of wild life left in Vietnam. We took the kids hiking (which is, as one student declared, “really just a secret word for walking in the woods”) at a VERY slow pace. They all complained immensely, as they are not used to such physical exertion. One even suggested that we should make a call to Prudential, her insurance company, because she would surely die in the woods. Alas, they all came out alive and, I think, were proud of their accomplishment. We took the kids to a Primate Rehabilitation Centre, which focuses primarily on the rehabilitation of Gibbons and the Slow Loris. Poaching is still a tremendous problem in the park for a myriad of reasons. Primarily, the native people are impoverished, and so use the poaching as sustenance. The local guards at the park have little investment in conservation, and so often turn a blind eye. The situation is improving, though, due to increased training and awareness. We did team building and other activities with the students—from bon fires to boating.
I, likely, have the best job in the world. My students, in spite of their complaining, ate up each teachable moment. I would wish to always teach like this—with natural moments of learning. Instructing in drama, literature, science, and life as the inspirations arise in natural living. For example, the students made the spontaneous, mid-hike request for me to structure environmental related improve games for them to play en route.
Reunification Day---Friday of last week was a national holiday here in Vietnam. 35 years since the reunification of the north and the south. In the evening, the city streets became parking lots as fireworks lit up the night sky. Once again, the main street s were decorated with lights of all sorts.
Spring break—I have had this week off. I decided to stay in the city and study Vietnamese for the week. Our translator at school says that I “speak horrible Vietnamese... for a Vietnamese person.” I explored the city a bit more, finding several great treasures. I also got in a motorbike accident, smashing up my leg a bit. Some soft tissue damage and stitches. I am hoping for a quick recovery so that I can return to training for the tri and half marathon coming at the end of this month and next month respectively. I also spent some of the week working with friends to create some promotional material for the sponsorship program. Hopefully our “Kickstart” website will be up soon, and you can all check it out. If –any of you are interested in sponsoring one of our students (for about 50 dollars), you can ensure that one of our kids has school fees, supplies, and other necessities covered for the year. Let me know!
I also spent a few days with friends at Thao’s brother’s resort. I spoke of it once before. We spent the night on the island. I slept atop the tower, savouring a beautiful full moon and cool breezes.
Ben Tre, once again---A few weekends ago, the students from my community involvement club went to Ben Tre to complete work on five bridges being built in a small hamlet there. The students, after visiting the first time, decided (in conjunction with the local community) to raise money to build these bridges. The community relied on several unreliable and unsteady bamboo bridges, making passage by bike impossible and passage in the rainy season highly treacherous. The five new cement bridges are helping 40 students get to school with greater ease and safety, and assisting with transportation for the community at large.
My students, many of whom had never even TOUCHED a shovel, made and mixed cement (from scratch) and poured the concrete. I brimmed with pride as they each requested a turn using the shovel and completing the manual labour. Members of the community came out to watch our students at work. Women of the community expressed their thanks, and told the students that they are welcome in the homes of the community at any time. The students were proud of their accomplishment, and many of them expressed new learnings. Days later, as we were walking along a cement path, one of my students looked up and stated, “I look at cement differently now. Now I know how hard it is to make and I think of the people who put their sweat into it.” I know. I know. Cheesy TEACHER MOMENT!
The Bike/Run--As part of our adventure circuit of insanity, Kelly, Kristi, Cheratien and I participated in the VietAdventure Bike-Run some weekends ago. We were meant to do a 26 KM bike-run, which participants had to complete in pairs, never straying more than 100 meters from one another. After a series of mishaps (on the bus for 5 hours, instead of the 2 it was supposed to be....the last group to arrive to the race.... waiting in line to use the one washroom as our race started... lost on the trail, as local people had moved the markers (and wouldn't you for a bit of entertainment?)... flat tires.....separated.....waterless and running 8 km in the midday sun.....) we completed only 19 of those 30. Still, a hilarious and fun experience.
Chauro Trip-- We took a trip to a minority village about 3 hours off of HCMC. We led some simple English language instruction and hygiene training (how to brush your teeth). The kids went about their study diligently, and used the brushes and paste we provided to practice according to our instruction,taking the task VERY seriously. We visited many of the families in the area to get an idea of the living conditions, meeting a variety of candidates for the scholarship program, which we hope to expand to this area in the fall. We visited several young families, who lived on essentially no income. The major problem in the area is a lack of clean water--they have to purchase their water at a high cost, and then it has to be transported to the town. Although wells and some rain harvesting systems exist, the dry seasons leaves the community waterless, making hygiene and sanitation not a high priority. Consequently, we are putting this issue on our list for future projects, as we investigate some possibilities and make connections with some folks connected to water related non-for-profits.
Alright. I am off to get my brain into school mode. I have been spoiled with an all too long vacation and need to transition with some extensive marking.
Love to all.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Dearest All,
What is to follow will surely be a poorly written and non-entertaining entry. If you are not a devoted family member (who would be interested in my happenings, interesting or not) you may want to skip this one.
My official date of return to Canada has been scheduled: July 21st. It is so hard to believe that two thirds of the school year has already rolled by. With many trips, travels and ventures already planned for the coming months, it appears as though the remaining time of my first year in Vietnam will speed by as well.
I am extremely excited for June, when Dara will come to HCMC and then we will travel together for three weeks around Thailand and Laos.
I will provide you with a whirlwind tour of my trip to Bali and Bao Loc....
Over Vietnamese New Year celebrations, Cheratien, Josh(her brother), and I traveled to Bali to meet up with our friends, Kim and Mike, who had been living in Bali for a few months. We stayed a week in Ubud, a sort of cultural center of Bali. For those of you who have read the book "Eat, Pray, Love." Ubud supposedly features prominently in it. As a result, a myriad of middle aged yuppie women have descended on the town looking for champagne and an Indonesian lover. The town, filled with its art galleries, yoga studios, cafes, and so ons, is dotted with a myriad of eccentrics and want-to-be eccentrics. One of my favourite reoccurring characters was a woman I affectionately dubbed "Christ." This is not a particularly inventive nickname considering that this word, in large gothic lettering, along with a picture of what may have been a lion, were tattooed across her entire upper back. I was able to see this tattoo because she always wore--only---a see through white bathing suit top and a short white skirt. With a hijab, of course. Another of my favs, was "fan man." He could be seen around town in head to toe linen, fanning passer buys with a decorate hand fan. I was lucky enough to receive some of his services.
However, with Kim and Mike's expert guidance, we were able to avoid much of the kitsch and jump into the splendour of the place. We ate amazing food at local little warungs-- a dollar or so a meal. I also spent a day learning how to do batik art-- a nice afternoon in my teacher's garden. His wife made as mango juice to celebrate the completion of our batiks. Kim, Cheratien, and I also spent a day trekking about the Balinese wilderness. The local men found it hard to believe that us three women were taking a pathless route. One man, whose name means "four" in Indonesian (he is, you guessed it, the forth son), followed us for a while. Sighing and shaking his head anxiously every time we climbed a rock face or crossed a river. I think he thought he would have bad karma if he left us to our own devices and we ended up dying in the process. He eventually took his bath in the river once we convinced him we would be quite fine.
We rented motorbikes for the weeks and toured around a bit. I particularly enjoyed seeing the Indonesian homes. Within a walled perimeter are separate little houses for the different members of the family. The family continues to live in community, sharing common areas, but having their own respective spaces.
We went to Monkey Forest, a monkey sanctuary right in Ubud. Take some bananas in and you will get both cute and scary monkeys clambering all over you. I tried desperately to feed this one little monkey, but one particular large, angry monkey kept stealing the treasures I gave the little one. I had Josh distract the ferocious one, while I slipped the little dude the stuff. In utter fear of losing his banana, my little one consumed the whole thing, peal and all in one felt swoop. Only partial success was had-- the big monkey saw it was a lost cause and got lost, but the little one proceeded to silently puke banana up every few strides as he walked away. I will be happy, any time you should ask, to show you my "Little monkey pukes up banana" impression. The whole experience evoked a decoupage of emotions: exhilaration, interest, terror, and mystification. Mike and Josh latter returned to the forest to play literal monkey-in-the-middle.
Ubud, and Bali as a whole, has a surplus of wooden penises, it is true. The island actually has a festival tied to the phallic symbol..... its origins somewhere in Balinese Hinduism. We went to see a traditional dance (this one significantly more authentic than the "traditional dance" I will tell about later). 100 men provide the rhythmic chatting that makes the musical background for a series of dance scenes.
We had an absolutely perfect place to stay. Pager Bungalows. Our four post bed stood in a room with two floor to ceiling glass sliding doors. Exposed brick. Kitchen. Part marble bathrooms. All with a jungle, river, and waterfall as an immediate view. Our place was perched on the edge of the hill. We had some interesting neighbours. Burlap sacked folks with a young baby, who they cared for by rubbing moss from the statues onto her head and clapping in her face as they held her over the river. To each their own, I suppose. Maybe they have it all right. Maybe that child will be well adjusted......and have an extremely high immune system.
Mike is a musician, so we filled our days with many a sing-along. We danced out and about. We went to the beach, snorkelling and kayaking.
From Ubud, we went to Madewi, a small town in the Islamic west of Bali. There were a few surfers, and few amenities. It was perfect. We spent our few days here surfing, slack lining, eating, and so on. We set up the slack line between palm trees right next to the beach. The little patch of grass also happened to be a cow pasture, through which surfer/gangster cattle herders, with New Era style hats and motorbikes, herded their cows. Many of them came to give the line a try. Other watched from a distance. We threw rocks on the big cow patties as markers of where we should avoid placing our feet. The slack line is addicting. ADDICTING. Surfing was definitely fun, and something I would love to do again. I CLEARLY wasn't very good. Ha. The beach provided much amusement. I sat with our things as the others had a swim, and was almost instantaneously surrounded by half naked, grown fishermen wanting to give their English a go. Also.... they were half naked in the way that one would not instinctively guess. They seemed entirely comfortable, but I was thankful that they were wearing relatively long shirts. Naked little children ran about flying kites.
From Medewi to Echo Beach. We stayed in a lovely looking SURF CAMP, which we had all to ourselves. However, it ended up being infested with bees, mosquitoes, and termites. Triple threat. Thankfully, we were only staying there one night. However, the beach was amazing, and we celebrated Kim's birthday at a seafood BBQ buffet restaurant right on the beach. MAGICAL.
A night spent in the KL airport and that concludes our relaxing stay in Bali.
Upon my return, I got on a night bus to Bao Loc, which is in the central highlands of Vietnam. My friend Trang was there staying with her family, and she invited me to join them for the tail end of Tet. It was a fantastic experience, as I was able to practice more of my Vietnamese, help on the farm, and see the regional difference between the central provinces and the south. One evening, I LITERALLY caught and harvested our dinner. The family was proud of my, and surprised at my sturdiness. I met several of Trang's friends, went out for many a coffee, attended a sunrise funeral on a mountain side, and a myriad of other things. The funeral was a tremendous and powerful experience, as the whole community comes out to join the procession and mourn.
One of the most intriguing days in Bao Loc consisted of our trip to a nearby waterfall. The waterfall is a local attraction, drawing in many Vietnamese tourists and little to no foreigners. The waterfall is beautiful, but has been altered and adorned by cement shaped and painted to look like faux wood. One waterfall has, craftily, been turned into three by means of conspicuous damns. The waterfall had an adjoined circus/cultural village/amusement park/zoo/carnival. Three "highlights" (perhaps we should call them noteworthy sights) include the "leader" of the "mountain tribe" coming down from their "village" on an elephants back to invite us to come and see their "traditional" dance. Highly authentic, I am sure. The next occurrence could surely use that old cliché analogy: "It was like a car crash--horrible, but I just couldn't look away." A monkey....dressed in child's clothes...blindfolded... walking a tightrope...through fire. Right next to this poor guy were some sad looking bears in too small cages. I felt like taking a shower, then joining PEDA just to atone for my indirect support of so many animal rights violations. Is ignorance of what I was getting myself into a reasonable enough excuse?? What can truly and fairly be called a highlight, was walking by a Vietnamese band sitting lazily in a pavilion. As I walked by, they--seemingly--sprung to life to play a ear blasting rendition of The Final Countdown. Ahhhh. Arrested Development anyone?
Trang's family was so very kind, and suffered my Vietnamese language deficiencies well. Trang's mother I spent a good 30 min. simply pointing at things and saying both their English and Vietnamese names. It was really all we could do to communicate, but it was lovely.
We rode back to HCMC together, I on the back of the motorbike. The roads were certainly not as bad as some in Kenya, but rough nonetheless. I now understand more fully why the roadsides in Vietnam are dotted with cafes with only hammocks as resting places. They are much needed after a few hours aboard a bike on Vietnamese roads.
I am sure that I am missing a whole SLEW of important and insignificant details from my Tet adventures. However, only I will grieve my omissions.
Last weekend was an adventure race in Madagui, also in the central highlands. The race was run through the same company that Cheratien and I did the mountain race with. This time, we dragged two of our co-workers along. More than one hundred people join together at Madagui Jungle Resort to run an INTENSE jungle race, consisting of a combination of orienteering, running, mountain biking, river crossings, and swimming. Although we competed in the tamest category, the event was still a challenge. The most intense participants, in the ULTRA category, left at 2:00 a.m. for a 7-10 hour race. We left around 7, and it took us about 4 hours to complete our race. We placed around 15th of the 40 something odd groups. An amazing feat, considering that Cheratien's bike chain broke with about a third of the race left. We had to stay within 100 meters of our partners at all times, so she took it like a trouper and ran with her bike for the remainder of the course. A true star. We made it to Vietnamese national news.. the four of use crossing the finish lines, looking beautiful in our bike helmets and eye shields (both of which we had to wear for the entirety of the race due to the potential falling rocks, eye gauging braches, unknown river debris, etc. To check out the clip (it is in Vietnamese) go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVu5zn3t71E. We are the ones crossing the bridge near the conclusion. all fuzzy and unidentifiable. Celebrities, nonetheless.
This event has inspired us to register for three other races before the year is out. Cheratien is whipping us into shape with a rigorous training schedule.
We are getting an onslaught of new students. I have quite a few in my classes. One of my new students is a shy Korean boy, who by the end of the day, was receiving a standing ovation from my class for improvising a fantastic cooking class scene, where he ended up eating two Kleenexes, which were to represent a disgusting version of kim bop. It was a teacher moment, for sure. Other highlights of the week include having a group of students ask me to explain why "Africa has so many poor countries." My students are writing speeches on fantastic topics such as the difference between Korean and Canadian education, women's rights in Vietnam, apartheid, and so on. Monday was International Women's Day, which is a significant event in Vietnam. I received presents and cards from my students.. and a rose and a very long speech from the owner.
Alright... I feel like I just vomited a month of going-ons in no effective order, with poor word choice, and improper grammar. What kind of English teacher am I?
Much love!
What is to follow will surely be a poorly written and non-entertaining entry. If you are not a devoted family member (who would be interested in my happenings, interesting or not) you may want to skip this one.
My official date of return to Canada has been scheduled: July 21st. It is so hard to believe that two thirds of the school year has already rolled by. With many trips, travels and ventures already planned for the coming months, it appears as though the remaining time of my first year in Vietnam will speed by as well.
I am extremely excited for June, when Dara will come to HCMC and then we will travel together for three weeks around Thailand and Laos.
I will provide you with a whirlwind tour of my trip to Bali and Bao Loc....
Over Vietnamese New Year celebrations, Cheratien, Josh(her brother), and I traveled to Bali to meet up with our friends, Kim and Mike, who had been living in Bali for a few months. We stayed a week in Ubud, a sort of cultural center of Bali. For those of you who have read the book "Eat, Pray, Love." Ubud supposedly features prominently in it. As a result, a myriad of middle aged yuppie women have descended on the town looking for champagne and an Indonesian lover. The town, filled with its art galleries, yoga studios, cafes, and so ons, is dotted with a myriad of eccentrics and want-to-be eccentrics. One of my favourite reoccurring characters was a woman I affectionately dubbed "Christ." This is not a particularly inventive nickname considering that this word, in large gothic lettering, along with a picture of what may have been a lion, were tattooed across her entire upper back. I was able to see this tattoo because she always wore--only---a see through white bathing suit top and a short white skirt. With a hijab, of course. Another of my favs, was "fan man." He could be seen around town in head to toe linen, fanning passer buys with a decorate hand fan. I was lucky enough to receive some of his services.
However, with Kim and Mike's expert guidance, we were able to avoid much of the kitsch and jump into the splendour of the place. We ate amazing food at local little warungs-- a dollar or so a meal. I also spent a day learning how to do batik art-- a nice afternoon in my teacher's garden. His wife made as mango juice to celebrate the completion of our batiks. Kim, Cheratien, and I also spent a day trekking about the Balinese wilderness. The local men found it hard to believe that us three women were taking a pathless route. One man, whose name means "four" in Indonesian (he is, you guessed it, the forth son), followed us for a while. Sighing and shaking his head anxiously every time we climbed a rock face or crossed a river. I think he thought he would have bad karma if he left us to our own devices and we ended up dying in the process. He eventually took his bath in the river once we convinced him we would be quite fine.
We rented motorbikes for the weeks and toured around a bit. I particularly enjoyed seeing the Indonesian homes. Within a walled perimeter are separate little houses for the different members of the family. The family continues to live in community, sharing common areas, but having their own respective spaces.
We went to Monkey Forest, a monkey sanctuary right in Ubud. Take some bananas in and you will get both cute and scary monkeys clambering all over you. I tried desperately to feed this one little monkey, but one particular large, angry monkey kept stealing the treasures I gave the little one. I had Josh distract the ferocious one, while I slipped the little dude the stuff. In utter fear of losing his banana, my little one consumed the whole thing, peal and all in one felt swoop. Only partial success was had-- the big monkey saw it was a lost cause and got lost, but the little one proceeded to silently puke banana up every few strides as he walked away. I will be happy, any time you should ask, to show you my "Little monkey pukes up banana" impression. The whole experience evoked a decoupage of emotions: exhilaration, interest, terror, and mystification. Mike and Josh latter returned to the forest to play literal monkey-in-the-middle.
Ubud, and Bali as a whole, has a surplus of wooden penises, it is true. The island actually has a festival tied to the phallic symbol..... its origins somewhere in Balinese Hinduism. We went to see a traditional dance (this one significantly more authentic than the "traditional dance" I will tell about later). 100 men provide the rhythmic chatting that makes the musical background for a series of dance scenes.
We had an absolutely perfect place to stay. Pager Bungalows. Our four post bed stood in a room with two floor to ceiling glass sliding doors. Exposed brick. Kitchen. Part marble bathrooms. All with a jungle, river, and waterfall as an immediate view. Our place was perched on the edge of the hill. We had some interesting neighbours. Burlap sacked folks with a young baby, who they cared for by rubbing moss from the statues onto her head and clapping in her face as they held her over the river. To each their own, I suppose. Maybe they have it all right. Maybe that child will be well adjusted......and have an extremely high immune system.
Mike is a musician, so we filled our days with many a sing-along. We danced out and about. We went to the beach, snorkelling and kayaking.
From Ubud, we went to Madewi, a small town in the Islamic west of Bali. There were a few surfers, and few amenities. It was perfect. We spent our few days here surfing, slack lining, eating, and so on. We set up the slack line between palm trees right next to the beach. The little patch of grass also happened to be a cow pasture, through which surfer/gangster cattle herders, with New Era style hats and motorbikes, herded their cows. Many of them came to give the line a try. Other watched from a distance. We threw rocks on the big cow patties as markers of where we should avoid placing our feet. The slack line is addicting. ADDICTING. Surfing was definitely fun, and something I would love to do again. I CLEARLY wasn't very good. Ha. The beach provided much amusement. I sat with our things as the others had a swim, and was almost instantaneously surrounded by half naked, grown fishermen wanting to give their English a go. Also.... they were half naked in the way that one would not instinctively guess. They seemed entirely comfortable, but I was thankful that they were wearing relatively long shirts. Naked little children ran about flying kites.
From Medewi to Echo Beach. We stayed in a lovely looking SURF CAMP, which we had all to ourselves. However, it ended up being infested with bees, mosquitoes, and termites. Triple threat. Thankfully, we were only staying there one night. However, the beach was amazing, and we celebrated Kim's birthday at a seafood BBQ buffet restaurant right on the beach. MAGICAL.
A night spent in the KL airport and that concludes our relaxing stay in Bali.
Upon my return, I got on a night bus to Bao Loc, which is in the central highlands of Vietnam. My friend Trang was there staying with her family, and she invited me to join them for the tail end of Tet. It was a fantastic experience, as I was able to practice more of my Vietnamese, help on the farm, and see the regional difference between the central provinces and the south. One evening, I LITERALLY caught and harvested our dinner. The family was proud of my, and surprised at my sturdiness. I met several of Trang's friends, went out for many a coffee, attended a sunrise funeral on a mountain side, and a myriad of other things. The funeral was a tremendous and powerful experience, as the whole community comes out to join the procession and mourn.
One of the most intriguing days in Bao Loc consisted of our trip to a nearby waterfall. The waterfall is a local attraction, drawing in many Vietnamese tourists and little to no foreigners. The waterfall is beautiful, but has been altered and adorned by cement shaped and painted to look like faux wood. One waterfall has, craftily, been turned into three by means of conspicuous damns. The waterfall had an adjoined circus/cultural village/amusement park/zoo/carnival. Three "highlights" (perhaps we should call them noteworthy sights) include the "leader" of the "mountain tribe" coming down from their "village" on an elephants back to invite us to come and see their "traditional" dance. Highly authentic, I am sure. The next occurrence could surely use that old cliché analogy: "It was like a car crash--horrible, but I just couldn't look away." A monkey....dressed in child's clothes...blindfolded... walking a tightrope...through fire. Right next to this poor guy were some sad looking bears in too small cages. I felt like taking a shower, then joining PEDA just to atone for my indirect support of so many animal rights violations. Is ignorance of what I was getting myself into a reasonable enough excuse?? What can truly and fairly be called a highlight, was walking by a Vietnamese band sitting lazily in a pavilion. As I walked by, they--seemingly--sprung to life to play a ear blasting rendition of The Final Countdown. Ahhhh. Arrested Development anyone?
Trang's family was so very kind, and suffered my Vietnamese language deficiencies well. Trang's mother I spent a good 30 min. simply pointing at things and saying both their English and Vietnamese names. It was really all we could do to communicate, but it was lovely.
We rode back to HCMC together, I on the back of the motorbike. The roads were certainly not as bad as some in Kenya, but rough nonetheless. I now understand more fully why the roadsides in Vietnam are dotted with cafes with only hammocks as resting places. They are much needed after a few hours aboard a bike on Vietnamese roads.
I am sure that I am missing a whole SLEW of important and insignificant details from my Tet adventures. However, only I will grieve my omissions.
Last weekend was an adventure race in Madagui, also in the central highlands. The race was run through the same company that Cheratien and I did the mountain race with. This time, we dragged two of our co-workers along. More than one hundred people join together at Madagui Jungle Resort to run an INTENSE jungle race, consisting of a combination of orienteering, running, mountain biking, river crossings, and swimming. Although we competed in the tamest category, the event was still a challenge. The most intense participants, in the ULTRA category, left at 2:00 a.m. for a 7-10 hour race. We left around 7, and it took us about 4 hours to complete our race. We placed around 15th of the 40 something odd groups. An amazing feat, considering that Cheratien's bike chain broke with about a third of the race left. We had to stay within 100 meters of our partners at all times, so she took it like a trouper and ran with her bike for the remainder of the course. A true star. We made it to Vietnamese national news.. the four of use crossing the finish lines, looking beautiful in our bike helmets and eye shields (both of which we had to wear for the entirety of the race due to the potential falling rocks, eye gauging braches, unknown river debris, etc. To check out the clip (it is in Vietnamese) go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVu5zn3t71E. We are the ones crossing the bridge near the conclusion. all fuzzy and unidentifiable. Celebrities, nonetheless.
This event has inspired us to register for three other races before the year is out. Cheratien is whipping us into shape with a rigorous training schedule.
We are getting an onslaught of new students. I have quite a few in my classes. One of my new students is a shy Korean boy, who by the end of the day, was receiving a standing ovation from my class for improvising a fantastic cooking class scene, where he ended up eating two Kleenexes, which were to represent a disgusting version of kim bop. It was a teacher moment, for sure. Other highlights of the week include having a group of students ask me to explain why "Africa has so many poor countries." My students are writing speeches on fantastic topics such as the difference between Korean and Canadian education, women's rights in Vietnam, apartheid, and so on. Monday was International Women's Day, which is a significant event in Vietnam. I received presents and cards from my students.. and a rose and a very long speech from the owner.
Alright... I feel like I just vomited a month of going-ons in no effective order, with poor word choice, and improper grammar. What kind of English teacher am I?
Much love!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Some old news...
Quite a few weekends past, my friend Trang invited me to have a Sunday lunch at her house. We lazed around on her sleeping mat and enjoyed the sweet soup (che), fish, and rice that she had prepared earlier that morning. After much chatting and relaxation we made our way to the near-by flower market. The back alleys were filled with all sorts of colourful and fragrant flowers. Thousands of roses. Hoards of orchids. Trang introduced me to her favourite flower seller. Only minutes after I expressed interest in learning the art of creating an elaborate Vietnamese style bouquet, I had a Cambodian teacher at my side. I stripped the leaves and thorns from 100 long stem roses. A nearby seller thought this to be barbaric--myself doing the work. He offered, through an elaborate act of charades, that he would strip to thorns and leaves from the flowers not with a tool but with his bare hands. The ladies thought it tremendously humourous when I picked the choicest rose (riddled with many thorns) to offer up to him to show so that he might show his devotion. While he not-so-surreptitiously broke the thorns off with his fingers, he diverted my attention by making me promise him a kiss if he were to accomplish this magnificent feat. Luckily, the ladies spotted his secret dealings and insisted that if he wanted a kiss, he would have to come by it honestly. I was about to walk away from this "charmer" when he ran his hand along the rose, taking out leaves and thorns, and leaving only a trail of his own blood. Yikes. I offered him a light kiss on the hand for his blatant disregard of his body in the name of 'love.' The flower arranging took an inordinate amount of time, as I wound 100 roses--one at a time--into a spiral arrangement. By the end of the day, and eight-ish dollars later, I had a bouquet to be proud of. I offered it up to my neighbours, who have been very welcoming and friendly to us since our arrival in the building. Trang took me to get copious amounts of che for ridiculously cheap, and my day was, thus, completely satisfying.
The weekend following, I attended Mr. Trung's wedding, which contained a subdued version of the glitz I had come to expect of Vietnamese weddings. This one, unlike many others, had no disco ball or karaoke. How disappointing. Trang and her cousin came over for dinner afterward.
The weekend which followed confirmed my suspicions that most memorable teaching happens outside the classroom. Cheratien and I have started a Community Involvement Club at the school. Our kids spearheaded a fundraiser to support Kickstart (the program that Cheratien and I have been working with in the Mekong region). Watching their ideas percolate and their tremendous initiative made me stupidly proud. We then took a trip to Ben Tre, where our students lead a morning of games and learning activities for about 40 students there. The students also had the opportunity to visit the homes of some of our sponsor children. The students had fun conquering challenging coconut bridges and were amazing by the different lifestyle of the students. Kim Y is my sponsor child, and her home is about a 45 min. walk to her public school. Her home is without electricity, so she gets up early in the morning to do her studying. she has been top of her class for the last six years.
Many of the students who attended the trip were not Vietnamese nationals. We had to give a crash course on using a squat toilet. Judy came out of the washroom declaring that it was "a good toilet experience," but that next time she would prefer a "good toilet. Rina accidentally lit a napkin on fire with the hot pot flame.
The students were exhausted, but pleased. The following week, we had the students do a reflection and start development on the project they would like to undertake having seen the area. I nearly cried when Judy said that her favourite part of the trip was seeing "the, I don't know how to say it, twinkle twinkle of curiosity in the students eyes." My students have decided to use the funds they raised to help build some stable bridges in the region and sponsor a student.
The following weekend was a busy one, indeed. Many of you have seen the facebook photos documenting my trip to the Binh Minh Leprosy Clinc, about an hour and a half outside of Ho Chi Minh City. I went with a group of locals who run a program called "Lighten Up the Smiles." I will not write too much about that experience, for I am working on a more detailed account, which I will share at a later date. The experience was unforgettable and has surely given me inspiration for future endeavors.
On the way home from Binh Minh, we stopped so that the Buddhists in our midst could offer prayers at a monastery. It was absolutely tranquil, and everything one would imagine-- well tended gardens, fragrant flowers, young monks studying, older monks sharing work. I was fortunate enough to be in the company of my friend Hung, who
is a translator and so was unfortunate enough to translate all me questions to the monk about the iconography, the daily life there, how young monks are brought into the monastery, their garments, etc. According the the monk who generously answered many of my questions, young monks are simply children who visit the monastery and decide to stay because they feel moved by its peace. The monks' day is divided into three sections: mediation, education, and work. They are divided into work groups and have specific tasks assigned to them (temple care, kitchen duty, etc.) Women are also practice in a similar way, but on a separate compound. I also learned of the monks' hospitality, rather by accident. I was exploring the grounds, as I had been invited to do, when I heard "Where you from" echo from around the corner. I draw a little but nearer to see several monks, on kitchen duty, peaking around the kitchen wall. I answer the obvious spokesman in Vietnamese, and then ensued a rapid fire series of questions. I eventually ended up sitting at a table, surrounded by half a dozen monks, being offered all sorts of vegetarian, Vietnamese fare. The rest of the group eventually found me, and were invited to join as well. One of the monks studied at a partner monastery in Montreal, and so had many questions and points to converse with me about. Through broken English and broken Vietnamese, we attempted to communicate the heart of our beliefs to one another. Quite a wonderful and humbling experience.
Time seems to lump together.... sometime after this...
Jeremy and I join Thao and Ha for a motorbike trip to her mother's in the countryside. It was so lovely to see her family again. In Vietnamese culture, on the anniversary of a parent's death, the family throws a big party for all friends and relatives. Thao's uncle's and father's deaths coincided, so we joined a large family feast. We honed our Vietnamese, ate stupid amounts of food, swallowed down generously offered fatty pork, and drank to the deceased.
That evening, I returned to the city and joined Cheratien and Josh for a culinary experience--eating a cobra. First, the cobra is selected and weighed. The cobra is riled up to get its heart pumping. While the cobra displays its anger, small children are casually waved out of the way by the bludgeoner (sporting flip flops and a non-nonchalant attitude). He smacks the snake, creates two incisions, spills the venom and then drains the blood into a bowl, mixing it with rice wine. The still beating heart and gull bladder are extracted. Josh and Cheratien share the heart, and I shot down the gull bladder. We "enjoy" our bloody rice wine in quick shots, then proceed to eat the snake, prepared in all manners (guts with vegetables, grilled with chillies, the rib bones deep fried, the meet bakes, etc). An entertaining night, all in all. However, I have determined that eating a snake may be one of those "once in a lifetime is enough" sort of experiences.
Details of my Bali adventure... to come next week!
Quite a few weekends past, my friend Trang invited me to have a Sunday lunch at her house. We lazed around on her sleeping mat and enjoyed the sweet soup (che), fish, and rice that she had prepared earlier that morning. After much chatting and relaxation we made our way to the near-by flower market. The back alleys were filled with all sorts of colourful and fragrant flowers. Thousands of roses. Hoards of orchids. Trang introduced me to her favourite flower seller. Only minutes after I expressed interest in learning the art of creating an elaborate Vietnamese style bouquet, I had a Cambodian teacher at my side. I stripped the leaves and thorns from 100 long stem roses. A nearby seller thought this to be barbaric--myself doing the work. He offered, through an elaborate act of charades, that he would strip to thorns and leaves from the flowers not with a tool but with his bare hands. The ladies thought it tremendously humourous when I picked the choicest rose (riddled with many thorns) to offer up to him to show so that he might show his devotion. While he not-so-surreptitiously broke the thorns off with his fingers, he diverted my attention by making me promise him a kiss if he were to accomplish this magnificent feat. Luckily, the ladies spotted his secret dealings and insisted that if he wanted a kiss, he would have to come by it honestly. I was about to walk away from this "charmer" when he ran his hand along the rose, taking out leaves and thorns, and leaving only a trail of his own blood. Yikes. I offered him a light kiss on the hand for his blatant disregard of his body in the name of 'love.' The flower arranging took an inordinate amount of time, as I wound 100 roses--one at a time--into a spiral arrangement. By the end of the day, and eight-ish dollars later, I had a bouquet to be proud of. I offered it up to my neighbours, who have been very welcoming and friendly to us since our arrival in the building. Trang took me to get copious amounts of che for ridiculously cheap, and my day was, thus, completely satisfying.
The weekend following, I attended Mr. Trung's wedding, which contained a subdued version of the glitz I had come to expect of Vietnamese weddings. This one, unlike many others, had no disco ball or karaoke. How disappointing. Trang and her cousin came over for dinner afterward.
The weekend which followed confirmed my suspicions that most memorable teaching happens outside the classroom. Cheratien and I have started a Community Involvement Club at the school. Our kids spearheaded a fundraiser to support Kickstart (the program that Cheratien and I have been working with in the Mekong region). Watching their ideas percolate and their tremendous initiative made me stupidly proud. We then took a trip to Ben Tre, where our students lead a morning of games and learning activities for about 40 students there. The students also had the opportunity to visit the homes of some of our sponsor children. The students had fun conquering challenging coconut bridges and were amazing by the different lifestyle of the students. Kim Y is my sponsor child, and her home is about a 45 min. walk to her public school. Her home is without electricity, so she gets up early in the morning to do her studying. she has been top of her class for the last six years.
Many of the students who attended the trip were not Vietnamese nationals. We had to give a crash course on using a squat toilet. Judy came out of the washroom declaring that it was "a good toilet experience," but that next time she would prefer a "good toilet. Rina accidentally lit a napkin on fire with the hot pot flame.
The students were exhausted, but pleased. The following week, we had the students do a reflection and start development on the project they would like to undertake having seen the area. I nearly cried when Judy said that her favourite part of the trip was seeing "the, I don't know how to say it, twinkle twinkle of curiosity in the students eyes." My students have decided to use the funds they raised to help build some stable bridges in the region and sponsor a student.
The following weekend was a busy one, indeed. Many of you have seen the facebook photos documenting my trip to the Binh Minh Leprosy Clinc, about an hour and a half outside of Ho Chi Minh City. I went with a group of locals who run a program called "Lighten Up the Smiles." I will not write too much about that experience, for I am working on a more detailed account, which I will share at a later date. The experience was unforgettable and has surely given me inspiration for future endeavors.
On the way home from Binh Minh, we stopped so that the Buddhists in our midst could offer prayers at a monastery. It was absolutely tranquil, and everything one would imagine-- well tended gardens, fragrant flowers, young monks studying, older monks sharing work. I was fortunate enough to be in the company of my friend Hung, who
is a translator and so was unfortunate enough to translate all me questions to the monk about the iconography, the daily life there, how young monks are brought into the monastery, their garments, etc. According the the monk who generously answered many of my questions, young monks are simply children who visit the monastery and decide to stay because they feel moved by its peace. The monks' day is divided into three sections: mediation, education, and work. They are divided into work groups and have specific tasks assigned to them (temple care, kitchen duty, etc.) Women are also practice in a similar way, but on a separate compound. I also learned of the monks' hospitality, rather by accident. I was exploring the grounds, as I had been invited to do, when I heard "Where you from" echo from around the corner. I draw a little but nearer to see several monks, on kitchen duty, peaking around the kitchen wall. I answer the obvious spokesman in Vietnamese, and then ensued a rapid fire series of questions. I eventually ended up sitting at a table, surrounded by half a dozen monks, being offered all sorts of vegetarian, Vietnamese fare. The rest of the group eventually found me, and were invited to join as well. One of the monks studied at a partner monastery in Montreal, and so had many questions and points to converse with me about. Through broken English and broken Vietnamese, we attempted to communicate the heart of our beliefs to one another. Quite a wonderful and humbling experience.
Time seems to lump together.... sometime after this...
Jeremy and I join Thao and Ha for a motorbike trip to her mother's in the countryside. It was so lovely to see her family again. In Vietnamese culture, on the anniversary of a parent's death, the family throws a big party for all friends and relatives. Thao's uncle's and father's deaths coincided, so we joined a large family feast. We honed our Vietnamese, ate stupid amounts of food, swallowed down generously offered fatty pork, and drank to the deceased.
That evening, I returned to the city and joined Cheratien and Josh for a culinary experience--eating a cobra. First, the cobra is selected and weighed. The cobra is riled up to get its heart pumping. While the cobra displays its anger, small children are casually waved out of the way by the bludgeoner (sporting flip flops and a non-nonchalant attitude). He smacks the snake, creates two incisions, spills the venom and then drains the blood into a bowl, mixing it with rice wine. The still beating heart and gull bladder are extracted. Josh and Cheratien share the heart, and I shot down the gull bladder. We "enjoy" our bloody rice wine in quick shots, then proceed to eat the snake, prepared in all manners (guts with vegetables, grilled with chillies, the rib bones deep fried, the meet bakes, etc). An entertaining night, all in all. However, I have determined that eating a snake may be one of those "once in a lifetime is enough" sort of experiences.
Details of my Bali adventure... to come next week!
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Holiday Time: Part II
We roll into Sandakan and take an overpriced taxi ride (mind you, in Asia, overpriced is still quite reasonable) from the on-the-outskirts bus station to our hostel. Our hostel is run by a surly and efficient Mr. Lum, who informs us in short and informative sentences about the innumerable services available at the Mayfair (including an expansive movie collection, with films filed into categories such as "Schwarzenegger Movies"). The hotel is painted with an industrial blue that makes medical wards look cozy. EVERYTHING in the rooms are branded with the "Mayfair" label, so that if we were to steal the yellowing lamp shades, the local citizens would be sure to spot our crime. Signs with reminders to the patrons line the walls. Special mention goes to: "Children must not wet the bed. Thank you." The sign, of course, illustrates its command by depicting a babe with a wet pool round his bottom and a large "X" nearby and, alternatively, approving the dry, soundly sleeping babe. Other signs indicated "forbidden fruits" in the hotel, such as Durian of course (refer back to an earlier blog to understand the reason for such fruit legislation).
It is here at the Mayfair that I have a Christmas Skype with my family. Dave and Courtney are home from B.C. and from a visit with Courtney's family and friends. Dara and Choo Yeung are home from Toronto and Choo Yeung's family Christmas. All family members gather in the camera's line of vision, taking turns in the prominent seat. I watch them open their presents sent from Vietnam, and am able to explain their significance. Dave suggests that we take a family photo, so Choo Yeung sets up his camera on timer and they all gather around the screen. The final product has my head filling the entire oversized computer screen, making me appear quite like a bodiless bobble head in comparison to the normal proportions of my family.
It is after this conversation, that I realize that I miss home. Up until this point, I haven't had any significant pangs for Canada--perhaps the business of life in Saigon prevents having time for those feelings. Accompanying this sense of "missing" Canada is a "missing" of Saigon. Indeed, the city has become a home to me now.
While in Sandakan, we take local bus number 14 to the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Center. To quote from an entirely credible source, the center's visitor's pamphlet: the center aims to "return orphaned, injured, or displaced orangutans back to the wild." Orangutans have become endangered as their natural habitats have been replaced by Palm Oil plantations. Many plantation owners take Orangutans as pets, and so one of the primary sources of the centers in-take are these plantations. As a visitor we witness part of the process of rehabilitation by visiting the feeding platform, where the natural diet of the orangutan is supplemented with milk and fruit. Both human caregivers and the other orangutans help teach new arrivals how to nest and other survival skills they lack.
Watching the orangutans confirms their 96% genetic similarity to human beings. One large fellow stands upright on the platform doing some GQ poses for the audience. Another gets a little aggressive when it comes to others crowding his banana stash. One playfully aggravates his friends. I could have stayed watching this scene indefinitely, but the orangutans eventually exhaust their food supply and take off into the jungle. A walk about allows me to catch sight of a few tucked in the top of trees or swinging about.
Back in Sandakan we make a discovery of great importance: our favourite seaside restaurant sells blended banana, ice, and oreo shakes. This is, of course, a blessing for my mouth and a curse to my diet. I have a dream that night about fried squid and oreo shakes. It has become an obsession. It is also here in Sandakan that our love of roti grows into an obsession. With stops for the delicious Indian style flatbread and curry sauce becoming a staple of both our mornings and evenings.
From Sandakan we take a 5 hour bus down to Semporna, a small town on the lower east coast of Sabah. The bus ride is blissfully Cyclops-free. I passed much of my time watching a family of 8 sharing four seats. The kids patiently stood or squatted in the small space by the more grown ones feet. The baby was passed from sibling to sibling and back to mother. Later in the trip, I will make a harsh comparison between the patience of these children the manic-ness of the two American children on our 45 min. flight to Kota Kinabalu. The bus meanders along and makes stops at seemingly random spots in the jungle to crowd on more people. The bus is, however, fairly luxurious, with air-con and no pervasive bathroom smell. We wind through palm oil plantation ofter palm oil plantation, confirming what we had heard at Sepilok. Upon reaching Semporna we file of the bus, collect our bags and ask a young local how to get to our Scuba shop. The boy points us in a straight direction, so we begin our wander. Not 2 min. into our walk, the young man shows up and walks us the rest of the way--right to our hostel door. We check in and arrange our dives through Rob, a man in his early thirties perfectly fitting the Scuba the dive master profile, looking much like a tiered and possible hung over surfer. Shoulder length, tussled blond hair. No shoes. Topless. Surf shorts. We soon learn than this is a sort of uniform for the dive masters at Scuba Junkie. Tattoos also seemed common.
We take some time to explore Semporna. We wander into the market area, which is a community built on stilts over the water. The place is filthy, with sanitation comparable to Kibera. Two little boys kneel on the wooded walkway, shooting at rats with slingshots. Migrant peoples bob in their boats--families of five in just one small vessel. I consequently dive into interviews to the Scuba Junkie staff about the living conditions in Semporna and take on some internet research. According to my findings, there are no known NGOs servicing the community (besides with environmental initiatives). Often areas that have a flow of tourism (as Semporna does for its proximity to the famous Sipidan dive location) are idea for the development of development projects, because there is increased cash flow and outside awareness. I was struck by the absolute irony of the fact that thousands of divers file through Semporna en route to the pristine waters of Sipidan, but likely don't often see the local inlet of water, the banks of which are riddled with garbage and human waste.
The next day we catch an early boat to Sipuan Island where we will do our introductory dive "course." I use the word "course" lightly, because it was more of a whirlwind intro to the art of staying alive underwater. It is great, for Adam has us into the water and diving around the coral in just a few short minutes. The boys in the open water course are struggling, so we take their most advanced member to join our dives. Rory, our second dive master, nearly kills me as he picks our place of decent to be directly above a field of sea urchins (picture me slowly sinking to look down at looming black spikes only inches from my feet, only to add enough air back into my BCD with just enough time to save my life.. haha). On this dive, we see both stingrays and turtles, both of massive size. I am hit with the surrealism of breathing underwater as turtles swim inches from me.
The island is nicknamed "Sunburn Island," so as others turn to lobsters, I bathe in sunscreen.
The island is inhabited by Filipino people who were once "sea gypsies", who illegally squat on the land. The Malaysian government ignores their presence, but they are left entirely to fend for themselves in the often harsh climate and conditions of the island and sea. The politically incorrect term, "sea gypsies," is used quite liberally by the residents. Although the term may sound romantic in its ability to conjure up images of a nomadic people with the tropical ocean as their home, there is certainly very little romantic about the poverty-stricken state of these peoples. The children warmly greet us and bring us coconuts, while the men stare. The marine police, stationed on every island in an attempt to prevent the proliferation of sea piracy, ask to take their pictures with us.
The following day we take a boat to Mabul, another island in the area. The dive company has a simple, but beautiful, lodge there in which we will spend the night. We pester Rory and Sero with questions about the ocean and various fish we discover while snorkeling. We lay in our hammocks and read. We swim in the blue water by the jetties. We wander the island, watching the local children fly their stunning handcrafted kites, made of salvaged metal and old plastic bags. On the other side of the island, I walk by a group of kids whose ancient radio plays some tunes. I do a little dance, and before I know it, I am circled by a hoard of children who are clapping, laughing, and cheering me on. Old woman gather on the periphery, watching from a distance with small smiles on their faces. Due to our initiation of the dance party, we get warm welcomes throughout the rest of the village. We meet a fun collection of people (a school teacher from Britain, a business man from Germany, and a ultra-sound tech from Canada) who we spend our evenings with.
We spend New Year's Eve waiting for our delayed flight out of Tawau back to Kota Kinabalu. I slump in a chair to sleep and make some failed attempts at calling home from an airport pay phone. I read my book out loud to Cheratien, while curious children eavesdrop. We arrive in Kota Kinabalu just in time to see some fireworks from out cab, check-in to our hostel, and fall asleep. Exhausted. Our final day partial day in Borneo we spend stalking up on particular drug store supplies (ex. tea tree oil, non-whitening lotion, and vitamins) that are hard to come by in HCMC. In partial jest and partial seriousness I purchase a crystal salt deodorant called "Smelly-no-more." I have been since using this magic little stick and loving it!
Our flight lands us in KL for an evening spent sleeping on airport benches, which are surprisingly suitable for a semi-successful night of slumber. I wake up at about three and snack on the roti I had stashed in my carry-on.
From KL, we arrive back into HCMC and take the now familiar ride back to District 7. The house is a disaster zone, and I spend the day doing laundry and cleaning up dust and gecko poo. A perfect end to an adventurous holiday.
*****
Since returning from holiday, I have successfully and without too much pain, integrated back into working life. My students were thrilled to be back at school (they ACTUALLY were). They constantly amaze me with their zest and creativity. We had a wonderful discussion the other day. One person every three days dies in Vietnam due to domestic violence. Three out of five women report abuse. The Vietnamese government, for the first time, has instituted laws that provide fines for domestic abuse. People are, however, worried that these laws will have little impact on the situation. My students discussed why this might be. They compared Korean culture to Vietnamese culture with respect to the treatment of women. They brainstormed ways that these laws could be more effective (coming up with such statements, as: "If our whole culture says that women are to obey men, women are not going to step forward and people are going to continue to ignore this violence. Women need to know that there is somewhere that they can go. Support for them from the people. Otherwise, she will just make the problem worse for herself and have no way to actually escape the violence." Sometimes these kids make me so proud.
Interesting bits and pieces:
I am on the new facilities committee, which means I am playing a role in choosing items for the new school and providing consultation for the owners. Our building will hopefully be completed by August. Hopefully.
I had a fairly reasonable conversation with my xe om driver entirely in Vietnamese this week. Very exciting.
I went swing dancing on Wednesday at this little French cafe downtown. They run free lessons from 8-9, and then run dancing well into the night.
I am leading a community involvement club at the school. The kids are going to be going to Ben Tre with us this coming weekend and working with the students there, visiting some of their homes and seeing their living conditions. The students are so excited and have already come up with an initiative for how they are going to raise money to assist the students there. They are in a flurry of activity: preparing, writing letters to parents, visiting classrooms, etc.
We went with the ladies to the Hard Rock Cafe last weekend. Playing there was the first an American rock band named "American Hitmen." Apparently they had to be approved by the Ministry of Culture, who sat cross-armed and straight faced while the band sang about having killed people and being willing to do it again. I think that the Vietnamese contingent didn't have a literal translation of the lyrics or they may not have approved the group. However, they loved them and gave them the go ahead (perhaps over-looking the fact that they are all also U.S. Marines).
Jennifer, our friend who works at the American Consulate, but plans on leaving the job at the end of the year to pursue some of her other interests, is trying to get experience with film and so brought along a hand cam. I surreptitiously arranged for her to rock some tambourine with the band, while I filmed. By the end of the evening we had about seven or eight random ladies from the crown joining us for dance parties on the stage. Strategically navigating around the band members as they played. Thankfully, we had befriended the security guard, so instead of blatantly kicking us off the stage, gave us weak and fearful smiles.
We also held a very candid interview with a Malaysian man at the restaurant, inquiring about the seemingly odd practices of some Asian women (skin whitening and nipple pinkening).
We hit up the Hard Rock again last night with all the ladies from C.I.S. I know. I know. Going to a cheesy themed restaurant two weeks in a row...not quite my style, but a whole lot of fun.
I was happy to sit at a table under an Allman Brothers' Band guitar!
Thanks to all who sent packages, cards, and letters my way. I definitely reverted back to "kid on Christmas morning" mentality upon their arrival.
To all friends and family. I love and miss you deeply. Thanks for taking interest in my going-ons!
Love,
K
It is here at the Mayfair that I have a Christmas Skype with my family. Dave and Courtney are home from B.C. and from a visit with Courtney's family and friends. Dara and Choo Yeung are home from Toronto and Choo Yeung's family Christmas. All family members gather in the camera's line of vision, taking turns in the prominent seat. I watch them open their presents sent from Vietnam, and am able to explain their significance. Dave suggests that we take a family photo, so Choo Yeung sets up his camera on timer and they all gather around the screen. The final product has my head filling the entire oversized computer screen, making me appear quite like a bodiless bobble head in comparison to the normal proportions of my family.
It is after this conversation, that I realize that I miss home. Up until this point, I haven't had any significant pangs for Canada--perhaps the business of life in Saigon prevents having time for those feelings. Accompanying this sense of "missing" Canada is a "missing" of Saigon. Indeed, the city has become a home to me now.
While in Sandakan, we take local bus number 14 to the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Center. To quote from an entirely credible source, the center's visitor's pamphlet: the center aims to "return orphaned, injured, or displaced orangutans back to the wild." Orangutans have become endangered as their natural habitats have been replaced by Palm Oil plantations. Many plantation owners take Orangutans as pets, and so one of the primary sources of the centers in-take are these plantations. As a visitor we witness part of the process of rehabilitation by visiting the feeding platform, where the natural diet of the orangutan is supplemented with milk and fruit. Both human caregivers and the other orangutans help teach new arrivals how to nest and other survival skills they lack.
Watching the orangutans confirms their 96% genetic similarity to human beings. One large fellow stands upright on the platform doing some GQ poses for the audience. Another gets a little aggressive when it comes to others crowding his banana stash. One playfully aggravates his friends. I could have stayed watching this scene indefinitely, but the orangutans eventually exhaust their food supply and take off into the jungle. A walk about allows me to catch sight of a few tucked in the top of trees or swinging about.
Back in Sandakan we make a discovery of great importance: our favourite seaside restaurant sells blended banana, ice, and oreo shakes. This is, of course, a blessing for my mouth and a curse to my diet. I have a dream that night about fried squid and oreo shakes. It has become an obsession. It is also here in Sandakan that our love of roti grows into an obsession. With stops for the delicious Indian style flatbread and curry sauce becoming a staple of both our mornings and evenings.
From Sandakan we take a 5 hour bus down to Semporna, a small town on the lower east coast of Sabah. The bus ride is blissfully Cyclops-free. I passed much of my time watching a family of 8 sharing four seats. The kids patiently stood or squatted in the small space by the more grown ones feet. The baby was passed from sibling to sibling and back to mother. Later in the trip, I will make a harsh comparison between the patience of these children the manic-ness of the two American children on our 45 min. flight to Kota Kinabalu. The bus meanders along and makes stops at seemingly random spots in the jungle to crowd on more people. The bus is, however, fairly luxurious, with air-con and no pervasive bathroom smell. We wind through palm oil plantation ofter palm oil plantation, confirming what we had heard at Sepilok. Upon reaching Semporna we file of the bus, collect our bags and ask a young local how to get to our Scuba shop. The boy points us in a straight direction, so we begin our wander. Not 2 min. into our walk, the young man shows up and walks us the rest of the way--right to our hostel door. We check in and arrange our dives through Rob, a man in his early thirties perfectly fitting the Scuba the dive master profile, looking much like a tiered and possible hung over surfer. Shoulder length, tussled blond hair. No shoes. Topless. Surf shorts. We soon learn than this is a sort of uniform for the dive masters at Scuba Junkie. Tattoos also seemed common.
We take some time to explore Semporna. We wander into the market area, which is a community built on stilts over the water. The place is filthy, with sanitation comparable to Kibera. Two little boys kneel on the wooded walkway, shooting at rats with slingshots. Migrant peoples bob in their boats--families of five in just one small vessel. I consequently dive into interviews to the Scuba Junkie staff about the living conditions in Semporna and take on some internet research. According to my findings, there are no known NGOs servicing the community (besides with environmental initiatives). Often areas that have a flow of tourism (as Semporna does for its proximity to the famous Sipidan dive location) are idea for the development of development projects, because there is increased cash flow and outside awareness. I was struck by the absolute irony of the fact that thousands of divers file through Semporna en route to the pristine waters of Sipidan, but likely don't often see the local inlet of water, the banks of which are riddled with garbage and human waste.
The next day we catch an early boat to Sipuan Island where we will do our introductory dive "course." I use the word "course" lightly, because it was more of a whirlwind intro to the art of staying alive underwater. It is great, for Adam has us into the water and diving around the coral in just a few short minutes. The boys in the open water course are struggling, so we take their most advanced member to join our dives. Rory, our second dive master, nearly kills me as he picks our place of decent to be directly above a field of sea urchins (picture me slowly sinking to look down at looming black spikes only inches from my feet, only to add enough air back into my BCD with just enough time to save my life.. haha). On this dive, we see both stingrays and turtles, both of massive size. I am hit with the surrealism of breathing underwater as turtles swim inches from me.
The island is nicknamed "Sunburn Island," so as others turn to lobsters, I bathe in sunscreen.
The island is inhabited by Filipino people who were once "sea gypsies", who illegally squat on the land. The Malaysian government ignores their presence, but they are left entirely to fend for themselves in the often harsh climate and conditions of the island and sea. The politically incorrect term, "sea gypsies," is used quite liberally by the residents. Although the term may sound romantic in its ability to conjure up images of a nomadic people with the tropical ocean as their home, there is certainly very little romantic about the poverty-stricken state of these peoples. The children warmly greet us and bring us coconuts, while the men stare. The marine police, stationed on every island in an attempt to prevent the proliferation of sea piracy, ask to take their pictures with us.
The following day we take a boat to Mabul, another island in the area. The dive company has a simple, but beautiful, lodge there in which we will spend the night. We pester Rory and Sero with questions about the ocean and various fish we discover while snorkeling. We lay in our hammocks and read. We swim in the blue water by the jetties. We wander the island, watching the local children fly their stunning handcrafted kites, made of salvaged metal and old plastic bags. On the other side of the island, I walk by a group of kids whose ancient radio plays some tunes. I do a little dance, and before I know it, I am circled by a hoard of children who are clapping, laughing, and cheering me on. Old woman gather on the periphery, watching from a distance with small smiles on their faces. Due to our initiation of the dance party, we get warm welcomes throughout the rest of the village. We meet a fun collection of people (a school teacher from Britain, a business man from Germany, and a ultra-sound tech from Canada) who we spend our evenings with.
We spend New Year's Eve waiting for our delayed flight out of Tawau back to Kota Kinabalu. I slump in a chair to sleep and make some failed attempts at calling home from an airport pay phone. I read my book out loud to Cheratien, while curious children eavesdrop. We arrive in Kota Kinabalu just in time to see some fireworks from out cab, check-in to our hostel, and fall asleep. Exhausted. Our final day partial day in Borneo we spend stalking up on particular drug store supplies (ex. tea tree oil, non-whitening lotion, and vitamins) that are hard to come by in HCMC. In partial jest and partial seriousness I purchase a crystal salt deodorant called "Smelly-no-more." I have been since using this magic little stick and loving it!
Our flight lands us in KL for an evening spent sleeping on airport benches, which are surprisingly suitable for a semi-successful night of slumber. I wake up at about three and snack on the roti I had stashed in my carry-on.
From KL, we arrive back into HCMC and take the now familiar ride back to District 7. The house is a disaster zone, and I spend the day doing laundry and cleaning up dust and gecko poo. A perfect end to an adventurous holiday.
*****
Since returning from holiday, I have successfully and without too much pain, integrated back into working life. My students were thrilled to be back at school (they ACTUALLY were). They constantly amaze me with their zest and creativity. We had a wonderful discussion the other day. One person every three days dies in Vietnam due to domestic violence. Three out of five women report abuse. The Vietnamese government, for the first time, has instituted laws that provide fines for domestic abuse. People are, however, worried that these laws will have little impact on the situation. My students discussed why this might be. They compared Korean culture to Vietnamese culture with respect to the treatment of women. They brainstormed ways that these laws could be more effective (coming up with such statements, as: "If our whole culture says that women are to obey men, women are not going to step forward and people are going to continue to ignore this violence. Women need to know that there is somewhere that they can go. Support for them from the people. Otherwise, she will just make the problem worse for herself and have no way to actually escape the violence." Sometimes these kids make me so proud.
Interesting bits and pieces:
I am on the new facilities committee, which means I am playing a role in choosing items for the new school and providing consultation for the owners. Our building will hopefully be completed by August. Hopefully.
I had a fairly reasonable conversation with my xe om driver entirely in Vietnamese this week. Very exciting.
I went swing dancing on Wednesday at this little French cafe downtown. They run free lessons from 8-9, and then run dancing well into the night.
I am leading a community involvement club at the school. The kids are going to be going to Ben Tre with us this coming weekend and working with the students there, visiting some of their homes and seeing their living conditions. The students are so excited and have already come up with an initiative for how they are going to raise money to assist the students there. They are in a flurry of activity: preparing, writing letters to parents, visiting classrooms, etc.
We went with the ladies to the Hard Rock Cafe last weekend. Playing there was the first an American rock band named "American Hitmen." Apparently they had to be approved by the Ministry of Culture, who sat cross-armed and straight faced while the band sang about having killed people and being willing to do it again. I think that the Vietnamese contingent didn't have a literal translation of the lyrics or they may not have approved the group. However, they loved them and gave them the go ahead (perhaps over-looking the fact that they are all also U.S. Marines).
Jennifer, our friend who works at the American Consulate, but plans on leaving the job at the end of the year to pursue some of her other interests, is trying to get experience with film and so brought along a hand cam. I surreptitiously arranged for her to rock some tambourine with the band, while I filmed. By the end of the evening we had about seven or eight random ladies from the crown joining us for dance parties on the stage. Strategically navigating around the band members as they played. Thankfully, we had befriended the security guard, so instead of blatantly kicking us off the stage, gave us weak and fearful smiles.
We also held a very candid interview with a Malaysian man at the restaurant, inquiring about the seemingly odd practices of some Asian women (skin whitening and nipple pinkening).
We hit up the Hard Rock again last night with all the ladies from C.I.S. I know. I know. Going to a cheesy themed restaurant two weeks in a row...not quite my style, but a whole lot of fun.
I was happy to sit at a table under an Allman Brothers' Band guitar!
Thanks to all who sent packages, cards, and letters my way. I definitely reverted back to "kid on Christmas morning" mentality upon their arrival.
To all friends and family. I love and miss you deeply. Thanks for taking interest in my going-ons!
Love,
K
Sunday, January 3, 2010
PART 1: HOLIDAY TIME
This blog may be weighty, like a good meal of zesty carbohydrates that is delicious at first, but gut rotting and excess by its mid-way point. Feel free to drop out at any point along the way. I have decided to format this entry in a "live time" narrative approach, just for something new.
Dec. 12
Cheratien and I are up early to catch the bus which will take us to Trinh's parents home. Today, we will be a part of a Vietnamese wedding. With ao dai's in tow, we make a 6 hour journey into the countryside. With only pork fat sandwiches as sustenance (generously provided by the groom's parents) we arrive a bit peckish. We change into our ao dai's on the bus and hightail it in front of the other relatives, so that we can be the first to arrive. It is our responsibility as "bridesmaids" to receive the gifts which the groom's family will bring for the bridges family. After wandering down a small path in the forest for about 20 min, led by Trinh's small cousin on his oversized bicycle, we arrive and line the sides of the drive to the house. The groom's family arrives and hands us over large trays filled with fruits and other offerings. I received the heaviest, but was able to retain a graceful gait for its delivery to the family alter. From there, are job was done and we were able to simply watch the ceremony. Tea. Prayers. The lighting of the candles (couples hope that the flames of both are of equal strength, as that will symbolize at equity in the power dynamics of the relationship). The groom's parents giving the bride jewellery. And so on. Humourously, many of those who came the great distance for the wedding, sit back in the tent drinking beer and eating peanuts. We have a delicious meal, at which numerous family members take turns scooping choice meats into our bowls... a sign of friendship and respect.
One of Trinh's small cousins takes a liking to me, and more particularly to my casualness with my camera. He becomes my resident photographer, documenting the day and forcing together odd partnerships for photo opportunities. He speaks to be quickly and often in Vietnamese, in spite of his knowledge that my Vietnamese is limited. Once again, my belief that children are some of the most innocently generous hosts is reaffirmed. We babble at each other in our respective languages and communicate quite well. Upon seeing us to the bus, he gets a light-bulb flash of inspiration and hopes on his over-sized bike once more, to race back home. He returns sweating, a few moments later, with a gift for me. One of the wedding balloons... a dilapidated pink heart. Thankfully, Cheratien has a Canadian pin on hand, and so leans out of the bus window to pin it on his lapel. He beams. Another great moment of the day was being offered a husband by a Vietnamese woman who decided I should be her daughter in law. She literally went and collected her son and brought his forward. An awkward few moments of stilted conversation ensued, before she let him recoil in embarrassment.
Dec. 13
We are to meet Trinh and Trang at the "Beauty Saloon"... yes, two "Os:...at 11 to get our hair and make-up done for the reception, which would take place at noon at a restaurant in town. We arrive and are promptly seated and attacked by brushes, hair-spray, and sponges. My eyes are closed in preservation, but I can feel my eyebrows growing. I open my eyes to note that large caterpillars have taken residence on my brows. It takes a bit to convince my make-up artist that they should be tamed down--that they are big enough as it is. Because of my persistence in this matter, I let it slide when she brought out the purple, sparkly eye shadow. As mom always says, choose your battles. I, however, felt quite fortunate when I swivelled my chair to check out Cheratien's make-up and coif. Mouse and a curling iron had transformed her hair into a pageant-participant's style. Her eyelids were vibrantly adorned with blue, glitter, and her lips a bright coral pink. Beauuuuutiful. Her boyfriend would later compare her visage to that of the Joker. Trinh rolled in at quarter to twelve. With only fifteen official minutes to get her ready, she had a team of about eight working on her at all times. With no question as to her desire, one woman pinned her hair into two side buns and spray painted them a fuchsia pink. In went some orchids and baby's breath, seemingly materialized out of thin air. Another woman lathered whitening lotion on to Trinh's arms. Another went to town on her face. We rushed to the back room, and there stands a suitcase. When opened up, we see that it contains Trinh's three wedding dresses. She chooses one, yanks it out of the suitcase and puts it on, while another helper runs next door to try to find a crinoline. In a few second we are being ushered out the door and into a taxi on our way to the restaurant. We arrive to see our images broadcast onto television screens scattered throughout the restaurant. We take the elevator up to the main room, where our little photographer eagerly awaits our arrival. The bride enters moments later with the groom and the parents, with the back-track of what can only be described as eerily similar to "The Final Countdown" (think Job's theme song in Arrested Development). The strobe light is pumping. The smoke is flowing. All important parties say a speech, and the couple cuts the cake. They also pour pink campaign over a pyramid of campaign glasses, cleverly stocked with dry ice to produce billowing smoke. The singing begins and a middle aged Vietnamese woman gets up to crock Jingle Bells out. The music is so loud that no conversation can take place. Following the litany of legitimate performers comes karaoke time, which was mostly monopolized by staff of the Canadian International School. Although I was not foolish enough to sing, Trinh dragged me on stage a few times to dance. Overall, this two-day wedding affair was a blast to be a part of. Culturally, highly informative.
Dec. 15
As I stand in the Activity Room, a small carpeted area which houses nearly 55 pre-pubescent and pubescent youngsters practicing for "The BEST Christmas Concert Ever" in the stanky heat of the Ho Chi Minh City afternoon, my principal, Bonnie, sticks her head in a calls me yonder to the door. Typically a sign that something of secret confidence needs to be shared. I keep a half-watchful eye on the tiered students dragging through the last refrains of "IT'S HOLIDAY TIME!" Ji Hun is pretending to me a Christmas ninja and punctuating the rhythm of the song with karate chops to the air. Man sleeps with his head doing the infamous drop and pop manoeuvre; as he falls into sleep he lets his head drop down, only to snap it back up in recovery.
Sung Woo is using his music sheets as a make-shift torture device. Appreciating my students’ fatigue, I turn to Bonnie to be informed that because of an important soccer game that will take place on Thursday (the scheduled date of our performance), the owners have decided to reschedule the concert to tomorrow night. Still without a stage and tent, a dress rehearsal, several major props and costumes, and so on, this seemed like an impossible and ill conceived proposition. The students, upon hearing the news, go into hysterics for several key players would be able to attend the rescheduled date. With all these confirmations of the horrific nature of this plan, we swing into action to convince the owners that we should proceed with the concert as planned, and ask parents to attend in spite of the "Big Game." We reached a compromise. The concert will go ahead on Thursday, but the game will be played on big screens before the show begins, and an update of the score provided mid-way through. Reasonable. In the end, the students think that the teachers have pulled a massive practical joke on them to spook them into taking practice more seriously. We did not correct their misinterpretation.
Dec. 18
After two months of shenanigans, it is performance day. During the day, students run gleefully about the halls in their costumes. Alice asks me if she can wear her elf costume all day. By noon, the kids have shed their costumes in favour of regulating their body temperatures. One kindergartener is caught, during dress rehearsal, pulling off his cotton tail, eating bits of it, and sticking the rest into his nose and ears.
Perhaps all the headaches paid off when I get to see 190 of our students dressed in a variety of costumes (from dogs and ducks to elves and ghosts) singing their hearts out on stage. The parents were worse than paparazzi, ploughing through real and invisible boundaries in order to capture their kid-letts in action. In the end, Cheratien, Kay, and I receive big bouquets of flowers for our work and kid speeches from several students. One student states with confidence that we were "the absolute BEST music and drama teachers in the school." Sure, the only, but also the best. I was very proud of my students and their grand accomplishment to sing and act from memory, in their second or third language. You can see facebook for some blurry and inattentively taken photographs of the event.
The staff gathers afterwards to have some drinks. We toast to this odd accomplishment and to optimism and co-operation in the new year.
Dec. 19
Riding the let-down from the concert, the Intermediate teachers hold a pancake breakfast and movie time for the students. We made pancakes served up with genuine Canadian maple syrup and watched Elf.
By 4:30 Cheratien and I are on a flight to KL, Malaysia. On this flight I solidify something I have abashedly had fleeting recognition of previously, I like airplane food. Yeppers. It's true. Our flight to Kota Kinabalu is delayed several hours, so we spend much of the time chatting with Mohammad over cups of white coffee. He manages this store and passes his days meeting interesting travellers.
December 20th and BEYOND
Upon arriving in KK, we learn that 126 bags had been left in KL because the plane was too heavy to fly. Our bags were among these. We arrived at our hostel at 2:30 a.m., slept, and then waited for our promised luggage to arrive. We explored the city, marvelling at the vast varieties offered in the drug stores. Zai, the hostel attendant, meets up with us to go about town. In the evening, her husband picks us up and we all go to a local beach outside of town. We eat steamed peanuts and corn on the cob, and drink young coconuts. We see some local musicians and dancers performers as we sit on the beach chatting. Zai and her husband are eager to continue the night, so we go to a local street cafe/bar in the centre of town. They are having a street party in opposition to the development of coal plants proliferating in Sabah. We eagerly join in with the crowd, starting a dance party to the tunes of the live music.
It was here that we met Chantal, a fellow Canadian, who insisted that she was drawn to us because we spoke her dancing language. She accompanies us as we explore the Sunday market which bustled just outside the front door of our hostel. We head from there to catch a boat to the islands of Abdul Rahmin National Park--a collection no islands just off the coast of KK known for their snorkelling and trekking. We rent a tent and head to Mamutik first. After trekking around the island, a local diver, Billy, takes us under his wing and shows us the best snorkelling spots. It was beautiful and vibrant. Although the group of rag-tag divers tried to convince us to stay, we head to Sapi for our night adventure. We arrive just as the island is shutting down for the day-4 p.m. I am able to convince the owner of the small food stall to cook us a small meal, even though they are officially closed. He, like the park ranger, takes moment to warn us about the wild boars, which WILL attack our tent should we leave food inside. After receiving this warning three times, we decide to tie our goods into a tree. We set up our tent right on the beach, after much carefully deliberation and head out to trek around the island for sunset. The trails entirely to ourselves, we wander through the jungle terrain and find an ideal spot to watch the sun drop. On our way back to camp, we realized our situations had the makings of a great horror movie plot. Three girls. alone on an island. The night is getting dark. They are lost in the jungle wilderness. Warnings of wild boards. There may be some money in this. We made it back to camp after some wanderings and went for a night swim. The island, stars, and water to ourselves. After our swim was sat on the jetty and watched fish and sea creature for nearly an hour. I read the girls some pages from my book, Catfish and Mandala. Early to bed with little else to do.
This was not the best sleep of my life, although I don't mind waking up to an immediate view of stars, mountains, sand, and water. I wake in the middle of the night fairly certain that I see a wild boar cross in front of the tent, but in the morning, upon track analysis, we determine that it was likely just a cat. What a letdown. I want a wild boar story. At least some chewed shorts, tracks, or a slight glimpse.
We spend the morning snorkelling, despite the prickling sensation all through my body. It was jelly-fish season--as the signs warned us.
People began arriving around 11:30, impeding on our tropical paradise. Snorkelling in PFD dominated the area, standing--irresponsibly--on the coral when they got weary (Coral dies when it is touched!). We busted out of there before our sweet memories of the place were corrupted. We spent the next days with horrifically sunburnt bums, for although we wore sunscreen our exposed rear-ends, so white from constant coverage, took a hit.
After returning to town, we eat a delicious dinner of nasi goreng (fried rice) at the evening market.
The following day, we are picked up by Romeo and Canon, our white-water rafting guides. We collect several people about the town and head for out 3 hours drive to the Padas River. The drive is beautiful, winding through the mountains. We stop at a roadside dinner which clings to the side of a hill, overlooking valleys and mountains. We enjoy tea tariks in the cooler climate. We take trolleys to the starting point.... small flat wood rectangles (with enough room for three) which careened along the rail-lines, propelled and controlled by men with long sticks. Pushing us forward with the stick to the ground, breaking by placing the stick in front of the wheel. The 45 min ride takes us beside the river, through the Borneo jungle. Stunning. The river contains level three and four rapids, which our guides take us through in a myriad of dangerous fashions. "Flying Without Wings" has to be one of my favourite of the guides attempts to capsize us. Canon loads us all into the back compartment and heads us straight into the rapids, so that the front of our boat juts 45 degrees into the air, while the back weighs heavily in the water. We bounce around uncontrollably, but fail to capsize. They ensure that this occurs, though. We are tossed from the boat. I am momentarily trapped underneath the boat, free myself, and consequently body surf through boisterous rapids. The videographer, who shared out boat, drifts gracefully in front of me, filming me flounder and flop so ungracefully. On the more peaceful sections of river, Canon asks us to sing to him. We rock out to some Christmas tunes and Bon Jovi.
That evening Canon and Spider (another guide... neither of whom go by their given names, clearly) take us to Karaoke. We butcher "All that she wants is another baby" and a variety of other cliche sing-a-longs, but nail "Santa Clause is Coming to Town."
The next day, we are in a mini-bus winding through the mountains toward Mt. Kinabalu National Park. Tomorrow, we are climbing the mountain, which is a two day venture. The driver lets us out at the park entrance in the afternoon drizzle. We check-in to our hostel, which is luxurious by our hostel standards and find our way to the main building, which contains a small restaurant and sitting room with a roaring fire. Two girls are sitting next to us. My suspicion that they are Canadian is confirmed by their Mountain Equipment Co-op backpacks and Lulu Lemon pants. I yell "CANADA" at them as they are leaving, and they join us for tea and conversation. They are backpacking SEA, and will be trekking the mountain on the same day as us (we are four of 75).
That evening as Cheratien and I are in our hostel room, the girls enter and we realize we are sharing our four person room. We grab books, head to the fire, and enjoy this "Christmas" time facsimile. A group of Malaysian men and women (staff workers at the park) come out decked in Santa hats and sing Christmas carols in four part harmony. Their traditional attire and heavy accents make it an endearing, but slightly humourous scene.
We begin our trek at about 8:30 and reach the rest point before noon. Although our guide, when present with us, chides us that we are going to slow, confirms that we did the first day's accent fairly quickly. We, and our new Singaporean friends, are the first to arrive at Laban Rata. We enjoy some tea and the awesome view off the side of the deck. We chat about our respective countries, meet other interesting folks as they arrive, and enjoy a well deserved meal. The first days climb is a strait accent, plagued with tremendous flights of rustically constructed stairs worked into the mountain side. Porters, getting paid 8 RM (3 dollars) per kilo, carry all sorts of goods up-- propane tanks, towels, water bottles, food, etc. One older woman was carrying nearly 30 kilos on a trip she makes almost daily. Unbelievable.
We go to bed just after sunset, and are ready to start trekking again by 2:45 a.m. Nicholas (our guide, who we lovingly termed St. Nic) suggests that, because we are fast, we don't need to start climbing until 3:30. We ignore his advice, and start on our way. This part of the climb is indescribable, but I will attempt to do the impossible. The steps give way to rocky embankments, and it isn't long before we are climbing into the dark sky. I have only once in my life seen starts like I see now. I was in Kenya, sleeping on a night bus, with my head pushed against the window. The bus hit a pot hold and I was shaken away to see a night sky unlike I had ever seen before. It was as if the sun had exploded into tiny pieces and splattered itself over the resulting darkness. As if there were more stars than dark sky. This morning is quite similar. The only difference is that we are continually moving towards them. The temperature was consistently dropping, and I somewhat desired to be able to climb into one of those burning balls of gas to warm up. I was thankful for Kim's warnings and the bundle of warm clothes, mitts, hat, and scarf that I had lugged along.
We are the first to reach the summit, along with Bianca. Bianca had been trekking Tibet previous to coming here, but is a circus trainer by trade when she is back in Australia. Unique character to share the mountain with. Due to our quick ascent, we revel in our arrival and then hunker down in the freezing cold to wait another two hours until the sunrise. Ha. We share a kit kat and tell stories.
The sun rises and sheds astounding light onto the layer of clouds below us. In various directions, between patches of clouds, I can see Sabah spread out below. They say that on a clear day you can see the Philippines. Photos, nor my words, can describe the scene. The descent from the summit provides lots of breathtaking moments, as the sights we had missed in the darkness of our rise, are now clear.
After our trek, we reunited with our fireplace and begin reading once more. Merry Christmas.
The following day, we wait by the gates, in the rain, for a bus to take us to Sandakan. The bus arrives, with the only seats left by the lavatories. We enjoy a 5.5 hour bus ride in the company of the intrusive smell of urine. To further the experience, the in house movie is titled "Cyclops" and revolved around a Cyclops that had invaded Rome. Some stellar lines from the film include: "We shall not kill the beast. We shall take him back to Rome so that all will know that I, Marcus Aurelius have defeated the Cyclops."
With that I shall leave you... I am off to make dinner. Another day, I will continue on with tales from the holidays.
Much love to all,
K
Dec. 12
Cheratien and I are up early to catch the bus which will take us to Trinh's parents home. Today, we will be a part of a Vietnamese wedding. With ao dai's in tow, we make a 6 hour journey into the countryside. With only pork fat sandwiches as sustenance (generously provided by the groom's parents) we arrive a bit peckish. We change into our ao dai's on the bus and hightail it in front of the other relatives, so that we can be the first to arrive. It is our responsibility as "bridesmaids" to receive the gifts which the groom's family will bring for the bridges family. After wandering down a small path in the forest for about 20 min, led by Trinh's small cousin on his oversized bicycle, we arrive and line the sides of the drive to the house. The groom's family arrives and hands us over large trays filled with fruits and other offerings. I received the heaviest, but was able to retain a graceful gait for its delivery to the family alter. From there, are job was done and we were able to simply watch the ceremony. Tea. Prayers. The lighting of the candles (couples hope that the flames of both are of equal strength, as that will symbolize at equity in the power dynamics of the relationship). The groom's parents giving the bride jewellery. And so on. Humourously, many of those who came the great distance for the wedding, sit back in the tent drinking beer and eating peanuts. We have a delicious meal, at which numerous family members take turns scooping choice meats into our bowls... a sign of friendship and respect.
One of Trinh's small cousins takes a liking to me, and more particularly to my casualness with my camera. He becomes my resident photographer, documenting the day and forcing together odd partnerships for photo opportunities. He speaks to be quickly and often in Vietnamese, in spite of his knowledge that my Vietnamese is limited. Once again, my belief that children are some of the most innocently generous hosts is reaffirmed. We babble at each other in our respective languages and communicate quite well. Upon seeing us to the bus, he gets a light-bulb flash of inspiration and hopes on his over-sized bike once more, to race back home. He returns sweating, a few moments later, with a gift for me. One of the wedding balloons... a dilapidated pink heart. Thankfully, Cheratien has a Canadian pin on hand, and so leans out of the bus window to pin it on his lapel. He beams. Another great moment of the day was being offered a husband by a Vietnamese woman who decided I should be her daughter in law. She literally went and collected her son and brought his forward. An awkward few moments of stilted conversation ensued, before she let him recoil in embarrassment.
Dec. 13
We are to meet Trinh and Trang at the "Beauty Saloon"... yes, two "Os:...at 11 to get our hair and make-up done for the reception, which would take place at noon at a restaurant in town. We arrive and are promptly seated and attacked by brushes, hair-spray, and sponges. My eyes are closed in preservation, but I can feel my eyebrows growing. I open my eyes to note that large caterpillars have taken residence on my brows. It takes a bit to convince my make-up artist that they should be tamed down--that they are big enough as it is. Because of my persistence in this matter, I let it slide when she brought out the purple, sparkly eye shadow. As mom always says, choose your battles. I, however, felt quite fortunate when I swivelled my chair to check out Cheratien's make-up and coif. Mouse and a curling iron had transformed her hair into a pageant-participant's style. Her eyelids were vibrantly adorned with blue, glitter, and her lips a bright coral pink. Beauuuuutiful. Her boyfriend would later compare her visage to that of the Joker. Trinh rolled in at quarter to twelve. With only fifteen official minutes to get her ready, she had a team of about eight working on her at all times. With no question as to her desire, one woman pinned her hair into two side buns and spray painted them a fuchsia pink. In went some orchids and baby's breath, seemingly materialized out of thin air. Another woman lathered whitening lotion on to Trinh's arms. Another went to town on her face. We rushed to the back room, and there stands a suitcase. When opened up, we see that it contains Trinh's three wedding dresses. She chooses one, yanks it out of the suitcase and puts it on, while another helper runs next door to try to find a crinoline. In a few second we are being ushered out the door and into a taxi on our way to the restaurant. We arrive to see our images broadcast onto television screens scattered throughout the restaurant. We take the elevator up to the main room, where our little photographer eagerly awaits our arrival. The bride enters moments later with the groom and the parents, with the back-track of what can only be described as eerily similar to "The Final Countdown" (think Job's theme song in Arrested Development). The strobe light is pumping. The smoke is flowing. All important parties say a speech, and the couple cuts the cake. They also pour pink campaign over a pyramid of campaign glasses, cleverly stocked with dry ice to produce billowing smoke. The singing begins and a middle aged Vietnamese woman gets up to crock Jingle Bells out. The music is so loud that no conversation can take place. Following the litany of legitimate performers comes karaoke time, which was mostly monopolized by staff of the Canadian International School. Although I was not foolish enough to sing, Trinh dragged me on stage a few times to dance. Overall, this two-day wedding affair was a blast to be a part of. Culturally, highly informative.
Dec. 15
As I stand in the Activity Room, a small carpeted area which houses nearly 55 pre-pubescent and pubescent youngsters practicing for "The BEST Christmas Concert Ever" in the stanky heat of the Ho Chi Minh City afternoon, my principal, Bonnie, sticks her head in a calls me yonder to the door. Typically a sign that something of secret confidence needs to be shared. I keep a half-watchful eye on the tiered students dragging through the last refrains of "IT'S HOLIDAY TIME!" Ji Hun is pretending to me a Christmas ninja and punctuating the rhythm of the song with karate chops to the air. Man sleeps with his head doing the infamous drop and pop manoeuvre; as he falls into sleep he lets his head drop down, only to snap it back up in recovery.
Sung Woo is using his music sheets as a make-shift torture device. Appreciating my students’ fatigue, I turn to Bonnie to be informed that because of an important soccer game that will take place on Thursday (the scheduled date of our performance), the owners have decided to reschedule the concert to tomorrow night. Still without a stage and tent, a dress rehearsal, several major props and costumes, and so on, this seemed like an impossible and ill conceived proposition. The students, upon hearing the news, go into hysterics for several key players would be able to attend the rescheduled date. With all these confirmations of the horrific nature of this plan, we swing into action to convince the owners that we should proceed with the concert as planned, and ask parents to attend in spite of the "Big Game." We reached a compromise. The concert will go ahead on Thursday, but the game will be played on big screens before the show begins, and an update of the score provided mid-way through. Reasonable. In the end, the students think that the teachers have pulled a massive practical joke on them to spook them into taking practice more seriously. We did not correct their misinterpretation.
Dec. 18
After two months of shenanigans, it is performance day. During the day, students run gleefully about the halls in their costumes. Alice asks me if she can wear her elf costume all day. By noon, the kids have shed their costumes in favour of regulating their body temperatures. One kindergartener is caught, during dress rehearsal, pulling off his cotton tail, eating bits of it, and sticking the rest into his nose and ears.
Perhaps all the headaches paid off when I get to see 190 of our students dressed in a variety of costumes (from dogs and ducks to elves and ghosts) singing their hearts out on stage. The parents were worse than paparazzi, ploughing through real and invisible boundaries in order to capture their kid-letts in action. In the end, Cheratien, Kay, and I receive big bouquets of flowers for our work and kid speeches from several students. One student states with confidence that we were "the absolute BEST music and drama teachers in the school." Sure, the only, but also the best. I was very proud of my students and their grand accomplishment to sing and act from memory, in their second or third language. You can see facebook for some blurry and inattentively taken photographs of the event.
The staff gathers afterwards to have some drinks. We toast to this odd accomplishment and to optimism and co-operation in the new year.
Dec. 19
Riding the let-down from the concert, the Intermediate teachers hold a pancake breakfast and movie time for the students. We made pancakes served up with genuine Canadian maple syrup and watched Elf.
By 4:30 Cheratien and I are on a flight to KL, Malaysia. On this flight I solidify something I have abashedly had fleeting recognition of previously, I like airplane food. Yeppers. It's true. Our flight to Kota Kinabalu is delayed several hours, so we spend much of the time chatting with Mohammad over cups of white coffee. He manages this store and passes his days meeting interesting travellers.
December 20th and BEYOND
Upon arriving in KK, we learn that 126 bags had been left in KL because the plane was too heavy to fly. Our bags were among these. We arrived at our hostel at 2:30 a.m., slept, and then waited for our promised luggage to arrive. We explored the city, marvelling at the vast varieties offered in the drug stores. Zai, the hostel attendant, meets up with us to go about town. In the evening, her husband picks us up and we all go to a local beach outside of town. We eat steamed peanuts and corn on the cob, and drink young coconuts. We see some local musicians and dancers performers as we sit on the beach chatting. Zai and her husband are eager to continue the night, so we go to a local street cafe/bar in the centre of town. They are having a street party in opposition to the development of coal plants proliferating in Sabah. We eagerly join in with the crowd, starting a dance party to the tunes of the live music.
It was here that we met Chantal, a fellow Canadian, who insisted that she was drawn to us because we spoke her dancing language. She accompanies us as we explore the Sunday market which bustled just outside the front door of our hostel. We head from there to catch a boat to the islands of Abdul Rahmin National Park--a collection no islands just off the coast of KK known for their snorkelling and trekking. We rent a tent and head to Mamutik first. After trekking around the island, a local diver, Billy, takes us under his wing and shows us the best snorkelling spots. It was beautiful and vibrant. Although the group of rag-tag divers tried to convince us to stay, we head to Sapi for our night adventure. We arrive just as the island is shutting down for the day-4 p.m. I am able to convince the owner of the small food stall to cook us a small meal, even though they are officially closed. He, like the park ranger, takes moment to warn us about the wild boars, which WILL attack our tent should we leave food inside. After receiving this warning three times, we decide to tie our goods into a tree. We set up our tent right on the beach, after much carefully deliberation and head out to trek around the island for sunset. The trails entirely to ourselves, we wander through the jungle terrain and find an ideal spot to watch the sun drop. On our way back to camp, we realized our situations had the makings of a great horror movie plot. Three girls. alone on an island. The night is getting dark. They are lost in the jungle wilderness. Warnings of wild boards. There may be some money in this. We made it back to camp after some wanderings and went for a night swim. The island, stars, and water to ourselves. After our swim was sat on the jetty and watched fish and sea creature for nearly an hour. I read the girls some pages from my book, Catfish and Mandala. Early to bed with little else to do.
This was not the best sleep of my life, although I don't mind waking up to an immediate view of stars, mountains, sand, and water. I wake in the middle of the night fairly certain that I see a wild boar cross in front of the tent, but in the morning, upon track analysis, we determine that it was likely just a cat. What a letdown. I want a wild boar story. At least some chewed shorts, tracks, or a slight glimpse.
We spend the morning snorkelling, despite the prickling sensation all through my body. It was jelly-fish season--as the signs warned us.
People began arriving around 11:30, impeding on our tropical paradise. Snorkelling in PFD dominated the area, standing--irresponsibly--on the coral when they got weary (Coral dies when it is touched!). We busted out of there before our sweet memories of the place were corrupted. We spent the next days with horrifically sunburnt bums, for although we wore sunscreen our exposed rear-ends, so white from constant coverage, took a hit.
After returning to town, we eat a delicious dinner of nasi goreng (fried rice) at the evening market.
The following day, we are picked up by Romeo and Canon, our white-water rafting guides. We collect several people about the town and head for out 3 hours drive to the Padas River. The drive is beautiful, winding through the mountains. We stop at a roadside dinner which clings to the side of a hill, overlooking valleys and mountains. We enjoy tea tariks in the cooler climate. We take trolleys to the starting point.... small flat wood rectangles (with enough room for three) which careened along the rail-lines, propelled and controlled by men with long sticks. Pushing us forward with the stick to the ground, breaking by placing the stick in front of the wheel. The 45 min ride takes us beside the river, through the Borneo jungle. Stunning. The river contains level three and four rapids, which our guides take us through in a myriad of dangerous fashions. "Flying Without Wings" has to be one of my favourite of the guides attempts to capsize us. Canon loads us all into the back compartment and heads us straight into the rapids, so that the front of our boat juts 45 degrees into the air, while the back weighs heavily in the water. We bounce around uncontrollably, but fail to capsize. They ensure that this occurs, though. We are tossed from the boat. I am momentarily trapped underneath the boat, free myself, and consequently body surf through boisterous rapids. The videographer, who shared out boat, drifts gracefully in front of me, filming me flounder and flop so ungracefully. On the more peaceful sections of river, Canon asks us to sing to him. We rock out to some Christmas tunes and Bon Jovi.
That evening Canon and Spider (another guide... neither of whom go by their given names, clearly) take us to Karaoke. We butcher "All that she wants is another baby" and a variety of other cliche sing-a-longs, but nail "Santa Clause is Coming to Town."
The next day, we are in a mini-bus winding through the mountains toward Mt. Kinabalu National Park. Tomorrow, we are climbing the mountain, which is a two day venture. The driver lets us out at the park entrance in the afternoon drizzle. We check-in to our hostel, which is luxurious by our hostel standards and find our way to the main building, which contains a small restaurant and sitting room with a roaring fire. Two girls are sitting next to us. My suspicion that they are Canadian is confirmed by their Mountain Equipment Co-op backpacks and Lulu Lemon pants. I yell "CANADA" at them as they are leaving, and they join us for tea and conversation. They are backpacking SEA, and will be trekking the mountain on the same day as us (we are four of 75).
That evening as Cheratien and I are in our hostel room, the girls enter and we realize we are sharing our four person room. We grab books, head to the fire, and enjoy this "Christmas" time facsimile. A group of Malaysian men and women (staff workers at the park) come out decked in Santa hats and sing Christmas carols in four part harmony. Their traditional attire and heavy accents make it an endearing, but slightly humourous scene.
We begin our trek at about 8:30 and reach the rest point before noon. Although our guide, when present with us, chides us that we are going to slow, confirms that we did the first day's accent fairly quickly. We, and our new Singaporean friends, are the first to arrive at Laban Rata. We enjoy some tea and the awesome view off the side of the deck. We chat about our respective countries, meet other interesting folks as they arrive, and enjoy a well deserved meal. The first days climb is a strait accent, plagued with tremendous flights of rustically constructed stairs worked into the mountain side. Porters, getting paid 8 RM (3 dollars) per kilo, carry all sorts of goods up-- propane tanks, towels, water bottles, food, etc. One older woman was carrying nearly 30 kilos on a trip she makes almost daily. Unbelievable.
We go to bed just after sunset, and are ready to start trekking again by 2:45 a.m. Nicholas (our guide, who we lovingly termed St. Nic) suggests that, because we are fast, we don't need to start climbing until 3:30. We ignore his advice, and start on our way. This part of the climb is indescribable, but I will attempt to do the impossible. The steps give way to rocky embankments, and it isn't long before we are climbing into the dark sky. I have only once in my life seen starts like I see now. I was in Kenya, sleeping on a night bus, with my head pushed against the window. The bus hit a pot hold and I was shaken away to see a night sky unlike I had ever seen before. It was as if the sun had exploded into tiny pieces and splattered itself over the resulting darkness. As if there were more stars than dark sky. This morning is quite similar. The only difference is that we are continually moving towards them. The temperature was consistently dropping, and I somewhat desired to be able to climb into one of those burning balls of gas to warm up. I was thankful for Kim's warnings and the bundle of warm clothes, mitts, hat, and scarf that I had lugged along.
We are the first to reach the summit, along with Bianca. Bianca had been trekking Tibet previous to coming here, but is a circus trainer by trade when she is back in Australia. Unique character to share the mountain with. Due to our quick ascent, we revel in our arrival and then hunker down in the freezing cold to wait another two hours until the sunrise. Ha. We share a kit kat and tell stories.
The sun rises and sheds astounding light onto the layer of clouds below us. In various directions, between patches of clouds, I can see Sabah spread out below. They say that on a clear day you can see the Philippines. Photos, nor my words, can describe the scene. The descent from the summit provides lots of breathtaking moments, as the sights we had missed in the darkness of our rise, are now clear.
After our trek, we reunited with our fireplace and begin reading once more. Merry Christmas.
The following day, we wait by the gates, in the rain, for a bus to take us to Sandakan. The bus arrives, with the only seats left by the lavatories. We enjoy a 5.5 hour bus ride in the company of the intrusive smell of urine. To further the experience, the in house movie is titled "Cyclops" and revolved around a Cyclops that had invaded Rome. Some stellar lines from the film include: "We shall not kill the beast. We shall take him back to Rome so that all will know that I, Marcus Aurelius have defeated the Cyclops."
With that I shall leave you... I am off to make dinner. Another day, I will continue on with tales from the holidays.
Much love to all,
K
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