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!