SINGAPORE: Little India

For most of my visit in Singapore I've been staying in Little India, and I have been thoroughly enjoying the neighborhood. Little India breaks the Singaporean mold. While the rest of the city comes across as planned, button-down, and corporate, Little India is anything but. Rather than the smell of cleaning agents and perfume that dominate the rest of Singapore, Little India smells of spice and incense. The exotic odors hit you as soon as you take the escalator up the surface from the subway. Other parts of Singapore are filled with carefully planned and designed retail outlets. Little India, on the other hand, is a hodge-podge of grocery stores, hawker stalls, Indian music shops and a host of other independent businesses. In the rest of Singapore the sidewalks are clear and limited to pedestrian traffic. In Little India the shops spill out onto the sidewalk. Much like in Vietnam, the sidewalks are for commerce, not walking, and pedestrians share the streets with cars. Little India possesses a liveliness not found in other parts of Singapore, and it's made for an interesting home base.

SINGAPORE: Retail Overload

The modernity and sterility of Singapore comes as something of a shock after months of living in Vietnam. My travel companion Dave and I find ourselves gaping at the skyscrapers, the clean streets and sidewalks, and the well-dressed Singaporeans. The women in particular have our jaws on the floor. Half the population of Singapore seems to be made up of attractive women in their 20s. This is not meant as any disrespect to Vietnamese women, who are also quite lovely, but there's something about how the Singaporean women dress, put themselves together, and carry themselves that makes them incredibly attractive. The stylishness of Singaporeans is probably explained in part by the city's love affair with high-end retail.

Critics have called Singapore "the only shopping mall with a seat at the UN." At first I laughed at this assessment, thinking it a flippant remark made by some anti-consumerism get-back-to-nature hippie type. Having been here a few days, though, I'm starting to agree. I've never seen such commercial materialism in my life. Practically every non-governmental building seems to have a shopping mall. I swear that half these malls have the same stores, most of which are quite high-end. I frankly don't know how they all stay in business. How many Rolex, Charles & Keith, Prada and Chanel outlets does a city need? The epicenter of this retail onslaught is Orchard Road, a kilometer-long stretch of shopping mall after shopping mall. There must be at least a dozen malls lining the road, no exaggeration.

Even the subway takes on the appearance of a giant outdoor shopping center. The subway stops have marble-looking floors and walls and are decked out with mall-style advertisements. The train is automated with no driver, and a glass doorway aligns with the train doorway. The glass doorway opens only when the train doors do, so the entire station sounds like a shopping center, largely devoid of the engine sounds and whoosh of air as in New York or Washington, DC. You could be forgiven for forgetting that you're trying to catch a train, not a pair of shoes.

Buzzing Around Asia

Despite my three month absence, I’m happy to report that I’m not finished with this blog yet. Over the course of the past semester, I found myself much busier than I had been compared to the fall. While I was pleased to be of use and keeping active, one of the downsides of this increased schedule was that I had much less time for this blog. Don’t worry, though; I kept taking notes and in some cases even wrote rough drafts to be posted later. I’ll put these posts up as I finish them.

Furthermore, I’ve begun my Asian tour, and have also been keeping a journal of my experiences. In between my Vietnam postings I’ll also put some of my thoughts on my travels. In order to differentiate, I’ll write the city or province I’m writing about in all caps.

So, sorry again for my absence. For those of you who have continued to check this blog, I hope that you’ll find my new postings worth the wait.

Argh! A Pirate's Life for Me!

The Vietnamese are master pirates. I’m not talking about Jolly Rogers or the Gulf of Aden here; I’m referrinig to the Vietnamese’s ability to copy seemingly any consumer product you can think of. The streets of Hanoi and Saigon are filled with knock-off brand-name clothing. Prada, Gucci, Lacoste, Adidas, Nike; you name it, it’s there. Some of these copies are exceedingly good. One Adidas tennis polo I bought was copied down to the tag explaining how to wash the shirt. The only thing that tipped me off that the shirt was a copy was the fact that the word “washer” was misspelled and the Vietnamese sizing (last check I don’t wear a 3X).

Vietnam is renowned for its DVD piracy. I’ve been able to find nearly any title you could want. A friend of mine “in the business” told me that all the DVDs come from China. They might all come from the same factory, too. The reason I think this is because any copy of a film or TV show is the same throughout the city. For example, the copy of The Matrix you buy on Pham Ngu Lau Street will be identical to the one you buy on Hai Ba Trung. This isn’t always good, because if that copy is a bad one, say the soundtrack is a second off from the video, then every copy of The Matrix in Saigon, if not all of Vietnam, may be similarly flawed. This having been said, may I recommend to future visitors of Saigon to avoid purchase of Saving Private Ryan, for precisely the reasons explained above.

The Vietnamese flair for copying continues to the world of art. There are dozens of art studios in Saigon that produce nothing but copies of other famous paintings, some of which are quite good. Imagine if some of these artists actually put out original works – Vietnam could have quite the art scene.

Watches are another pirate favorite. There are so many fake Omegas, Longines, and Rolexes floating around the country that I couldn’t find a watch that wasn’t a knock-off. Even in Cao Lanh I had to settle for a watch with “Valley Jewelers” on its face, probably an overrun from some specialty order.

The watch dilemma is a great example of just how commonplace piracy is in Vietnam. So accessible are pirated goods that most Vietnamese don’t actually understand what a brand name is. To my students, “Armani” is just a cool word you put on a shirt. Of course you wear a “Rolex” watch - that’s the word you put on watches. No doubt you wear a massive Hugo Boss belt buckle - what else would you use to keep your pants up? The idea that these names represent high quality or a special kind of style is completely lost on the majority of Vietnamese.

Of course, there is one arena where the Vietnamese are too good at piracy: the classroom. My students, in spite of their beginner-level English, will lift anything from the Internet – Wikipedia, newspapers, professional reports – and call it their own. They always seem shocked when I catch them. One of the other Fulbrighters taught a lesson on poetry, and for homework asked her students to write a simple poem, something like an acrostic or a haiku. Bear in mind that these students had just learned what rhyme was, rhyme not being common in the mostly monosyllabic Vietnamese language. Next class she received several works from the likes of Emily Dickinson and Langston Hughes. Some of this blatant cheating comes from an overwhelming fear of failure. Students would rather cheat than risk a failing grade. Some of this cheating comes from apathetic or overworked teachers who allow such behavior. Also not helping matters is the fact that the university itself is massively involved in piracy. All my university’s texts are photocopied. With counterfeit goods being the norm, and universities being some of the greatest perpetrators of piracy, I can’t help but see my students’ behavior as a mere reflection of their society.

Vietnamese Homesickness

In my last post I discussed how important the family is in Vietnamese society and how painful it can be for Vietnamese to be separated from their families.  I've recently had a dramatic example of just how tight Vietnamese homelife can be.  

I was assisting with a first-year Reading class one evening and was running a simple vocabulary exercise.  As my students were working, I noticed that one student seemed to be asleep with her head on her book.  I approached the student only to find that she was moaning in pain.  Realizing that this was a bad time to force the student to practice her English, I called Ms. Ngan, the head teacher, over to see what was wrong.  I continued the lesson, helping the other students complete their work.  When I looked back to the moaning student, I saw that two of the boys were more or less carrying her out of the classroom.  She looked like she had fainted. 

Concerned, I asked Ms. Ngan what the problem was, and if we should run to get help.  Ms. Ngan smiled and said that it was nothing serious.  She told me that the student just hadn't been eating.  Seeing my concerned expression, Ms. Ngan went on to say that this was very normal.  Many first-year students, especially girls, miss their mother's cooking so much that they simply don't eat the food at the cafeteria.  This student, right before my eyes, had more or less passed out from hunger, self-imposed hunger at that.  While I've certainly had some bouts of homesickness myself, I couldn't imagine refusing to eat (and I've had some pretty wild meals).  

The whole episode showed me again just how vital the family is to the average Vietnamese.  It also helped me to see myself through my students' eyes.  If my students were having this much difficulty being a few dozen kilometers from home, they probably couldn't imagine being in my shoes, 12,000 kilometers away from my family.  The idea of being that far away must be terrifying to them.  I now understand why I'm constantly asked the question "are you homesick?"  My answer?  I'm happy to say that I'm doing well, especially compared to the tribulations my students.  

Ten Kilometers - Very Far!

The Vietnamese have a different sense of distance than Americans. Growing up outside of Washington, DC, I became used to long commutes, like my father's one and a half hour fifty mile marathon that he used to run twice every day. For two summers I had a thirty mile, forty minute commute to my job at the Washington County Maryland Circuit Court and really didn't think too much of it.

These distances would be almost unimaginable to the average Vietnamese. Most Vietnamese live much closer to their place of work. Indeed, for most of them, their home is their place of work.  In many cases the first floor of a home is comprised of a shopfront or office.  A common Vietnamese commute is walking downstairs.  Even if a Vietnamese works outside of the home, however, they usually don't live more than a ten or fifteen minute motorbike ride away.  

Most Vietnamese don't seem to like going very far from their hometown, or even their home neighborhood.  I once went on a walk with a friend from Ho Chi Minh City.  After we went about four blocks from her home, and she said she was unfamiliar with the area.  I asked her why she didn't leave her neighborhood very much, and she said that she could get everything she needed in the streets around her house.  

This more limited sense of what's "far away" holds true in Cao Lanh as well.  Most students don't go beyond the half-mile strip of cafes and food stalls that run along the front of the campus.  My students are very unfamiliar with downtown Cao Lanh, which is a whopping three miles to the north, accessible by bicylce in about fifteen to twenty minutes.  Personally, I get pretty bored staying around campus, and try to get out into town at least a couple times a week.  It must be my American wanderlust coming out.    

Many Dong Thap students feel that they are impossibly far from their homes.  Students from different parts of the province tell me that their home is "ten kilometers, very far!"  Students from neigboring provinces feel that their journey to university is a true cross-country affair.  Students from beyond the Mekong Delta are considered hardy, if not crazy, to go so far.  As for me, travelling from the United States, I might as well be coming from Mars.  

Part of the reason for this different view is cultural.  Vietnamese culture is very much based on agricultural village life.  Even as Vietnam modernizes and moves beyond its agricultural base, the extended family, most of  which usually lives in the same village, maintains a paramount social importance.  So important is the Vietnamese family that pronouns are based on family titles. In Vietnam, you don't call other people "you," "she," or "he," instead they are "uncle," "older sister," or "grandfather."  Vietnamese society is built around the family, and the family has usually stayed in the same town or village.  To leave your town is to leave your family, and this is a very painful prospect for most Vietnamese.

Another more pragmatic reason for the more limited Vietnamese view of distance is the lack of infrastructure.  In the US, we have highways that allow us to travel quickly in our cars.  Vietnam is not so fortunate, and the expressway is unknown.  It's about ninety miles from Cao Lanh to Ho Chi Minh City.  In the US, the trip would probably take a little over an hour and a half.  In Vietnam, the ride is a long three and half hours.  The bus has to put up with delays like slow long-haul trucks, broken down motorbikes, and, occasionally, livestock.  No wonder, then, that the Vietnamese concept of travel and distance should be on such a smaller scale than in the United States.  

The DMZ

This past weekend I visited the De-Militarized Zone, more commonly called the DMZ. The DMZ was the border between the Communist North and the anti-Communist South for over twenty years. During the Second Indochina War (what you folks back home call the Vietnam War), the area was anything but demilitarized. The US and its allies had observation posts and artillery scattered throughout the area. The North had dug some 114 tunnels throughout their strip of territory. Bombs fell like rain, mines were everywhere, and the area was ten kilometers of general destruction.

I was perhaps expecting to see some of this destruction. To this day, anti-mining efforts are active, and unexploded bombs are still found from time to time in farmers' fields. Despite all of these remnants of war, I would not have known that I was in the DMZ if I hadn't had a guide with me. Most of the area has apparently been cleared and developed. Indeed, the DMZ is quite lovely. Unlike much of Vietnam, which has its buildings and development packed tightly together, the DMZ has lots of room for farmland and forests. Much of the area destroyed by napalm is now used for farming rubber, and neat lines of rubber trees run throughout the territory. Most of the former US presence is gone. One of the bases was turned into a village, although I didn't have the opportunity to see this. The largest base was bulldozed to make room for a highway. Only a burned out M41 tank stands as a reminder to America's presence forty years ago.

We visited an American observation "tower", which really looked like a bunker. This area is now populated by cows and rubber trees instead of American GIs. Our guide pointed to the remains of what looked like burlap sacks, explaining that they were old sandbags. Maybe, mabye not; I wasn't quite convinced either way. After all, there is a lot of litter in Vietnam, even in faraway areas.

One vestige of the war that still remains are the tunnels. Much of the Northern population went underground once hostilities started. Most of these tunnels are gone now, but one remains. The tunnel opens up to the sea, where supplies from the USSR and China were shipped in by fishing boats. The whole area was covered by a bamboo forest, and would have probably been quite lovely during the war were it not for the constant artillery and aerial barrage from the South. The people of Northern DMZ did as well as they could underground, digging relatively tall tunnels (I could stand up at some points), complete with bedrooms, ammunition storage, maternity wing, and movie theater. Not quite what our boys had back in Saigon, but the Northerners were certainly adept at making the best with what they had.

One other reminder of the war are the bomb craters. Scatterecd throughout the region, some of these holes are massive. One held a cow, who was grazing quite comfortably with room to spare in the crater. Otherwise, the Vietnamese have removed most reminders of the conflict. Life has moved on in the DMZ, and people prefer looking forward rather than back. This sense of forward progresion and avoidance of the painful past seems so common in Vietnam. The DMZ, once the symbol of the nation's division, now seems to be a symbol of Vietnam's hopes for future development amidst the scars of the past.

Learning About the 50 States

This semester I’m teaching American Studies, a course that I’ve enjoyed much more than last semester’s Pronunciation. With American Studies, I’m the lead teacher, and I’ve been able to design my own curriculum and assignments. One of my first assignments was an oral presentation on one of the fifty states. I wanted my students to realize how diverse the US is in its culture, geography, and history. This idea was something that I couldn’t convey well on my own in a ninety minute class. I had each student pick a state at random, and gave them two weeks to prepare three-minute PowerPoint presentation. I also warned them that I would ask each student a few questions after their presentation, as a way of discouraging straight word-by-word memorization. I wanted them to actually understand what they were talking about.

Although my expectations were not that high to begin with, as the English levels are very low at Dong Thap University, I was still nonetheless taken aback by the low quality of many of the presentations. Most of my students didn’t bother to edit their PowerPoints. Many of the PowerPoints declared in 40 point font that they were happy to “welcom” me to their state. Among the many spelling errors, I read of the “pison” that roam the plains of South Dakota and how Oklahoma has facilities for making “aircrapt,” A couple of students were really off and misspelled the names of their states. When I asked one student how she could have such egregious spelling errors using a program with spell check, she told me that she had been wondering what those little red lines meant.

The class also had some difficulties with grammar. Many wrote about the “state of bird” instead of “state bird.” Other students had problems with slide titles. One slide, for example had “Looking Demographics Please” at the top.

Some of the worst errors, however, were factual. Knowing that my students will believe pretty much anything they read on the Internet, I urged them to only use reputable websites, and gave them some suggestions. Some, however, apparently ignored my advice. A few errors were typos. I was told, for example, that Washington State was founded in 1989, instead of 1889. Others mistakes were more extreme. One student told me that James Madison founded Virginia. Another explained how fur-trading drives the Missouri economy. Some of these errors made some sense, and showed that my students were at least close to the mark. James Madison was a Virginian, and Missouri was involved in the fur trade, albeit two hundred years ago. Some errors, however, were completely off. For example, I learned that the state bird of Vermont is the red-headed parrot (it’s actually the hermit thrush, for those of you keeping score at home). One student reported that William Shakespeare was from Louisiana. When I tried to throw this girl a softball about weather during Q and A, she insisted quite strongly that Louisiana, New Orleans in particular, has never experienced any strong storms.

My students also have a different idea of PowerPoint aesthetics. While many kept up to the professional and more reserved themes that one would expect from a Western presentation, several preferred a more colorful approach. Many of the girls of the class filled their presentations with cutesy cartoon bears, birds, dogs, and other animals. Their backgrounds were filled with rainbows, dolphins, angels, and the sort of thing you would expect to see in a sixth-grade girl’s locker. Both girls and guys were guilty of filling their presentations with random pictures of landscapes and buildings that had no relevance to their state, or the USA in general. I asked one girl why she had a picture of the Kremlin on a slide, and she said that she thought it looked pretty.

In short, my students have a lot to learn when it comes to delivering professional-level presentations. While I did let them know that I wasn’t the most pleased with their efforts, I would be a poor teacher if I just harped on them. I’m planning on hosting a seminar in the next few weeks to teach the proper procedures for PowerPoints, so that their skills will hopefully improve. To be fair, the students here at Dong Thap really have very little experience speaking in public, especially in English, and they clearly need more instruction. After all, when it comes to grammar and spelling, no one are prefect, right?

Song and Dance Routine

Let's pretend that we're making a movie about Vietnam. What genre would best sum up the Vietnamese experience? Forty years ago, the answer was unfortunately war, as the likes of Apocalypse Now and Full Metal Jacket attest. But its 2008, not 1968. Though memories of the war linger painfully, the Vietnamese are, for better or for worse, trying their best to forget the war.

Tragedy is another viable alternative. Vietnam underwent twenty-five years of nearly constant warfare, eleven years of painfully misguided and backwards communist rule, and still is home to wide swaths of destitution. The nation has enough stories of pain and heartbreak to inspire dozens of tragic films. But today’s Vietnam is too forward-looking and hopeful of the future to be summed up by the genre of tragedy.

Vietnam might even be represented by the action thriller. Any foreigner who has tried to negotiate traffic or even just cross the street in Hanoi or Saigon will agree that what is mundane in the rest of the world is edge-of-your-seat excitement in Vietnam. The Vietnamese even manage to add exhilaration to bureaucracy. Knock, knock; you’ve got a meeting with the Dean of the English department in five minutes. Surprise! Even as an English teacher, you never quite know what’s going to happen next (or at least I never seem to).

In truth, Vietnam could quite possibly be represented by numerous genres, but the one that best offers a taste of life in Vietnam is, in my opinion, the musical. The Vietnamese love to sing and dance. No university ceremony would be complete without at least forty-five minutes of musical performances. The Vietnamese sing traditional songs, modern songs, English songs, patriotic songs, romantic songs, happy songs, sad songs, and anything else they can that wouldn’t offend the party. And song would be complete without a dance? Since my arrival in Vietnam I’ve seen cha-chas, tangos, waltzes, ballet, and hip-hop grooves.

The Vietnamese love of song and dance has commercial impact as well. Karaoke is phenomenon in this country, and even sleepy Cao Lanh has eight or nine karaoke establishments. At seemingly any time of the day or night, one of Vietnam’s TV stations has an American-idol sort of talent show on air. Coffee shops blast Vietnamese pop, and advertise themselves as being CD cafes, whatever that means.

The best example of the Vietnamese’s love of song and dance was when I went with the other Fulbright English teaching assistants to Dien Bien Phu, a town in the far West of the country, practically in Laos. We visited a school, where we were warmly welcomed. The students and staff sang and danced for a good twenty minutes, which was entertaining. Then they asked us to sing. Put on the spot, most of us froze up. Finally, Kevin, a teacher from Iowa, boldly walked to the front of the room and led us in a rousing round of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” Not to be outdone, I sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” with David, a fellow teacher from Ohio. Our songs paled to the beautiful traditional songs the Vietnamese sang, but what would you sing given about 5 seconds’ preparation? No one seemed to care too much that we sang such simple songs; the Vietnamese were just happy we sang.

Since Dien Bien Phu, I’ve been asked to sing numerous times. The university asked me to sing an English song in front of a crowd of several thousand people for teacher’s day, an honor I managed to avoid by suggesting that I read a poem instead (which I ended up not reading because they told me the wrong date). Students ask me to sing a song in front of classes or when we’re out for coffee, a request I usually fulfill. The Vietnamese have no sense that singing or dancing would make Americans somewhat awkward.

But that total incomprehension of awkwardness is probably the best part of the Vietnamese’s love of song and dance. They sing and dance for the fun of it. You don’t have to be an expert to belt one out or cut the rug (and believe me, many of them aren’t). In Vietnam, life sometimes calls for a song or dance, and almost the entire population is happy to join in. Don’t be surprised in Andrew Lloyd Webber’s next big production is set in a rice paddy.

Technical Difficulties

Two weeks ago I was about to write a post about how happy I was to to have full electricity, hot water, and a good Internet connection for a whole week, a first since my arrival in Dong Thap. Before I could make that post, however, I lost my Internet, and it hasn't really come back since. As a result, I haven't been keeping up as I like with the blog, and I apologize for anyone out there following along. A frustrating situation to be sure, but this is what life is like in the developing world, right?

I'm on the road right now, and am currently in Hue and will be moving south to Danang on Monday. I should be able to post from cafes, and will try to get a few pieces up before heading back to Dong Thap. Thanks for your patience.

Ca Phe Sua Da

The café is a central part of Vietnamese society. There is literally a café on every block of Cao Lanh, and many in the countryside as well. When I first arrived in Cao Lanh, I wasn’t sure how so many cafes stayed in business, but now I know better. Many, if not most, Vietnamese men go to a café every day, sometimes several times each day. Women go less frequently, but they are certainly welcome in café culture. Students and teachers meet up at the university’s on-campus café, and in the dozen or so cafes within ten minutes’ walk of the front gate.

Some cafes are fancy affairs, with drinks costing a whopping 12,000 dong (75 cents) or more. The upper-end cafes have four enclosed walls, air conditioning, TVs, sofas with cushions, and look like something you might see in the United States. Most cafes are much simpler. The wall facing the street usually doesn’t exist, and is open like a garage. The roof is typically made of corrugated metal. The walls are usually concrete, though they too may be made of corrugated metal. Tables and chairs are usually whatever the proprietor can put together, and they rarely match. One café across from the university has tables with pictures of Brittany Spears, N*SYNC, and other American pop stars from about ten years ago. Many customers prefer to sit outside next to the street, in spite of the incessant drone of motorbike and automobile engines.

Cafes serve a small variety of drinks. Some specialize in sinh to, yogurt-based fruit drinks, which are quite good. Orange juice with sugar is a favorite drink. Some café-goers like tea, and Lipton is almost all the locals drink, believe it or not. Lipton is so popular that the brand name is synonymous with café tea on order, although every café gives its patrons all the iced non-Lipton tea they want.

But the most popular café drink by far is, not surprisingly, coffee. Coffee would seem to be Vietnam’s national beverage. The nation grows a lot of it, and Vietnam is now second only to Brazil globally in terms of national coffee production. The Vietnamese drink their coffee very differently than Americans. Vietnamese-style coffee is much more like the European variety, which is probably because the French introduced the drink to the Vietnamese.

The coffee is served in a press, which is pictured with this post. The ground coffee is placed in the bottom of the metal press, and hot water is poured into the top of the press. The water slowly drains from the press and into the glass, which is usually the size of a shot glass. The coffee is really more like what an American would call a shot of espresso, and is very strong. The coffee is subsequently served with a lot of sugar. Most Vietnamese prefer to drink their coffee cold and pour their shot into a larger glass with ice. Many Vietnamese (and this American) prefer café sua da, literally “coffee with milk and ice”, in which case the coffee pours onto sweetened condensed milk. The drinker then mixes the coffee and milk and pours the concoction over the ice.

The purpose of the Vietnamese café is not really drinking coffee, though. The café is where the Vietnamese hang out with friends, where they chat and argue, where they relax. The Vietnamese never drink their coffee quickly, especially when compared to Americans, who down their coffee by the mug. I had to learn the fine art of nursing a coffee over the course of a long conversation. An experienced Vietnamese coffee-drinker can make his café sua da last for forty minutes or even an hour. Fortunately I had plenty of opportunities to learn my skills, as the teachers and staff of Dong Thap University were kind enough to invite me to coffee with them nearly every day. By the time I get back to the US, I may have a serious caffeine addiction, but I think the conversation has been well worth it. Besides, the coffee has been fantastic.

Biking in the Country

This afternoon I went biking around Cao Lanh. Sometimes I bike in the city itself, which I enjoy, but my favorite routes are those around the city in the countryside. Biking in rural Vietnamese is a truly unique experience. The macadam of the city streets slowly gives way to white pavement. Many of the country roads feel like I'm riding on one giant driveway through the jungle. But jungle isn't really quite the right word. The plants are tropical to be sure. The areas outside of the city are filled with palm trees, coconut trees, banana trees, and other tropical plants, but the roads are lined with houses. All the animals are domesticated, though. No tigers or monkeys here. It’s sort of like the suburbs, but without that artificial planning feel. These areas have developed organically.

Still, it's all quite a sight to take in. As I ride through the country, chickens strut along the street next to my bicycle while dogs rest in the shade. Children play in front of their houses, sometimes stopping to stare at me, the strange foreigner. Some of the kids cheerfully yell "hello, hello!" as I ride by. The adults go about their business. Some dry rice in the sun, right on the road itself. Others cut and sort wood, or peel fruit. Shopkeepers mind their storefronts. Almost everyone seems rather shocked to see me, but return my greetings of “xin chao”.

If I ride far enough the giant driveway turns into sand or mud. I’ve traveled pretty far, but I haven’t gotten lost yet, because almost every road runs parallel to a canal. If I have to, I can usually just follow the canal back to the city. Water is never far in the Mekong Delta. Given such a waterlogged geography, there are also a lot of bridges. Most of these bridges are of sturdy wooden constructions, but every now and then I’ll cross one that looks like it could use a few more boards. I see motorcycles with two or three people going across with no hesitation, so I figure my bicycle should offer no difficulty. Still, the creaking and the lack of railings don’t do much to boost my confidence. Occasionally I’ll see the famous “monkey bridges” of the delta. These bridges have no hope of carrying my bicycle, because they’re only made of two thin tree branches. The branches run parallel, one on top of the other, and are separated by about a meter and a half. The idea is that the person crossing the bridge puts his feet on the lower branch and his hands and the upper branch. The user clambers across with rather surprising speed.

Even though I don’t plan on crossing any monkey bridges any time soon, my bicycling in the county have been some of my best experiences in Vietnam. When I’m in the country I feel like I really get a look at how the Vietnamese live. As much as I love visiting places like Can Tho and Ho Chi Minh City, and as much as I’d like to see major tourist destinations like Nha Tranh and Dalat, I can’t help but feel that this is a slightly distorted view of Vietnamese life. To be sure, many people live in the cities, and yes, some people live at places where the tourists go, but I consider myself incredibly fortunate to be able to go where most Westerners don’t go and see what life is like for the majority of the country’s inhabitants.

Education in Vietnam

I’ve worked at Dong Thap University for two months now, and I’ve started to gain a better understanding of how the Vietnamese University system works. The most striking aspect of the university is how little the administration has in terms of resources. Most of the classrooms are reminiscent of the old American one-room schoolhouses. Students sit on cramped benches with small narrow tables. The only tool the teacher usually has is a blackboard. Most listening exercises have been played through the teacher’s personal laptop computer or CD player. I’ve seen two classrooms with a computer projector, in addition to the projector in the large lecture hall. There are two color printers on campus, neither of which had ink available when I asked to use them.

The number of students that these limited resources are stretched to serve is daunting. I’ve been told that Dong Thap University has approximately 20,000 students in attendance on a campus smaller than that of St. Mary’s College. The Dong Thap campus is not very large, and consists 10 hectares. To cope with the huge numbers of students, classes are taught continuously from 6:30 in the morning to 9:45 at night. There are also weekend classes taught to part-time students, so the campus facilities are almost constantly in use. There are typically about forty students per class, which severely limits the kinds of activities that can be used in a language class. Most exercises in the Pronunciation classes I assist with consist of the students repeating after the teacher in unison. Sometimes the teacher will try to correct pronunciation individually, but the number of students and the large amount of material that must be covered makes this sort of teaching impractical. As far as I can tell, the large numbers come from the Ministry of Education. Dong Thap University has very little say in the size of its incoming classes, as the Ministry of Education determines who gets in to which university based on the entrance exams. So far, the government has apparently been focused on quantity rather than quality, and so the number of students does not look like its getting lower any time soon.

Given the fact that most Vietnamese do not seem to like to travel (more on this in a future post), the graduates of a university tend to stay in the province of their university, or perhaps return home to where their family lives. In fact, it’s quite common for a university to offer a teaching position to their best BA graduates. While this sort of system does create an intimate community within the university, it also has a few flaws. First, most of the university professors only have a bachelor’s level of education. Furthermore, in the provinces, where the education level just simply isn’t as high as in the cities, the same level of teacher is retained time and time again. Dong Thap University is staffed largely by its alumni, meaning that the majority of the teachers have not had exposure to native speakers (until this semester, anyhow). Meaning no disrespect to the faculty, but this sort of arrangement makes it very difficult for Dong Thap University to raise its standards. On the positive side, many of the more experienced teachers are being encouraged to work towards their master’s degrees, which is certainly a step in the right direction, but the fact remains that Dong Thap has very little diversity in its faculty.

Vietnam looks to the United States educational system as a model, and tries very hard to emulate American colleges and universities. In spite of their hard efforts, their attempts are frustrated by several factors, a lack of resources being one of them. Perhaps more crucial, however, are the cultural factors. The Vietnamese simply view learning in a different light than Westerners. This cultural difference has provided more of a challenge than the limited resources, and I’ll elaborate more on this in my next post.

Sausage Dinner

Last night I was downtown running a few errands, so I decided to have dinner out. I went to Tu Hau, a restaurant I've frequented a few times. The past couple of times that I've eaten at Tu Hau I got the fried rice, so I thought I'd try something different. Tired of fish, not in the mood for chicken, and not willing to get the rat or turtle, I settled on the sweet and sour sausage. As I waited for my food, I sipped my Tiger beer and enjoyed the view from my rooftop table. It was dusk, and the lights were slowly coming on around the city. Lighting flashed in the distance, brightly illuminating the clouds in short bursts. I knew from experience that the storm was at least an hour away, so I would have time to enjoy my dinner. The waiter emerged with my entree, but it wasn't quite what I expected. Instead of sausage in the traditional Western way, the meat was in chunks, and looked like long bits of fat. I tried a bite and found the "sausage" to be very chewy. I flagged my waiter down and asked if this was what I ordered. The waiter, who spoke a little English, said that yes, this was what I had asked for. I must have not looked convinced, though, because he continued to describe the sausage. He pointed to his lower stomach, and drew his finger back and forth across in the general area where the intestines are. I looked back down and the long chewy meat and understood. I smiled politely, thanked the waiter, and asked for a plate of fried rice.

Soccer

I'm afraid that I have brought shame upon the entire American soccer community today. I was invited to play with some of my students this morning in a soccer match. I agreed to play, and was picked up at 7:45 and driven to the field by motorbike. "Field" is a bit of a misnomer, as the term implies that grass is present. Instead of a typical soccer field that one would find in the US, with lines, green grass and flags, I was presented with a dirt patch between two rusty goals. Imagine the infield at Camden Yards, and you're starting to get the right idea. On the upside, though, the field was surrounded by a net, supported by small tree trunks, so usually a missed shot didn't result in the players having to run for five minutes to put the ball back into play.

The pitch was small, and the Vietnamese at Dong Thap play very small sides, five on five. My team was kind enough to put me on the left wing, which is what I'm used to playing. Everyone got into position, and the game began. And that's when things went downhill for me.

At first, I thought things would go my way. I have the advantage of size. Remember that I'm at least a foot taller than pretty much any other Vietnamese guy thanks largely to my large lets. As a result, I can really send the ball when I need to, especially when compared to my fellow players. My long legs also help me outrun my Vietnamese opponents, at least in a long stretch. This advantage is mitigated by the very small size of the field. By the time I would get going, I'd be at the end of the field.

On a dirt field, the ball moves fast. It felt like we were playing indoor at points. Making things worse, the Vietnamese are really quick. To put it bluntly, I'm not. I didn't have much of a chance trying to get past the defense, so I instead tried to move the ball around and occasionally I'd try a shot. My efforts were frustrated by the fact that my teammates didn't know what the heck I was saying. I could yell "flag it" or "I'm on your wing" or "drop it back" all day, but the Vietnamese didn't have the faintest idea what I was saying. The Vietnamese also have a different style of play. I was taught to play a style of soccer that moves the ball around, passing backwards and across the field to set up the perfect shot. This strategy is not used nearly as much with a smaller field and far few players than the usually eleven.

But the biggest problem was that I'm out of practice. I can make up all kinds of excuses about the size of the field, the turf (or lack thereof), language difficulties, and differing strategic theories, but at the end of the day I can't escape the fact that I kind of stunk. My passes were off. My shots went way wide. I couldn't get the ball airborne. My traps were sloppy and the ball bounced off my foot.

My teammates were not very frustrated. I did manage to slow the attack, mostly because I'm a pretty big obstacle on the field. I took a sub about midway through and enjoyed the game from the sidelines because I was exhausted. On the sidelines, I talked with some of the spectators. Soccer games are apparently a pretty big deal, and a rare time where students from different majors meet each other. In Vietnamese universities students don’t choose their classes, and have all of their classes with the same group of about forty students all four years. It’s frankly a lot like American elementary schools. The social bonds that develop between the students in these classes are very tight, and students don’t seem to hang out with kids from other classes or majors. Each class, for example, has its own soccer team. I was playing with the Class of 2007 English B against the Class of 2007 Biology. Although only the guys play soccer, a lot of the girls will come to watch. The game is a big social outing, and I would estimate that about twenty people came out to watch the game at 8 AM

Despite my sub par performance I'm really happy that I played, though. I had a lot of fun, and I got a great insight to what my students do in their spare time. I have the utmost respect for the Vietnamese players. These guys don't care that the field is dirt, that their goals are rusty, or that they don't have a ref. They play out of love of the game. In my eight years of soccer refereeing, I can't think of many players that had as much heart as these guys. I'm also amazed at how well everyone got along. When the ball went out, the right team took possession, with no argument. If a player hit the ball with his hand, he stopped the ball and gave it to the other team for the free kick, no questions asked. Everyone played hard, and few guys went down every now and then. There were no hard feelings, though, no egos.

I was invited to play again, and I'm thinking that I might buy a ball of my own and practice in the afternoons. Hopefully just dribbling and passing will bring back some of my lost skills. I also need to practice sending the ball long on the dirt. Without grass to provide a little bit of a tee, shooting and corner kicks are a new challenge on the dirt. Hopefully an improved soccer game will be another one of the skills I bring home from Vietnam.

Geckos

I didn't realize that I would be getting some new pets when I volunteered to work in Vietnam, but, lo and behold, I have a whole assortment of little friends wandering my ceiling and walls. Geckos are everywhere in Vietnam; virtually every room in this country seems to have at least one gecko on it somewhere. They're cute little guys, and for the most part they're are useful. They eat bugs, which are also everywhere in Vietnam. Geckos seem to be somewhat territorial. They stay hidden for the most part in the day, but I think the same ones come out every night. I can identify a few of them through distinctive markings. One gecko is missing part of his tail (I call him Stumpy).

Geckos are not all good, though. They leave little presents for me in my bathroom, where they usually hang out. In fact, one particular corner in my shower is saturated with droppings, a virtual gecko litter box. Geckos aren't quite as loyal or cuddly as my dog Niles back home, but it is kind of nice to have someone (or somethings) to come home to, even if they crap all over my bathroom.

Culinary Adventures

So when I agreed to teach in Vietnam, I knew that the cuisine would be different. I had read that the Vietnamese do eat dog, and I expected a few exotic dishes. In spite of these warnings, Vietnam has exceeded my expectations on the gastronomic front.

Ever since arriving at Dong Thap, I have been invited to several dinners and luncheons, which is really quite kind of the faculty and staff. That having been said, the meals here are not like those in the United States. This past Monday, for example, I was invited to a luncheon by the school's athletic director to honor the opening of the gymnasium for the new year. I accepted, and rode to the restaurant in town on the back of my friend and host Tam's motorbike. We arrived at the restaurant, an open air building with plastic chairs and folding banquet tables. I shook hands with the guests, and took a seat.

The first order of business was the beer. I should add here that the lunch was at 11 AM. Any American rules of waiting until 5 (or even noon) do not apply in Vietnam. The Vietnamese love to drink, especially at official events. Everyone was given a 355 mL bottle of Saigon Special (which I think sounds like some kind of mafioso's prized pistol). As we waited for our food, I began to sip my beer, as I normally would. Every time I tried to take a drink, though, someone would offer a toast, and clink glasses. After a few rounds of this, it dawned on me that whenever someone at the table took a drink, everyone took a drink. As you might imagine, this led to a significant amount of imbibing by all.

Then came the food. In a Vietnamese meal, the courses are served in big bowls or plates, and the guests than take a few bits at a time and place them in their personal bowls. The first dish was lotus seeds, which was pretty good. Then came the peppered cuttlefish, a.k.a. squid. Now, I like calamari, and actually have enjoyed squid in Vietnam before. I've even ordered at a restaurant of my own volition. This, however, was no ordinary squid. This stuff was potent, and was so spicy that I found myself sweating. At a Vietnamese meal, however, it is polite for the hosts to put pieces of food into the guest's bowl. The more important the guest, the more food the host puts in the bowl. Being the foreigner, I am almost always the most honored guest, and my bowl was rarely empty of spicy squid. It is also very rude for the guest to not eat the food placed in his bowl by the host, so I found myself in the awkward position of continuing to eat the food that was making me mop my brow from sweating. I was happy to see the squid finally finished.

At this point Tam informed me that the next dish was crab, a Dong Thap specialty. Being a proud Marylander, I told Tam that I ate crab a lot, and liked it very much. The table was surprised and pleased to hear my enthusiasm through Tam's translation. I was quite shocked, then, when the "crab" looked strikingly mammalian. I asked Tam to explain this apparent discrepancy. He kept saying that this was crab. I finally asked him to spell the name of the dish, and he spelled R-A-T.

That's right, the main course was rat, field rat to be specific. I had read of the famous field rat of Dong Thap, so I wasn't totally taken off guard. Still, rat is rat. The Vietnamese dug in with gusto, and placed half a rat in my bowl. The Vietnamese eat half of the rat all at once (the head is removed), and then spit out the big bones. I couldn't quite bring myself to pop the whole thing in my mouth at once, so I ate it like chicken. To be fair, the rat wasn't bad. At the risk of sounding cliched, it tasted like chicken. It wasn't something that I would order again any time soon, but I decided that I would eat it again if it was served.

Which turned out to be a very good decision, because rat is what was served at the English Deparment's celebratory dinner that same evening. I thought that the second round of rat was a little overdone. At this rate, I'm liable to become a rat connoisseur, which is a heck of a skill to bring to the folks back home.

Rocking Out in the Mekong Delta

After a month of training in Hanoi, I've finally arrived in my new home, Cao Lanh, a laid-back city of 150,000 people in the Mekong Delta. The trip from the airport in Ho Chi Minh City took a little over three hours. After about an hour's worth of driving we began crossing a new bridge every ten miles, so many, in fact, that I lost count. This was my first hint that we'd arrived in the Delta.

I'm quite happy with Cao Lanh. I expected it to be much smaller, but its downtown is actually a hopping place. There's plenty of places to explore, and a lot of people were walking, shopping, and motorbiking when I visited at about 8 PM. The city has dozens of cafes, and a young population that frequents them. There are also several parks to enjoy. One, just off of the downtown district, lies on a small lake with fountains shooting water into the air. It's quite scenic, and I hope to visit soon.

Cao Lanh is clearly not used to Westerners. I've been told by Tam, my university host, that most of the town knows that there are two Americans at the University, and everyone is quite excited. Consequently, I feel like a rock star. I get stares wherever I go, and everyone seems to know that I'm the American man that has come to teach. Today, for example, I walked into the gymnasium with Tam to visit the physical education head. There must have been four hundred students getting ready for a meeting. About half of them stared at me as I looked out over the balcony. I felt like Barak Obama before a rally.

All of this attention seems to be positive, and I don't get negative vibes from the Vietnamese. Most of them seem curious and even happy to have me in their city. They return my smiles, and are put at ease when I say hello or xin chao. Furthermore, I'm not unfamiliar with semi-celebrity status. When I was SGA President a lot of people recognized me on campus. The difference, however, was that I also knew most of the people who knew me. Here, I really do feel like a rock star in that I have no idea who most of these people are. Hopefully my newfound celebrity won't drive me crazy. I would imagine that in time Cao Lanh will get used to me, and that I'll make friends among the student body. Who knows, maybe I'll regret returning to a life of anonymity back in the States.

A Visit to Uncle Ho, Part II

In addition to the mausoleum, my group also toured the Ho Chi Minh museum, which was not what I expected (par for the course in this country). The entryway had a grand staircase that culminated with a giant statue of the man himself. Upstairs, the bulk of the museum seemed to focus on the times of Ho Chi Minh rather than the life. His years abroad, for example, were a rather confusing hodgepodge of images of the Western world from the time period of about 1880 to 1930, with a few images of the likes of Voltaire, hot air balloons and the US Declaration of Independence. Ho himself really didn't make an appearance, but this visual cacophony was meant to succinctly describe about thirty years of the leader's life.

Symbolism seemed to be the key. The American War (aka the Vietnam War to those who remain stateside) was represented by captured American equipment and old North Vietnamese weaponry. Ho's development of Communist ideology was represented by a sort of recreation of the cave he hid in during World War II. The struggle against fascism, which really didn't factor that largely into my reading of Ho's life, was represented with a partial 3-D depiction of Picasso's "Guernica." The museum seemed more dedicating to describing the struggle of the Vietnamese people according to the Party Line than to describing the life of Ho Chi Minh. In my mind, this depiction made the museum all the more fascinating a place to visit, especially as the vestiges of Communism become less and less prevalent in the post-Soviet world.

A Visit to Uncle Ho

This Saturday the group visited the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh, which was a truly unique experience. The Vietnamese have a profound reverence for Ho. The West seems to view Ho Chi Minh only as a Communist, but to the Vietnamese he was a nationalist leader who freed the country for imperialist invaders. This dynamic is particularly important to the Vietnamese, who suffered for a thousand years under Chinese rule. Vietnamese independence is fiercely valued, and Uncle Ho is seen as having led to march to a home-ruled Vietnam.

Despite this emphasis on the nationalist side of Ho, there's no way anyone visiting his mausoleum or museum could possibly forget the leader's communist ideology. Red is splashed all over the compound (and yes, it is a compound), and hammers and sickles abound. The mausoleum itself isn't visible from the main entrance, which only adds to the mystique. The line wraps around the complex for a few hundred yards like lines for a roller coaster. Security is tight. Bags must be checked, and I had to go all the way to the beginning of the line when I foolishly forgot to leave my Swiss army knife at the door. Fortunately the line moves quickly.

Visitors to the mausoleum approach from the side. The building itself is quite formidable and is perhaps the size of the Lincoln Memorial. Military guards in crisp white uniforms patrol the ground, and stand unsmilingly. The line goes up a set of stairs and into the mausoleum itself. Visitors are asked to remove their hats, and my friend David was told to take his hand out of his pocket. Signs state that visitors must act in a solemn and respectful manner, but this doesn't seem necessary, as the Vietnamese themselves remain silent upon entering the tomb.

After going up some more stairs, we finally come to the man himself. Lying in a case in the center of a marble-walled room is the body of Ho Chi Minh. Visitors walk around case slowly. The body is displayed under a sort of eerie orange light. A red star and a gold hammer and sickle are inlaid into the marble wall behind the body. The body itself seems, well, a bit odd. To be fair, I can't claim to have much experience with people who have been dead nearly forty years, but Ho didn't seem quite right. Ho had a plastic kind of look to him. I don't want to make the accusation that the body was fake, or a wax dummy, but I must admit that such a revelation wouldn't shock me.

Perhaps more fascinating than the body itself was the Vietnamese reaction to it. Everyone was silent as we walked past; I felt like I was in a church. The reverence the Vietnamese show for Ho is incredible. This reverence translates awkwardly in the form of the Ho Chi Minh museum, but I'll write more on this next time.