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.