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.