Here I go again

Farewell Asia

2006-05-22T22:36:00.000+07:00

Almost two years have passed and I have seen, experienced and lived more than I could ever have imagined was possible. I left New York on a whim, interested in breathing in Asia, seeing the world from a different angle and giving myself an education that University could never have given me. I told my friends I'd be gone for six months to a year at most. Never would I have allowed myself to believe that it would be June 2006 when I returned to a city that invigorates me and one that I do call home.

What have I been doing for the last two years? The answer would take days but I'll summarize it for the impatient reader. I flung myself to a bustling, crazy city half-way around the world where I knew no-one and I made it home. Ho Chi Minh City bowled me over, made me question everything I've ever known as a "normal" way of life. I sat on chairs made for infants, navigated streets brimming with motorbikes, learned to ride one, had four accidents, enrolled in a teacher training course, worked ten hour days trying to prepare myself for the hardcore work faced by teachers throughout the globe, honed my English skills in order to teach them, refined my body language and acting skills while trying to communicate with my countrymen, traveled through an incredible country filled with enthusiastic, delightful, forgiving, hardworking Vietnamese citizens, made friends, missed my life in the West, grew accustomed to the dogs and cats and reptiles and rats being eaten around me and finally boarded a bus with my love and traveling companion and did a 5-month, 9-country tour of Asia.

Nothing I had read or heard of could have prepared me for the myriad of colors, scents, tastes, smells, sensations that the Asian countryside had to offer. From the temples of Angkor Wat to the beaches of Bali, we made our way in over 15 forms of transportation, stayed in 46 hotels, read over 20 books, spoke to hundreds, possibly thousands of unique, fascinating people of different classes, races, tribes and countries.

I walk away from Asia knowing what it's like to ride a motorbike, order vegetarian food in a foreign language, bargain for a hotel room, ascend mountain passes with a broken motorbike and a burnt hole in my leg, sleep in a hammock, laugh without understanding the joke, try all kinds of food.

But the lesson that I think is the most important, the most real, the most essential to my role in this world is that I learnt never to judge, always to listen, to always imagine what this person actually means, where they learnt their set of beliefs, why things are the way they are. If you breathe in the air of Northern Vietnam, eat the food of mountainous Java, swim in the ocean of East Coast Malaysia, see the poverty in rural Cambodia or walk the hills of rural Laos, the world ceases to be so large, you can understand it, believe in it and know that we all exist side by side in a tiny globe and the best we can do is respect eachother.

Farewell Asia, I will see you again soon. Your earth is in my blood and I will return. Until then, I leave you a kiss...

Back in VN

2006-04-08T17:43:00.000+07:00

After three months of traveling through South East Asia, Mike and I have returned to Viet Nam and it feels great. We had decided to spend the night in Sepon, a small town in Laos near the Vietnam border. I had my doubts, as border towns are never particularly lovely, and Mike seconded my feelings as we pulled into a dusty, poor and tiny town that looked like a nice stopover for lunch but not a place we wanted to stay overnight in.

Quick, think on your feet, off to Vietnam we go!!

After a brief budgetary skirmish with the transport thieves on the Vietnamese side of the border, throughout which we claimed (in Vietnamese) that "We are not tourists, we live here! You can not charge us this amount of money!", we made our way to Hue.

Arriving back in a country we've called home for nearly 2 years was an immediate relief, a fresh wind. We feel invigorated by our knowledge of the land, the language, the people, the food.

We've been running around like children on Christmas since we got here, declaring how nice it is to be on familiar ground. One would think we had arrived in our home towns.

To all those spreading (or believing) rumors that the Vietnamese are rude, thieving and rough; I urge you to come. Go to the markets and eat the local food. Bargain down the bus drivers. Smile and wave at the children. Keep your sense of humor while haggling for a price. Vietnam is lovely, it's priceless.

I feel like I'm home again.

The food of Laos

2006-04-07T17:43:00.000+07:00

Delicious, juicy, beautiful watermelon

The staple of almost every Asian meal

Fruit juice vendor ready to go

River moss...edible

Laap, a delicious blend of fish and fresh herbs

Dried fishies that we most certainly didn't eat

The land of a million elephants

2006-04-06T14:31:00.000+07:00

We've spent two weeks in this searingly hot, dazzlingly beautiful and frighteningly poor country and it's been a highlight of our trip this far. The scenery here is gorgeous, breathtaking and stark and there have been moments along the way when I have been mesmerized by the stunning landscape of one of the poorest nations on earth.

The ride to Luang Prabang will always stick out in my mind... our bus stopped every few minutes along hot, dusty roads where dozens of children crowded around our bus, barefoot, selling everything and anything on sticks. We slowly snaked our way out of the towns and into mountains with hundred feet drop offs on one side. Bare hills, scarred with fires, scorching sun and hundreds of years of neglect.

In Luang Prabang the temperature dropped and the evenings became cool as our town enclosed by grey mountaints faded into night. The textiles in L.P were amazing and I lost my shopping-cool to beautiful cotton skirts, silk bags, snug slippers, Lao coffee. At 7am each morning the monks that live in L.P arrive on the main street where locals and volunteers dish out their breakfast of sticky rice, softly depositing the donation into a gold urn slung over the monks' shoulders. The orange robes, shaved heads and soft, bare feet of the monks is an awe inspiring sight to see.

In Vang Vieng the tourism tone changes dramatically. Gone are the mist shrouded nights and the early morning croissants. Instead they are replaced by loud bars brimming over with rowdy backpackers and jaded locals. The street echoes with sounds of the sitcom Friends as each bar uses their DVD collection and TV set to compete for customers. Local food is non-existent; Happy Shakes are everywhere.

We had a great time in Vang Vieng nonetheless, spending our 2 days floating down the river on inner tubes along with every other tourist in town. The ride takes 3 hours but is easily broken up by the makeshift bars along the way selling the all too popular Beer Lao, snacks and Lao Lao, a formidable local rice wine. As you float around each corner you hear whoops from tourists flying through the air on rope swings and plunging into the cool river below. Vang Vieng is a backpackers escape from Asia but a nice break for a day or two.

Vientiane is a sprawling mess compared to the first two places but is still a city of only 200,000. The highlights of Vientiane were purely culinary. Our mornings began with freshly baked bread, cheese and a steamy cup of coffee at the Scandinavian bakery and continued in the early afternoon sipping Beer Lao by the Mekong and munching down a spicy plate of Papaya Salad. The occasional plate of cheese and glass of wine made its way into our dinners as the French influence in Laos is huge and therefore difficult to ignore.

And here we sit in the steamy, sweltering city of Savannakhet where there is little else to do other than admire the crumbling French colonial architecture and find respite from the heat in air conditioned internet cafes or our next stop, a bar along the Mekong.

Laos

2006-03-28T20:47:00.000+07:00

We've been in Laos 3 days thus far and it's great. Tranquil, beautiful, hot and cheap. There are wonderful temples and parks to visit, excellent Lao and French food, gorgeous views over the Mekong river at sunset and charming, gentle people to meet. We undertook a 13 hour ride sans air conditioning today which was a test in patience but the chickens in the aisle and the offered lunch of grilled snake and rat made it an interesting cultural experience. We're in Luang Prabang, a UNESCO world heritage town, right now. The U.N said it is the 'best preserved city in South East Asia' and it is indeed. If you've visited the following places, it's a mixture of Chiang Mai, Ubud and Hoi An. We're staying for 3 days before we head to Vang Vieng, a town famous for floating down the river on tubes. I love it.

Snapshots of our travels

2006-03-27T09:48:00.000+07:00

What we've been seeing

What we've been eating

Where we've been drinking

Where we've been sitting...

Tioman Island

2006-03-09T15:48:00.000+07:00

We just spent 3 days on one of Time Magazine's top ten islands in the world. It was heavenly and it lived up to its rating. Stunning white beaches, very little development, chrystal blue water and good restaurants. Very peaceful, relaxing and lovely. No words can show you how stunning it was so check it out for yourself.

Singapore's a "fine" city

2006-03-04T20:06:00.001+07:00

Singapore's famous for its fines that it imposes to keep this city in sharp order. I'd heard rumors of $500 fines for spitting, littering, eating in public and having standing water in your home. It was one of the reasons I was most interested to come here. I haven't seen anyone receive a fine or break a law and have had to monitor all my actions to make sure I'm not guilty of a crime but the signs are everywhere. I guess it's the price the residents have to pay to live in such an ordered, structured nation. Photos to come.

To the air-conditioned nation

2006-03-04T20:06:00.000+07:00

After our brief de-tour in Indonesia, we hit the road and decided to get back on track with our original itinerary. We flew, took busses, ferries and trains and eventually landed up in the air conditioned nation of Singapore. My senses and mind were immediately blown away. This is a clean, ordered, fast paced and modern city with more malls then you can imagine and a great public transportation system. Are we in Southeast Asia? Many of the stereotypes hold true. The streets are clean, the subway stops are spotless, shops and restaurants scream "Consume, consume, consume" at every passing customer, money seems to leak from your wallets and there is a feeling of sterility. But it's a welcome change to the mess of Indonesia and the air conditioning has been most welcome in this steamy part of the world.

A school project in Yogya

2006-03-04T20:05:00.000+07:00

As we made our way to the Sultan's palace in Yogya, Mike and I were attacked every which way by crowds of high school students trying to complete a project. At first the assignment appeared to be to pose in a photo with a foreigner and bring it to school but as we smiled and posed for our sixth straight photo in a row, students became more daring and began asking us questions. Eventually we saw that they had a list of questions to ask their "foreigner friend." I imagined the forty other students we had posed for forging our signatures and giving us names, professions and reasons for visiting Yogya. I also wonder what their English teacher will say when every student arrives with photo's of Mike and I with hundreds of different profiles of who we are.

Borobudur

2006-03-04T19:51:00.000+07:00

Borobudur is the Southern Hemisphere's largest religious structure and one of the Seven Wonders of the world. It lies just outside Yogyakarta in Indonesia and is a must see for all tourists in the region. We joined the "sunrise" tour which turned out to be the "early morning mist" tour after the sun had already risen but we managed to beat the crowds and get there early. The monument is enormously impressive, the attention to detail in the stone reliefs is fantastic and the many stupas at the top level of enlightenment is breathtaking.

Yogyakarta

2006-02-27T09:52:00.000+07:00

We haven't seen much of Yogya (pronounced Jog-ja) yet. We arrived in the pouring rain, rushed to our delightful hotel recommended to us by a Belgian on Bromo, ate a quick meal and fell into a much needed sleep after two full days of travelling. This morning we've been taking care of laundry, emails and photos and hence the slew of blogs I've written over the last few hours. I'll be sure to update more as the days pass but for now you can check out where we are here.

From Balian Beach to Cemoro Lawang

2006-02-27T09:50:00.001+07:00

The morning began in a peaceful chalet near Balian Beach in West Bali. The cocks were crowing, the cattle were lowing and all of this is true for those of you who think I'm quoting a nursery rhyme. After a breakfast by the river, Mike and I said our goodbyes to my Mama and sister and hit the road again.

Here I go again.

The helpful staff of Pondok Pisces put us on a bus filled with the usual scattering of people, chickens and parcels and off we went. Two hours later we were running towards a ferry that took us off the island of Bali and to Java, another Indonesian Island we decided to visit just two days before. Yet another bus and six hours later we were in the messy and un-charming town of Pondolinggo, kissing the ground and being thankful that we hadn't landed up off a bridge in a dried up river bed like another bus we saw on the way. In Pondolinggo we were persuaded to empty our wallets and pay enormous sums of money to reach the town of Cemoro Lawang, climb a volcano and make it to Yogyakarta by the next evening.

The most bizzare and nerve wracking time of the day was the 2 hour climb from sea level to the crater rim of Mount Bromo, a still active volcano that hundreds of thousands of tourists visit every year. The light was fading and the inside of the windscreen was fogging up as we wound our way up narrow pathways with hundred feet drops on either side. We climbed our way through the clouds with tree silhouettes shrouded in mist. Every twenty minutes we would pass through small mountain towns that looked like they were straight out of Northern England or Scotland. The whole experience was rather bizarre and, as we hadn't had more than two days to prepare the trip we were rather surprised to be climbing into the mountains. Upon arrival at Cemara Indah Hotel, we still hadn't seen another tourist since Balian Beach and were completely disoriented. It was 2 degrees outside, we had no idea where we were and were given the heaviest winter coats we had ever seen in our lives for our morning climb up Mount Bromo. Relieved to be anywhere but a bus we ate a quick dinner and curled up in heavy blankets to hide from the cold.

On Bali...

Setting out from Bromo

Climbing Mount Bromo

2006-02-27T09:50:00.000+07:00

Time has stopped. Knock knock. Why is there someone at the door? It's dark outside. Knock knock knock. Where are we? KNOCK KNOCK.

Ah, yes we're in Cemoro Lawang. It's 3:30am and since all three of our clocks have broken, we requested a wake up call (knock) before we climb Mount Bromo.

Yesterday was a long and arduous bus ride from Bali to a mountain town on the crater rim of the volcano we're about to climb. We have never seen our surroundings in daylight and we're leaving this town at 9:00am this morning. Sound crazy? Probably.

We're hustled into a jeep with two other tourists and together we huddle in the cold, dark night as our driver bumps and jerks our car up more mountains, more landscape we have never seen. We pull up to a string of souvenir shops and for the first time I feel content that there are other tourists here. Whew, we're not crazy.

Slowly the light begins to change and we see silhouettes of volcanos in the distance. Every few minutes a black cloud rises from one of the mountains and we realize that it's smoking. The sky turns a deep blue, then purple, then pinks, oranges and finally reds. There are four maybe five volcanoes in front of us surrounded by clouds and click click click go the cameras around me.

Mount Bromo and her sisters are a wonderful sight. Shrubs grow from grey volcanic rock and the whole area is covered in a dark, muddy soil. Once the sun was up we climbed the volcano, heaving our way through thin, wispy air and peering down into the crater with smoke billowing from the center. Click click click went the cameras around me.

The boys in Seattle

2006-02-26T11:05:00.000+07:00

If you skim through my archives, you'll notice that many of my posts are dedicated to the hours I spent teaching at ELS in Ho Chi Minh City. The highlight of my fourteen months there was the time I knew and taught the Vietnam Airlines mechanics, a rowdy, fun-loving, polite group of guys who moved to Seattle in May (?) to be trained by Boeing. One of my students regularly sends me photos of their time there and the one below sparked some fond memories. So here's a shout out to the VNA guys in Seattle!

Kuta

2006-02-25T09:42:00.000+07:00

Kuta really is a nightmare. Everyone who advised us where to go in Bali added a warning to avoid Kuta at all costs. I trust and value the opinions of people who told me this and therefore didn't spend a night in the overcrowded, tacky and noisy city that hardly resembles the rest of Bali at all anymore. But I succumbed to the idea of an afternoon there... bad move.

Walking down the street in Kuta is like being the target in a shooting range. Every vendor has their eye on you and sit poised ready to attack when the moment is right. This may sound like a ridiculous over-exaggeration but I was pulled or lured into stores by almost every vendor on the street, forced into a manicure, beaten down with offers to buy coconut oil etc. etc. Not only is the atmosphere nasty but the beach is littered with plastic bags and trash and touts. While the rest of the island is filled with a gentle, spiritual and calm feeling, Kuta is brash and loud. Take my advice and that of those who went before me, don't go to Kuta.

Staying in Indonesia

2006-02-24T15:17:00.000+07:00

Bali is paradise and, as everyone knows, it's tough to leave paradise. For the last few days I've been dreading the flight back to Kuala Lumpur, not only because big, dirty cities aren't my favorite places to chill but also because this is such a special place that will be enormously hard to leave. Yesterday, on a kayak ride with beer in hand, Mike and I were chatting about our tough fate, uh, flight (jk) and decided to change plans and move over to the islands of Java and Sumatra before we head back to Malaysia. This makes sense on a number of levels as it'll be cheaper travel, we won't have to back track so many times AND we'll get to see more of Indonesia and gain perspective on Bali's role in this massive country. So, for the next 10 days or so, Mike and I will be Java-ing it up before we head up to Singapore and then back to the land that is truly Asia.

Nusa Lembongan

2006-02-24T15:12:00.000+07:00

Just off the coast of Bali there's a tiny island surrounded by crystal clear water, hundreds of species of tropical fish, and the best snorkelling I've ever seen. Nusa Lembongan is a truly amazing little island without any of the hype and rampant development seen in the rest of Bali. It is, by far, my favorite slice of paradise where very few people ever venture. We spent two days lounging next to swimming pools that spilled over into the ocean, swimming through water so transparent that you can see to the ocean floor from a boat, eating delicious seafood and sleeping in open air bungalows with no windows or walls. To escape the chaos of southern Bali was one plus but the island is a paradise no matter what you want from it. I heart Nusa Lembongan.

Arak Attack-ed

2006-02-24T15:02:00.000+07:00

Some people have heart attacks, some have fainting attacks, some have panic attacks. I had an Arak Attack.

Arak, for those of you that have never ventured onto Balinese soil, is a locally made palm wine with a 40% proof and therefore not for the faint of heart. I've always tried and rarely enjoyed locally made liquor in Asia but Arak proved an exception. It's tasty mixed with lemonade, orange juice, honey or lime juice or a combination of all three. Our favorite and most common cocktail made with Arak has been the "Arak attack" in which liquor is mixed with lemonade and lime juice. We'd been having a few of those per night until a few days ago when I had a sharp pain on my left side in the heart area and then slumped down and fainted at the lunch table, giving Mike and my mom a huge fright. The doctor's diagnosis was good and he said I had just had an increase in food or acid which caused the sharp pain. I put it down to this: My Arak Attack attacked me and now I shall have no more.

Bali Mama

2006-02-23T15:23:00.000+07:00

The idea of getting old sucks. Young people dread it, old people complain about it and everyone seems to want to stop time when you're in your 20's. And then there's my mom who had a few days to spare between New York jobs and decided to fly herself over to Bali for a vacation in the sun with her daughters. She arrived five days after we did and has since been lapping it up, enthusiastically participating in and praising everything and everyone on this island. We've been eating delicious seafood, drinking to our hearts content and leading a very indlugent lifestyle. If I'm nearly as impulsive, easy going and content as my mom is when I'm in my 50s then bring it on...

Sun and snorkeling

2006-02-20T13:48:00.000+07:00

Bali is well known throughout the world as a paradise. While that word may be used fairly loosely, I tend to agree with this definition. It's a small island with lush vegetation, gorgeous temples, white beaches, delicious food and beautiful people. We've spent the last 24 hours lounging by the pool of a resort in Nusa Dua, a luxury beach town designed by the World Bank to keep the backpackers away. The sun beats down on our backs, we jump on the boat to go snorkeling when we please and tonight we'll be eating a fresh catch of seafood grilled over coconut husks while watching the sun retreat below the horizon. Hard to beat this paradise.

Bali Jungle Bathrooms

2006-02-17T09:36:00.000+07:00

Bali's got some crazy wild animals. And they seem to love our bathrooms. The animals aren't a surprise in such a lush, tropical climate on a small island filled with tropical plants and thick vegetation. But it has been quite a shock that we've had two deadly animals land up in our bathrooms.

First it was the scorpion, a small yet vicious looking animal, that we took over an hour to kill. We spent ages discussing strategies, rejecting tactics that may send the animal flying through the air or towards us, debating whether it could survive underwater. Finally we decided to drown the animal with five or more buckets of water that didn't do the trick so the scorpion's fate was left up to an empty beer bottle that rendered him no more.

While I was brushing my teeth the next night, I failed to notice a spider the size of my palm in the sink. As I bent down to spit, a movement caught my eye and I shrieked as the hairy creature scuttled towards me. Not brave or energetic enough to face another hour or decision making, I ran and summoned a hotel staff member who flicked and killed the spider with one flick of his wrist and a broom.

And if that weren't enough, I was on the toilet a few nights back when a bright green lizard the size of my forearm slithered out from below me and scaled the wall before I had time to react. At least the lizard isn't poisonous.

Bali arrival

2006-02-17T09:03:00.000+07:00

We spent our first night in Denpasar, the capital of Bali. Very few tourists ever come here partly because the average stay in Bali is two days and partly because there's nothing about Denpasar that screams 'paradise.' Our taxi driver grumbled his way to the city, apparently much preferring the garish mess of Kuta to a boring, congested city and dropped us off at Adi Yasa, a family compound turned hotel that is charming but dirty with cobwebs lining the ceilings and stains on the walls. We ate a fabulous dinner of grilled fish and rice at a corner warung near our hotel and hit the hay, dreaming of white sand beaches and cultural displays in Ubud. After a restless sleep I was amped and ready to get a move on to Ubud so we grabbed a local bemo and hit the road, winding our way through the streets filled with motorbiked, lined with stores and colored with blue skies and green palm trees. We arrived in Ubud, a town in the center of the island that is known as the cultural capital of the island with shops, narrow streets, art galleries and temples. Our tiny homestay is gorgeous, four bungalows with private patios facing a lush garden that creeps through our bathroom and down our walls (more to come on this later.) We heart Bali...

Penang to Kuala Lumpur to Bali

2006-02-17T09:00:00.000+07:00

We finally managed to tear ourselves away from Penang, a city we loved from the moment we touched down. We cancelled a beach trip that would have cut our Georgetown time in half, we booked our bus at the very last minute and eventually just left like a band aid tearing off. Quick and painless...

Backpacks on, walking down the narrow streets, the crumbling walls, the arched doorways, the lady boys on Love Lane. Boarding the bus and passing street stall after street stall filled with Indian treats, Chinese specialties and Muslim bakeries. Changing buses, boarding a luxury liner with padded seats that recline into a sleeping position, praising Malaysia for the first world transport it provides. Hitting the highway... through dense forests, past red stone boulders looming by the road, seeing power plants, high rise apartment buildings, palm trees as far as the eye can see.

And then into the big city, the roads widen, cars appear from nowhere, we're passing government buildings, shopping centers, train stations and city life. No more crumbling store fronts, narrow lanes and small town feeling. Kuala Lumpur is a huge mess of concrete streets, manicured lawns and vehicles.

We were only in Kuala Lumpur for one night, enough time to know that I don't need to spend much more time there. Western tourists are everywhere, the hustle and bustle of any major city I've ever visited is mundane and the traffic jams are a nightmare. We're heading back there in a week or so and all I want to do is duck my head in and move to the country.

Today we leave for Bali, two hours before we head to the airport. We need to decide whether it's worth forking out over twenty dollars to get to the airport or to try the budget option of a train connecting to a bus. We choose the latter option and sweat profusely as we envision not making our flight on time, heading back to the city to sort out an alternative. We ask the bus driver three times if we're going to the airport, not very encouraged by his grunted acknowledgements. Finally we make it, peel our backpacks off our sweaty backs and check in, excitement rising for a 10 day vacation in Bali. Two hours later and we're on board, noses buried in our travel guides, ears blocked from the pressure of flying. And before we know it we're descending into a mesh of reds and oranges, one of the famed sunsets of Bali.

Thaipusam

2006-02-11T17:52:00.000+07:00

I once watched a National Geographic documentary about a ceremony in which men put themselves into a religious trance and then were pierced with hundreds of hooks and poles through various parts of their body without feeling any pain or bleeding.

Today I saw it with my own eyes.

We happened to be in Malaysia at the same time as this famous and fascinating religion ceremony and we excitedly charged our cameras and set our alarm to take it all in. I nervously wondered whether the TV special I had seen had dramatised the events but it turned out to be more real and vivid than anything that a camera could capture.

"THAIPUSAM is an annual Hindu festival which draws the largest gathering in multi-racial Malaysia - nearly a million people in 2000.

Several hundred devotees spear their cheeks with long, shiny steel rods - often a metre long - and pierce their chests and backs with small, hook-like needles in penance.

Tourists watch in awe as metal pierces the skin with hardly any bleeding and, apparently, no pain as the devotee stands in a trance in the dawn light after weeks of rigorous abstinence.

Over the years, curious British, American and Australian medical experts have come to observe and speculate. Some think the white ash smeared on the body, the juice squeezed from the yellow lime fruit or the milk poured on the pierced areas may help to numb the skin. But most admit they have no answer.

The devotees say it is faith."

We watched ten, maybe twenty or thirty different men walk, dance or run past us with metal rods sticking out from their mouths, hundreds of small cans or limes hanging from their chests and backs and sometimes numerous hooks in their backs attached to ropes that another man pulls. The experience was frightening, awe inspiring, uplifting and hypnotic. It's hard to describe what it's like watching a 60 year old man with hundreds of piercings dance to Hindi music before rushing off with hooks pulling his flesh. This was by far the most exciting religious event I have ever seen. It really was like being pulled into the strangest, most interesting documentary you have ever seen and watching it firsthand.

Crowds gathered for the festival

You can hardly see the man himself

Back hooks drawing no blood

Dancing

The perimeter of Penang

2006-02-11T17:29:00.000+07:00

Penang is a small island, only 285 sq. KM, with a large array of places to see and things to do. Yesterday Mike and I decided to hit the road and cover the perimeter of Penang on a motorbike. Sam from "Sam's (expensive) Bookstore" hooked us up with a motorbike, advising us to buy a map of the island, something we stupidly ignored. Twenty minutes later, after driving around in circles, we stopped back at Sams and bought a map and embarked on our trip.

Again we were lost but this time it was a blessing as we snaked our way through narrow streets lined with street food stalls, wide highways lined with apartment block highrises, through suburbs where the wealthier have homes. Our first stop was the Temple of One thousand Buddhas, aptly named for the 1000 buddhas lining the wall of the Pagoda. The temple has fantastic views over the city and the largest bronze Buddha statue "of its kind" (not sure what that means) in the world. From there we made our way to Penang Hill where a cable car was first placed for the British who prefered to live in the hills to escape the heat of Georgetown. The Botanical Gardens were next in line where we strolled through manicured lawns, came across the largest lizard I've ever seen and terrified ourselves into thinking that a few monkeys playing were about to attack us.

After this we spun the bike up the East Coast where we ate traditional Laksa and spring rolls for lunch, across the North coast lined with white sandy beaches and high rise hotels, through the West coast interior where we stopped at a Tropical fruit farm and ate the sweetest fruit I've ever tasted, to waterfalls, through Orchards, next to dams and on top of mountains. It was beautiful, free, exotic, exciting and invigorating to see the whole island, the diversity of the landscape and the various sites. I wholeheartedly recommend a tour of the island to any prospective visitors.

Impressions

2006-02-11T17:14:00.000+07:00

We've been in Penang for 4 days now and I'm impressed. Very impressed. I love the quaint, vibrant city of Georgetown with its numerous temples, churches, mosques and museums. I love the mix of races living together side by side, Chinese by Indian, Indian by Malay, Malay by British. I love the variety of food options, the possibility of eating a Malay breakfast of Laksa with a spoon, eating an Indian lunch of curry, rice and Chapati with your hands and a Chinese dinner of noodle soup with chopsticks. The people are overwhelmingly friendly and eager to talk. We've been approached eight, maybe ten times by people on the street who just want to chat, not to ask us a line of rehearsed questions, but who want to ask us our opinions on their country, share their opinions on ours and offer up information. This is how we found out about the celebration of Thaipusam this morning, through an Indian man on the street who came up to us and said "Don't leave Penang" and then offered up information on what we were in store for. The only downside to Malaysia that we've found is that alcohol is extremely expensive. I can eat two meals for the price of one beer. And the internet situation is slow at best, hence this slew of blogs as I try to upload my 100-some photos to the web. High praise for Malaysia Truly Asia.

Like an Angel walking on the Earth

2006-02-11T17:11:00.000+07:00

We happened to arrive at the Kapitan Keling Mosque at the same time as prayer was being called, one of the five times in the day that men from all over the city put down their work and go pray. As we hesitantly walked in a man grunted at me and pointed at a rack filled with gowns. Another, more charming man came over and told me that as a woman I had to cover myself. When Mike asked if he should too the man scoffed and said "No, you are a man it doesn't matter." Biting my Western tongue and accepting his beliefs, I smiled as he introduced us to another man also with excellent English. After asking where we were from he opened his eyes wide and said "Ah, America. She is the God" We laughed nervously and he reassured us that he was serious. "America is the material God of the world," he said. "we all respect America for that. But She needs the Holy Quran and then She will have a soul and she will be like an Angel walking on the Earth." he insinuations were strong. Before we were able to launch into any kind of debate or discussion he excused himself to pray, offering an information session on the Islamic faith when he returned. Interested but not trusting ourselves to restrain from a debate we ducked before we were able to take him up on his offer.

A walk through Penang's religions

2006-02-11T16:38:00.000+07:00

After stumbling upon three separate galleries exhibiting a Global Ethics Project, an art competition and movement to promote the multi-cu;ltural diversity of Malaysia, we decided to follow the trail of the World Religion Walk of a Penang to find about more about the religious co-existence that is emphasized in this culture.

We walked through the Penang Museum, learning about the origins of the various races and religions that make up this society. We then wandered through the streets, stopping at Christian St. Georges Church, the Buddhist Kuan Yin Temple, the Hindu Sri Mariamman temple, Penang Islamic Museum, the Islamic Kapitan Keling Mosque and Chinese Khoo Khongsi Temple. See the full trail and the close proximity of each of these vastly different religion sites here.

Sizzling Malaysia

2006-02-08T19:22:00.000+07:00

Yet another morning before sunrise, another bag on the back, another day of feeling like I woke up at 4:30am this morning.

Props to Air Asia for being so cheap, so efficient and for bringing us to Georgetown on the island of Penang. We flew in this morning, grabbed a bus to the city and have been exploring ever since. Georgetown is a city of ancient cultures meshed together in a small yet vibrant space. As you walk through the brick streets and old buildings, you are first greeted by mosques and calls to Muslim prayer before turning down a street filled with Chinese New Year decorations. Yet another turn takes you to a street packed with Hindi clothing stores and another to a street lined with backpacker bars and book stores. We stumbled upon three separate galleries today, each one with an exhibition on world religions with a theme of the Christian phrase "do unto others as you with them to do unto you." Even though the mix of races here has been Malaysia's sore spot for generations, it seems like people are taking an active stance in changing this. We dined on Indian food, sat by the emerald sea, wove our way through Chinese markets and down narrow, ancient alleys. We're about to go eat dinner at a line of Southern Indian street stalls with samosas and curries for less than $1 a dish!

Pai

2006-02-07T23:03:00.000+07:00

We first heard of Pai through Minty, an eccentric and at times neurotic Kansas City gal who left her fiancee, her sheltered life for the crazy streets of Vietnam. She set herself up in a TEFL course for a month but never taught, choosing rather to wander through the region and meet people along the way. She told us it was a travelers paradise, a place where backpackers go for a brief visit but never leave. Some stay for the beautiful mountain scenery, the chilled out restaurants and bars while others treat it as a hippie retirement home where 25-year-old dredlocks are still accepted and a beard braids are cool.

I fell in love with Pai, the peaceful, gentle feeling of the town, the breakfasts where residents gather at streetstalls sipping on coffee and listening to the flute player play his favorite tunes. I loved our guesthouse that was more of a home with its rock garden bathroom and owners we almost never saw. The restaurant scene was diverse ranging from organic muslim bakeries to pad thai stalls on the street. At night the bars were jam packed with Thai and Farang jamming together to cover bands playing everything from the Stones to Bob Marley. I can easily understand how people could get sucked in. It was mellow, comfortable and enjoyable.

The Saigon Crew

2006-02-07T22:55:00.000+07:00

6 housemates, 2 students, 1 friend and a body with a rubber stamp for a head?

Splurging on Sushi

2006-02-07T22:48:00.000+07:00

We've been on the road for one month now and have been keeping to a fairly strict budget... eating at local street stalls, watching the beers, evaluating prices of water etc. etc. But there has been one constant culinary dream of ours which we have spoken about many times and looked forward to constantly.

Sushi, one of the most expensive cuisines in the world, is not well suited to backpackers on a tight string but we set today aside as a celebration of having kept the costs down and we went all out.

After finding a decently priced sushi bar on Silom Rd., touted "the No. 1 Sushi in Japan" we were about to order a decent 13 piece sushi meal when our small, smiling waitress pointed out the Party Set... 48 pieces for only $1.50 more. We went all out and ordered a meal twice the size that it should have been but we did well, guzzling down almost every piece of fish until we rolled our own blowfish-selves home.

SUSHI BEFORE

SUSHI AFTER

Photo's of our trek

2006-02-05T19:50:00.000+07:00

Trekking in Pai-radise

2006-02-03T09:45:00.000+07:00

The idea:

A 3 day trek in the mountains of Northern Thailand. We wanted beautiful scenery, good traveling companions, interesting guides and a good work out.

The setting:

After a process of long deliberation and weighing of ideas about where to base our trek we finally settled on Pai, a small hippie town four hours away from Chiang Mai. The idea was to escape the crowds of CM and trek in mountains away from the masses. Pai is in Mae Hong Son province, a place that has been dubbed "the Switzerland of Thailand."

The decision:

Every one you speak to and everything you read tells you to be very careful about choosing your trek, your guide and your companions. After a few hours of visiting various agencies we chose Bamboo House Trekking for the professionalism of the guide Mon and the route that he mapped out for us.

The characters:

Our guides, Mon and his two brothers are members of the Karen hill tribe, one of the few hill tribes that has lasted in Thailand. Mon is a professional, energetic and enthusiastic guy with a love for the outdoors. Having grown up in the mountains, he's able to sprint up hills that take an average person 30 minutes or more to climb. He's fluent in 7 languages including English, Thai and the dialects of the tribes in Northern thailand. For these reasons we thought he'd be an excellent guide.

The other members of our group included a fun and adventurous British couple who have been together for 10 years, married for 5 and want to get out and see the world before settling back into rural England and having babies; and a laid back, charming Spanish girl whose entrepeneurial sister has settled in Pai with her Israeli boyfriend and 2 year old child.

The trek:

Day 1: We set off on a strong foot, energetic and anxious to hit the road. We hadn't even been walking for 20 minutes when we knew we were in for a hard time. Mon and his brothers had started up a sharp incline at such an alarming speed we didn't know what to make of it. Before long we were all panting, sweating and groaning with disbelief. After a large swig of water Mike lost his breakfast and I began to get worried about the rest of our day. 7 hours of hardcore hills and climbs later, none of us could manage another incline. Mon urged us on, putting us to shame during our breaks by climbing trees, running around and play fighting with his brothers. Finally, with much relief, at around 5pm we caught a glimpse of the Lisu village where we were to spend the night.

Night 1: We were welcomed by the Lisu people, a hill tribe originally from Nepal who fled Burma into Thailand and exist as non-Thai residents in the mountains. We were obviously not the first foreigners they had ever seen although they caught curious glimpses of us whenever we weren't looking and engaged in deep conversation with eachother while glancing at us from the corners of their eyes. Here we spent the evening drinking whisky made from rice, chewing on Betel nut, an addictive powder that has ruined the teeth of many people in Southeast Asia, guzzling down dinner and dancing a traditional dance around a fire to the rhythm of an instrument none of us had ever heard or seen before.

Day 2: We woke early to the sounds of pigs grunting, chickens crowing and dogs squealing right outside our bamboo door. After a brief meal of coffee and toast we hit the road again. Our second day was vastly different from the first. While the first day had been one of ascent, ascent, ascent, our second day was spent crossing 30 or 40 rivers, scurrying across river pathways, over rocks, through waterfalls, under logs and through a dense and lush forest. We spent most of the day bare foot with the soft carpet of leaves beneath our feet, stopping for lunch eaten out of bowls that our guides carved from bamboo. While the first day had been a race to the top, this day was energetic, tiring and kept us thinking 3 steps ahead to the next obstacle in our path.

Night 2: We stopped fairly early and made our grubby way to a nearby waterfall where we squealed and dipped in the freezing water, rubbing the dirt off our bodies as much as possible. When we returned to our jungle camp our guides had already constructed a leafy shelter for us to sleep under, three separate fires for us to warm ourselves by and bamboo everything to live off. With their machetes they had made candle holders, bowls, knives, pots, teapots, grilling skewers, anything imaginable from bamboo. We spent the evening playing games by the fire, marvelling at our guides craftsmanship and drinking more rice whisky.

Day 3: We woke up aching from the previous day's scramble. A morning was spent lazing away at the camp site while our guides hunted and killed a beaver for their lunch, making us breakfast (not beavers!) and boiling water in bamboo pots. We started late and made our way through yet another landscape. While the first day had been mountains and the second jungle, the third day was through forests with dense trees, empty river beds and soil. We stopped for lunch and watched the guides grill their beaver intestines while we munched on sticky rice and cabbage for the third day in the row. Slowly we made our way down hills, through rice fields, across more rivers and then arrived back in Pai, startled by our new "urban" environment where tourists, cars and shops stood out in contrast to our 3 days of jungle.

The consensus:

I cannot describe how wonderful our trek was. It was really was one of the best things I have ever done. We hit the road running, pushed ourselves physically, learnt so much about our environment and the people within it and never once did it ever feel like a tourist trap. Our legs are now aching, we haven't managed to get the grit out from beneath our nails, but the memories of the trek and the people we went with are too wonderful to describe.

From the mountains

2006-02-02T17:48:00.000+07:00

We've just returned from a 3 day trek in the mountains surrounding Pai. None of us can now recall what our expectations were as we set off on the trek but we were all blown away by what we did. Three days were spent hardcore trekking up sharp inclines, wading through 30-40 rivers, scrambling down muddy slopes, through the jungle, rice fields, hill tribe villages and more. Our guide Mon and his two brothers led five of us through incredibly gorgeous and diverse landscapes, carved bamboo dinnerware, spears, pillows and more for us, taught us about hill tribe customs, led us through the Lisu hill tribe village where we spent an evening dancing and eating with some of the few tribes left in Thailand and took care of us as though we were his own family. I'll write a more detailed post(s) tomorrow when my mind is clear and my fingernails aren't grubby.

Pai in the sky

2006-01-30T16:57:00.000+07:00

We spent a long, relaxing today in Chiang Mai yesterday. Even though it's the second largest city in Thailand, the contrast between Chiang Mai and Bangkok is stark. While Bangkok is a massive, concrete, pulsing city, Chiang Mai is calm and relaxed with a manageable size to move around in. In fact, Mike read that Bangkok has 40 times the number of people and area that Chiang Mai has. We spent yesterday visiting a few of the 300 temples the city has to offer, looking through the Contemporary Art Museum of Chiang Mai University, eating delicious vegetarian street food, getting a foot massage at the side of the road and strolling through the Sunday night market, buying snacks of mango salad and banana-waffles on the way.

Today we embarked on the four hour journey to Pai, a sleepy, bohemian town some 200KM away from Chiang Mai. It's a funky laid back town with hippies, restaurants and trekking agencies where many foreigners come and never leave! We're embarking on a three day trek tomorrow with Bamboo House Trekking and four 18-year old Australian girls. Should be interesting! They're taking us through ethnic hill tribe villages, jungle areas and mountains where we'll sleep in the minority villages themselves and camp in the wild. Will be out of touch for a few days but I'm sure we'll have tons to report upon our return!

Teacher Alison at it again

2006-01-29T10:04:00.000+07:00

When I left Saigon I swore off teaching. I taught for a long time, I loved it for awhile, it is now a distant memory that will never be repeated. Oops, never say never...

Last week while roaming the streets of Battambang, Mike and I ducked into a small temple compound to check it out. A few minutes later a monk speaking fairly good English approached us and invited us to come speak to the other monks. The monks were very friendly, some of them sucking on cigarettes and watching us while others were asking us many questions, cracking jokes and asking us how to pronounce certain words. As soon as they found out that I was an "english teacher" they had their English textbooks out and were asking me all sorts of complicated questions about negative conjectures, participles and complicated grammar points that I really don't care to ever think about. I did my best at explaining grammar to them and, after an hour of a free English class at a temple in Battambang, we made a polite yet friendly exit.

Happy Year of the Dog!!

2006-01-29T08:46:00.000+07:00

A dedication

2006-01-28T09:47:00.000+07:00

Last time we were in Bangkok, Mike and I stumbled upon an awesome string of restaurants and bars that are, as yet, undiscovered by the hordes of backpackers in this farang populated city. The bars are cute, cozy and frequented by Thai university students, male and female alike. This point was enough for Mike and I to be enthralled by them, as the Vietnamese bars are mostly male-orientated, dirty beer dens.

We made our way back to this string of bars last night and decided to enter Bali Bar, a restaurant big enough to hold 20 or so people plus a live guitarist/singer and bongo drummer. We spent the evening watching, enjoying, absorbing, listening and at around 11pm it turned out we had been noticed. The singer who, until this point, had only sung in Thai cleared his throat and announced "and this song is dedicated to you two over there." We laughed, surprised and interested at what would be sung until we heard the famous Carpenter lyrics...

Can't Smile without You.

Koh Chang

2006-01-27T16:28:00.000+07:00

Over 16 months ago I touched down in Asia for the first time in my life. Less than 20 hours later I was on the second biggest island off the coast of Thailand, a nature reserve and tropical paradise called Koh Chang. I spent four days there with my sister who was recovering from a nasty case of Typphus while I was recovering from a 12-hour time difference spell of jetlag. We spent four days being rocked to sleep by the waves outside our bungalow, lying on the beach and enjoying the fresh and juicy food that the Treehouse had to offer.

Last week Mike and I returned to the same island, the same Treehouse, the same stretch of white, Lonely beach. It was a hell-ish day consisting of seven different modes of transport that began in Battambang, Cambodia and ended in Koh Chang. The four days spent on the beach more than made up for the trip... Mornings spent lounging in the restaurant/deck watching waves splash up against the rocky shore and munching on a unique concoction of muesli. Days spent ploughing our way through novels at an alarming rate, splashing in the crystal-blue waters of Lonely Beach and sucking down fresh Watermelon shakes, a blend of nothing but ice and watermelon. Afternoons spent braving the ice-cold bucket showers and leaving feeling more refreshed than we knew was possible. Evenings spent competing at Scrabble, downing buckets... BUCKETS of cheap vodka with a medley of juices that left us silly and giddy. Nights spent listening to the thump of music continuing through the early morning while the crescendo of waves pulsed away merely meters from our front door.

It was paradise, inexpicable paradise but after four days of doing nothing in beautiful surroundings we decided it was enough and headed up to crazy, throbbing, sprawling Bangkok where we are right now running errands and getting ready for our trip to the North.

Is this a nightmare?

2006-01-26T17:48:00.000+07:00

I've dealt with bad roads and bad drivers in my life. Vietnam's drivers are nothing to write home about besides to tell the family that you're alive. Nothing at all could have prepared me for our short but unbelievably scary ride from Battambang to the Thai border.

The manager of our hotel sorted us out nicely and organized a car to take us to a recently opened border post that very few tourists ever pass through. It was expensive but, we thought, worth it as it cut down on our travel time by 3/4 hours. The manager instructed us not to pay until we were safely at the border as the driver in question had been known to plop people down at the side of the road and do a 360 turn back to Battambang. He told us that there were to be no more than 3 people in the backseat and we had to make sure we could see the border post before we paid. We happily agreed to these strict yet rare circumstances and jumped in the backseat.

No less than 10 minutes after we left the hotel, we stopped the car at the side of the road where 2 people stood waiting for their ride. We watched increduously as the driver obeyed his instructions and instead squashed 5 adults and one child into the front seats where our driver sat on another mans lap. This is not a point to be politely brushed over... Our driver pushed his chair back, waited for another passenger to sit down and then sat on this mans lap where he stationed himself before driving the car. At first I thought it was hysterically funny but it soon dawned on me how seriously dangerous it was to have 6 people in the front, 3 in the back and our driver sitting on someones lap!

The road was fine at first but soon we headed off the paved road and headed onto a dirt stretch which sent so much dust into the air that the leaves and surrounding trees beside the road were completely caked in dirt and looked no different to the color of the soil. This was fine for a while but soon we began passing trucks and cars that sprayed so much in their tracks that our visibility could not have been more than 3/4 meters if we were lucky. We bit our tongues, held hands and watched as our driver sped through the murky air at a ridiculously fast pace. The climax of the trip came as we sped past another car in an attempt to overtake them into a haze of red dust and suddenly encountered a truck coming full speed towards us on a road not wide enough to accomodate all three vehicles. I shut my eyes, prayed to someone or something to spare us and somehow we got through it. I've never cried because of a driving incident before but after we passed the car and I realized we were alive, I wept.

An hour later things had calmed down a bit although I was still nervous about the roads ahead. I asked how long we had until we reached the border. When the driver replied that it was "right in front of us" I yelled with glee and began to pound Mike's leg next to me. I do think all the passengers in the car were somewhat confused although they laughed along with me. At the end of the ride our driver cheerfully collected his money and said "See you again" to which I jokingly yet emphatically said "No, you never will!"

Leaving 'Mbodia

2006-01-22T07:36:00.000+07:00

This morning counts as our fourth sunrise in two weeks. Both Mike and I have taken to fitful sleeping the night before an early rise. I probably checked the alarm clock four times between 2 and 6am this morning out of fear that we were going to miss the bus.

Perhaps today's apprehension is a result of the trip ahead. We're crossing over to Thailand from Cambodia where we have spent the last 2 weeks riding through the Phnom Penh streets, trampling through the ruins of Angkor and wandering the dusty, quiet roads of Battambang. Most people cross the border at PoiPet, a busy crossing with thousands of tourists to-ing and fro-ing every day. We are taking a different route suggested by our hotel manager, crossing the border an hour east of Pailin, one of the last strongholds of Khmer Rouge where Brother Number Two lives. Given the conditions that we've travelled under thus far in Cambodia, it seems like an adventure is about to unfold.

Will keep you updated...

Where we are

2006-01-22T07:34:00.000+07:00

We have made it to Battambang though, a sleepy city with run down French colonial architecture. I keep looking for Angelina Jolie but she is nowhere. Only monks in bright orange robes and Battambang's residents moving up and down these quiet streets in Cambodia's 2nd largest city where all of the store signs and advertisements are spray painted on small wooden signs placed near the road side and where pig's face is sold along with veggie's at the sandwich stands. This is one of the heaviest mined regions in Cambodia, one of the most heavily mined countries in the world. We are in former Khmer Rouge territory, the once heart of their post-1979 movement stretching from the surrounding countryside into the border region. Today the area is calm though last night's fireworks gave me a brief pause.

Read the full post here...

Update

2006-01-19T12:19:00.000+07:00

For more on what we''ve been eating in Cambodia, click here.

For photo's of our awesome Angkor trip, click here.

More on English as a Special language

2006-01-19T12:02:00.000+07:00

I've been thinking more about my post yesterday and the implications of Khmers being more fluent in English than the Vietnamese are. Two recent incidents have somewhat contradicted this statement although I do believe misspellings are more Mr. NoStarWhere's domain than mine.

A few nights ago we were walking down the street when we noticed a book vendor with a horribly misspelt sign that read. "Please buy a book from me to help the poop people." Our consciences kicked in and as we wondered who would may be brave enough to confront the situation to help this poor book vendor, Linda strode over to correct the error. The man listened to her for less than a minute and then, seemingly annoyed, pushed her out of the way to call for another customer. Maybe he didn't understand her but he certainly is a poop person for pushing her out of the way.

And yesterday, as we wound our way through the streets of Siem Reap, another unfortunate error caught my eye as a tuk-tuk ahead of me claimed to have great sock-absorbtion, a marvelous feat if it's true but a poop mispelling if not.

English as a Special Language

2006-01-18T10:54:00.000+07:00

Having lived in Vietnam for a year and a half, I am accustomed to dealing with non-English speakers on a daily basis. The biggest change my friends and family have noticed in me is my new-found ability to start up a whirlwind of action with my hands as I speak. As I talk of something large, my hands spring out and up in an effort to really show how big it is. When I talk of something exciting, my hands tend to flap around and my fingers flick in all directions. My action for a menu or book is an opening and closing of the palms, my action for "I'm a vegetarian" is pinching my flesh and signaling NO with a cross of the arms. I'm only half aware of it although the recent jokes that my animated hand movements have spawned have shown me how much I flap around while speaking.

Since arriving in Cambodia, I've been extremely surprised and impressed by the level and amount of English that most Khmers have. In Vietnam the language and awareness of its benefits is spreading rapidly but it is still a rarity to find a street vendor or xe om driver who can put an English sentence together. In Phnom Penh and Siem Reap, however, we've been amazed by the pronunciation, grammar and vocabulary that local street-food vendors, internet cafe owners, waiters, security guards, etc. etc. have demonstrated. These aren't all people who need English for their chosen careers, even bus drivers and fruit-juice-blenders have displayed a strong use of the language.

This is surprising to me for a number of reasons, one of which is the decided lack of English language schools that I have seen. Of course, one could always attend the 'English as a Special Language' School in Siem Reap or the 'Foreign of the Language School' in Phnom Penh but, as the titles suggest, I can't imagine how much English one would learn there. Jokes aside, the standard of English tends to be higher in Cambodia than in Vietnam and perhaps will allow me to decrease the flurry of activity that accompanies even my most basic sentence.

Other bloggers

2006-01-17T19:24:00.000+07:00

Mike and Linda have both been keeping regular updates of our trip and our experiences. While my blog has taken a personal-journal-style, Mike's is one of observations and perceptions while Linda has injected far more humor into her posts than I have. Check them out.

End of 50 Dinh Cong Trang

2006-01-17T19:16:00.000+07:00

Six foreigners lived in a home in Ho Chi Minh City. Some knew eachother from home, others met for the first time in a hustle-bustle of a city that soon became home. After a few months of housing tumultuous and terrible roommates, Linda, Mat, Tiana and Euan welcomed Mike and I into their home and there we lived happily ever after. Or until last month when the lease expired.

But the last three remaining 50 Dinh Cong Trang-ers stuck together for an extra 3 weeks, first in an obnoxiously loud guesthouse in HCMC where the turning of a key in a motorbike ignition could easily be heard from the bathroom, later in an equally loud guesthouse but this time in Phnom Penh, and finally in a quirky guesthouse in Siem Reap where we lounged in hammocks and explored the Angkor ruins.

And now with Linda's departure we've all gone our separate ways, four rooms have split into four countries and we'll no doubt never all be together again. But, sobs aside, it was a great time that formed long lasting friendships and many a laugh.

Angkor

2006-01-17T18:48:00.000+07:00

It's been three full days of trodding on temples. Linda, Mike and I rocked into Siem Reap on Saturday afternoon after a hell-ish bus ride consisting of massive hangovers, stomach cramps, no air conditioning and about 30 people too many cramped into the tiny bus. After relaxing for a short time at our lovely, quirky little guesthouse we headed out to buy our tix and join the tourist-circus-hoolapalla that's called Angkor. Our first experience was watching the sunset from a giant ruin of a stone temple, an evening shared with thousands and thousands of people thrusting their cameras around for the best shot of the evening.

The next three days were calmer, spent cycling through the Angkor grounds, absorbing the enormous and breath-taking temples built in the 11th-13th centuries. One city, Angkor Thom once housed 1 million people, an enormous number in comparison to the 30,000 that resided in London at the time. There are too many temples to see, too much to absorb but we tried our best to pack in the maximum number of temples our eyes, feet and cameras could manage.

The Angkor excursion ended this morning after a 4:30am wake up call, a one hour bike ride in the dark of the forest, a climb up and into a temple and a gorgeous sunrise sending pink streaks through the sky above the famed Angkor Wat, the largest religious monument in the world, a truly stunning site that will no doubt stick with me forever.

The temples of Angkor are unbelievable, mindblowing in their lasting complexity, beauty and majesty. Mythical, Mystical, Magical" was the cheeseball slogan I devised for the experience and it certainly was.

Sweaty, Tired, Satisfied

2006-01-12T15:43:00.000+07:00

We had a late start to the day after two hours of chilling by the lake, reading books, chatting, drinking coffee and guzzling down sweet, yellow, sticky bananas. Today we took it upon ourselves to see the city in an unguided, random fashion. Winding through side streets with young, naked children splashing in tin bowls; stumbling upon markets where the streets are filled with the scents of pungent, sweet mung bean cakes or blood and meat from open carcasses; hungrily searching for the street food stands that abound in Saigon yet seem to be absent in PP; strolling past snakes roasting on open fires. The street scene is more raw and in your face than it is in Viet Nam. All day we have been greeted by the sight of crippled or terribly poor people with very little besides the clothes on their backs and outstretched hands.

On our journey we managed to see Wat Pnomh, a temple on top of the sole hill in a city that is named after it. We climbed to the top where we observed how much more colorful and ornate the temple is than the ones we've seen in Viet Nam. We spent more time watching the monkeys playing, the elephants eating, the children going about their daily lives before getting lost in the city, generally aiming for the Royal Palace but really having no idea where we were headed. After filling up on Amok, fish in a yellow curry and Phat Khmer, a noodle dish we ordered just because we liked the name, we wandered through the ornate Royal Palace, observing the wealth and buildings, the Buddha's encrusted with enough gold and diamonds to feed the entire country and finally made our way home with sore feet, satisfied with a day of exploration in Phnom Penh.

A night on the town

2006-01-12T13:45:00.000+07:00

Meng picked us up 30 minutes late but right on time according to Asian tradition. It was a great reunion for him and Mike, not having seen eachother for at least a year and not having spent quality time together for five or more. Meng and his friend then took us to a local Khmer restaurant where we gorged ourselves on fish with black bean and ginger, grilled squid, vegetables and rice. Mike requested that he take us to eat corn, to relive an experience he had had four years before in the rice fields outside Phnom Penh but instead we were driven to a local amusement park where we lounged in hammocks, ate corn with pickled cabbage and smashed lotus flower seeds on our foreheads, giggling like children as they let our their 'pop!' From there we moved onto to a local beer garden where we caught up, drank up and observed the local tradition of having a 'beer girl' served up with the drinks. Our companion was a Vietnamese-Khmer with an expressive face that contorted into expressions I had never seen a human being make before. Late that night after many beers and shared jokes, we retired to 'Happy's on the Lake' to rest up before yet another day in Phnom Penh.

Phnom Penh

2006-01-11T18:57:00.000+07:00

As we made the journey from the border to the capital, I was startled by the distinct difference between neighboring Vietnam and Cambodia. While Vietnam's border post is distinctly Soviet and harsh in its appearance, Cambodia's entry building is reminiscent of an Angkor temple, far grander and artistic than what we had just passed through. While the streets of the former are lined with crammed together cement block homes, garages and businesses, Cambodia's streets offer extended views of rice fields as far as the eye can see. As we entered Phnom Penh I was struck by how much space there is in contrast to my previous home. Buildings are larger, lower and a fair distance separates many of the buildings. I've taken an immediate liking to this city with its bustling streets, friendly people, colonial feeling.

Upon arrival we grabbed a Tuk Tuk down to the lake where we checked into our $2/night room, a small yet clean room sans a window or en suite bathroom much to Mr. NoStarTravel's dismay. The highlight of 'Happy's on the Lake' is a relaxed backpackers cafe with hammocks, couches and laid-back travelers relaxing by the side of Boeung Kak lake. I love it.

After a slow start to the morning, we hit the road. Our motorbike drivers sped us away, traversing their city while pointing out various sites along the way. Our destination was Tuol Sleng, the former Khmer Rouge S-21 Prison, that now serves as a Khmer Rouge genocide museum. Having read up on Cambodia's horrifying recent history, I was prepared to see some startling relics but nothing could have prepared me for the tiny, cement prison cells, the skulls, the torture chambers, original photographs of the 10,499 adults and nearly 2,000 children who entered the prison while only seven people left alive.

Some excerpts from the information booklet:

The prisoners were kept in their respective cells and shackled with chains fixed to the walls or the concrete floors. The prioners were required to abide by all the regulations. To do anything, even to alter their positions while trying to sleep, the inmates had first to ask the permission from the prison guards. Anyone breaching these rules was severely beaten. Young children ranging from 10 to 15 years of age were trained and selected by the KR regime to work as guards. Most of them started out as normal before growing increasingly evil. They were exceptionally cruel and disrespectful towards the prisoners.

After this quieting experience our drivers whisked us off to the Killing Fields where the prisoners were taken to be executed. I realized how small PP is when we found ourselves on a dirt path surrounded by cows, bamboo huts and rice fields within 10 minutes of the heart of the city. We continued for 15 km of bumpy and, at times, non-existent road. Trucks rolled past, sending clouds of red dirt through the air as we crossed soiled rivers lined with homes on stilts, passed young children playing in the fields, hair salons in bamboo huts 5-feet tall and the prevalent signs of the Cambodia People's Party. We soon made it to the Killing Fields, home to mass graves where almost 9,000 people fell to their deaths. The graves have been well preserved and, as we stepped over bones protruding from the earth and tattered clothing lining the pathways, a cloud of sadness passed over me as I imagined the terror so many people experienced as they were led to their deaths.

It's difficult for me to imagine how such a brutal regime has existed in recent history. Over 2 million people were killed, almost a third of the population, many of whom were the life and blood of the country. Doctors, Teachers, anyone with an education, people who wore glasses, anyone from the former regime or any relation to someone in it were killed. The statistics are terrifying yet real.

After a morning of surreal sites, the three of us headed to the market where we sampled various food. Completely helpless with our collective three Khmer words, we asked for vegetarian food by pinching our flesh and crossing our arms, for fish by squiggling our arms in the air and we were successful with both requests. A deep fried, doughy dumpling filed with spring onions and spinach and a bowl of light noodle curry set us back by less than $0.60 a piece. Unbelievable.

And now, as the sun yet again dips below the lake, setting the sky into an orange and pink collage, we're getting ready to meet Meng, an old friend of Mike's and a lively, energetic Khmer who's excited to take us out on the town.

Journey out of Saigon

2006-01-11T17:52:00.000+07:00

After a heartfelt and nostalgic goodbye to a city that we once called home, Mike, Linda and I boarded a bus on a backpacker street in Saigon and came to Cambodia. While I buried my nose in a fantastic memoir of a Cambodian orphan who lived through the Khmer Rouge terror, Mike reminisced of our time in Vietnam and composed a wonderful blog post in his mind. Three hours later and we were at the border. I made it through fairly quickly and then watched as ten, maybe twenty young men slipped money into an official's hand and then got sped through the customs line and then slipped some more money into their passport for their official stamp. Standing their ground of morality, Linda and Mike waited for 30 or more minutes as this process took place.

And then we were gone, out of Vietnam and no longer able to claim that our home is a massive, seething, bustling city called Ho Chi Minh City. None of us have careers, obligations or bills to pay and we've hit the road. In 10 days we'll say our farewells to Linda and then Mike and I will continue on for four months through Cambodia, Laos, Malaysia, Thailand, Singapore, Indonesia, Myanmar. In May we'll return to the States as seasoned travellers with a well-rounded view of Southeast Asia. Until then, stay posted to Mr. NoStarTravels and the blog you're on as you read this!

Hitting the road

2006-01-11T17:06:00.000+07:00

After 16 months of living in Vietnam, I am finally ready to move on. My time has been exquisite and challenging, thrilling and exhausting, beautiful and humbling. I have grown very much as an individual and citizen of the world and have seen, smelt and touched more in this vibrant country than I ever would have imagined was possible.

Here I had many firsts and I want to share a few with you...

I touched down in Asia, drove a motorbike, broke my foot on a motorbike, taught English as a Second Language, held down my first 9-5 job in a profession I had never considered entering, experienced a world of silent chattering where discourse is abundant but I barely understand a word, experienced poverty on a level unparallelled by anything I have ever seen, seen joy amid poverty, a humbling experience, tasted food that is enriching to the senses, watched people eating food that would shock and horrify those with weaker tastes. In all I've led an independent, furious and enthralling lifestyle that will end in one hour.

I leave Saigon with my boyfriend Mike and another friend. Together we will bus our way over to Cambodia where we'll explore a wholly new culture, see the Ancient Temples of Angkor Wat and visit a friend who lives there.

Goodbye Saigon! To those I'm leaving behind and those that left before me, I wish you all love and thanks for helping me live 16 exquisite months in a wonderful country.

Westerners, Go Home

2005-10-23T14:12:00.001+07:00

After a year and two months of living in Vietnam, I feel like a local. Not a local in the sense that I speak the language and blend into the crowds (both of which are certainly not true) but that life on the streets no longer stops me dead in my tracks with awe and surprise, I can navigate the city as though I have lived here many years, the stares and the strangeness of this environment are no longer daunting. But as always, just as I feel accepted and assimilated, reality swings by to knock me in my face.

Yesterday as Mike and I were ending our exploration through the unknown streets and neighborhoods of this sprawling city, we heard a loud noise and a shout from across the street. We looked over to see an elderly man almost fall off his bicycle while he stared in our direction with an angry expression on his face. I heard the tail end of a yelled "go home!" Mike, being far better at Vietnamese, pieced together the old man's outburst and we realized he had yelled "Westerners, Go Home!" We were absolutely amazed. In our combined three years in Vietnam, neither of us have ever encountered hostility in any form.

The Vietnamese have always been so warm, accepting and hospitable to us as foreigners, Westerners, strangers to their culture. The man's age was an indication that he is a relic from the past when many Vietnamese held negative views of foreigners in their country. His personal story will never be known but he served as a reminder that there is always an exception to the rule and that for all the Vietnamese that are more than happy to have us here and share stories about their culture in exchange for stories about ours, there lies someone who is not as welcoming or forgiving. As comfortable as I am, I must still remember that we are foreigners in their land.

Pig Blood is Yummy

2005-08-14T12:44:00.000+07:00

Being a vegetarian has been a challenge since I moved to Vietnam. While a Buddhist influence has established a fair understanding of not eating meat, the majority of Vietnamese fail to understand my choice. Common questions about my veggie diet include:

"Are you on a diet?"
"What religion are you?"
"But you still eat pork, right?"
"Why?"

Time and time again I have had to explain to friends, students, waitresses and chefs that I still consider Pig Meat to be on my list of No-no's. The idea seems baffling to them. Pork to Vietnamese is like Bread to Americans. It's a natural compliment to any meal, bland enough that it won't heavily influence a dish but tasty enough that it will increase enjoyment.

A prime example of this phenomenon occured a few nights ago. My housemates and I went out to a new, trendy restaurant in the tourist area called "Everything is Bun." Bun Noodles are a Vietnamese staple and come in a variety of dishes, all of which are served by our restaurant choice. After surveying the menu, vegetarian Linda and I realized we had 2 choices: shrimp wrapped in rice paper or Crab Noodle Soup. Linda went for the former, I for the latter.

First comes the rice paper dish, beautifully arranged with a slither of pork delicately poised between each shrimp. Not wanting to cause a scene, Linda picked out her meat and gave it to carnivore Matt. When my dish arrived, however, it became a little more difficult. Floating in my noodle and crab soup were three red, gelatinous looking lumps which our waiter promptly identified as congealed pig blood.

"It's delicious," he said.

"An chay (I'm vegetarian)" immediately came out of my mouth.

"Religion?" he asks.

I confirmed that this was true just to ease the understanding of my case.

The waiter proceeded to convince me how delicious the flavor of the blood was. After minutes of refusing to eat it, he took my bowl away only to return with the same soup minus the congealed blood minutes later. Arguments and pleas and cries of vegetarianism were exchanged back and forth until I really had no option except to go ahead and chow down my noodles flavored with pig bones and blood. I could really only congratulate myself for being so easy-going for I know many people who would gag at the idea of succumbing to eating pig-blood-noodles.

In the end, I can not agree with the waiters promise that pig blood is yummy. I spent much of the next day in the bathroom getting rid of what my body most certainly didn't agree with. And so ended yet another debacle with my vegetarianism.

Return to Blogger

2005-08-06T12:18:00.000+07:00

Appalling behavior, I know. I promise, promise, promise and don't deliver. I guess that must fall under the heading of "Blog Tease." In actual fact, I've had time to blog. There were days left wide open when I could have sat down and blogged for hours on end but I didn't. I can't explain why, I'm not even sure why. But I'm still around and am again invigorated by the idea of Blogger. My new found enthusiasm is partly due to some of my housemates' entertaining and excellent posts that I could never begin to compete with if I tried, and partly due to an encounter this morning at my yoga studio that reassured me that, even if my sister doesn't read my blog, there are some people who still do. I'll briefly explain... Some guy named PJ (CJ??) was researching Vietnam and TEFL International and kept on coming across my blog and decided I probably had something to say. After a 2 minute conversation he managed to put 2 and 2 together and thanked me for my insight and information regarding the ESL teacher life out here.

So...

An enormous amount has happened over the last month. Reunions with friends, families, past lives, past experiences, past homes. And yet everything was so familiar, so comfortable, so one year ago wonderful. I left Saigon and S.E.A in general very apprehensive of what I would encounter in New York, how I would feel being around so much of what I once loved. I was curious as to how I would feel. Would I return and immediately loathe my surroundings, the energy of the Western world, the pop culture hype? Would I return and be recharged and drawn in by the dynamic and throbbing city that I once called my home? When it came down to it, the anticipation fell flat on its face as I arrived in a place that I loved and still do love but that I have left for a foreign, exotic and challenging lifestyle in Vietnam. It felt natural to be back, it felt natural to leave but I loved every moment of it and was enthralled to be in New York.

The first change I noticed was the streets. While the streets of Vietnam are hazardous and raw, crazy and confused, chaotic and alive, the streets of New York seemed tame and lifeless by comparison. Cars (cars!!) waited patiently for lights to change, for pedestrians to cross, for order to unfold. Pedestrians stuck to their side of the road, no vehicles ventured onto the sidewalks. Heavenly, quiet, controlled order seemed to be the name of the day. (to you New Yorkers who are currently raising loud objections to the peace of the NY streets, come to Saigon and then we'll engage in talks)

It was only once I ventured inside to the restaurants, clubs and bars that I realized where New York is overwhelming. Thousands, millions of intelligent, good looking and plugged in internationalites leave the streets of New York and enter the public spaces where commotion reigns. Ideas, thoughts, theories, philosophies, plans, desires, dreams and feelings are spewed out onto tabletops, over the music, in the hallways, and they land in crevices of your mind, brain and mouth that you never imagined existed. Leaving a bar or restaurant in the city, one feels drained and overworked, challenged and invigorated by pure energy. Fine, I may be overexaggerating right now but it overwhelmed me when I first arrived. Having lived in a country where I can not communicate with 99% of the population, being in a place where everyone is enslaved by English was quite an experience.

I spent over 2 weeks in the city itself, 2 of the weeks in northern Wisconsin, 1 day in Southwestern Ohio and 2 full days in upstate New York. It was 12 flights, over 100 hours and lots of pages of reading worth of travel. It was wonderful to be with my loved ones, meet Mike's loved ones and add some more to the list.

Most of what I walked away from New York with was perspective. I feel like I figured out more of exactly what I'm doing out here. I realized I'm not a teacher by profession but that I'm young and what I'm learning from my current career is more than worth it's weight in gold. I realized that I do want to penetrate "the real world" at some point but that I'm more than content to live away from everything real for the time being. I realized how much I love and treasure my family and friends and that I miss them dearly while I'm away but that they'll always remain part of my life, and what's more important is to be doggedly pursuing my own dreams and life. By doing this, I can more fully contribute to the lives of those around me.

And now I've returned, happy to be back in Saigon, with familiar faces and in a place I know I will only call home for a few more months. My life is comfortable and enjoyable and challenging and it's great to be living something many people call dreams.

As I told my housemates in an email a few days before returning, "I'm confident and proud of all of our lives and how weird they are compared to everyone else's. The looks and questions and surprise and admiration that I've encountered
about what we're doing has assured me that if anything, we're living an adventure and that's what it should be all about."

I have left and am leaving

2005-06-27T19:37:00.000+07:00

I write this from a Bangkok internet cafe, 4 days after leaving Vietnam for the first time in nine months. In leaving I have experienced (in no particular order):

attempted theft
excitement
tears
smiles
a deeper understanding of Vietnam and my connection to it
the darker side of nighttime Bangkok
the slick scene of nighttime Bangkok
police station corruption
crazy drivers
delicious food

...and everything in between.

As you read this I will most probably be on an airplane heading to New York City where I'll blog each event for you, one by one.

For those of you I've left behind, I love you and will see you soon.

For those of you I'm coming to see, I love you and will see you sooner.

Au revoir and Bon Voyage Alison!

APU Students

2005-06-07T16:00:00.000+07:00

Fifty Vietnamese students are flying to Seattle in the next week to start a new life. None of them, barring 2 or 3 students, have ever traveled abroad and they are now leaving their family, home and country for four years. Many of them have asked me what to prepare before they leave.

"Warm clothes..." (obviously)
"Photo's of your family..." (kinda goes without saying)
"A camera?" (Uh, duh!!)

But it's become very clear that these aren't the items that we need to inform them of. It's basic things like how big carry on luggage should be, whether it's OK to take medicine into the country, how they'll be able to buy food, where they'll be able to live etc. etc. that is really plaguing them.

Traveling is such a natural part of my life that I no longer think about what to pack or what to do. I'm jealous of and nervous for all those boys who really don't know what they're about to enter into. Most of them have worked on airplanes for many years but few know the feeling of surging into the skies. They've all watched American movies and spoken to U.S citizens but none of them have ever seen an American street, eaten American food, looked at American people. I can not imagine the apprehension and nerves that must accompany their trip. My heart will fly to Seattle tomorrow. I miss them a lot already. They've been such an integral, wonderful part of my time in Saigon and APU is feeling deserted and empty without their crazy smiles and energy.

Bon Voyage Guys and keep in touch!! Here are a few photo's of your time at APU... Chao!

Mui Ne

2005-06-03T14:02:00.000+07:00

And we're heading back. Back to the long white beach, the beating sun and the G & T's in the swimming pool. Our herd of eight will be a lot smaller this time as only three of us head up to small coastal town five hours from Saigon. I can't wait to chill in the bungalows, the lounge chairs, the sunscreened mornings. Mui Ne has become one of my favorite places in the world. It's a slice of paradise adorned with relaxation, delicious food, beautiful landscapes and sun, sun, sun. Off to Mui Ne we go...!!

And the award goes to...

2005-05-26T13:08:00.002+07:00

Alison "Hi, my name is Alison Bradley and I watch American Idol."

Chorus: "Hello Alison"

I woke up early this morning to tune into the show live. An hour ago a colleague was reading the news online and called out, "Guess who won American Idol?" I found myself climbing on the desk with excitement and dread. Did I want to find out or should I wait for the grand finale this evening? They've got me hooked.

Yes, it's embarassing but true. I tuned in about five weeks ago and have since not been able to tear myself away. I find the episodes engaging yet tacky, the contestants appalling yet catchy and the competition itself ridiculous. But I'm one of the millions of people who tune in every week for a little dose of who the next American Idol might be.

This addiction (yes, I've said it) entirely contradicts my own perception of who I am. Every week I'm mortified when asking my roommates to change the channel at idol time, or when I find myself discussing the possible outcomes. When did I become this...lame?

I know there are no fingers to point, no blame to cast so here I am admitting that the show sucked me in and I'm waiting for the results. And hopefully when the competition is over, I can spend some time re-connecting with the non-American-idol-addict-Alison.

June

2005-05-24T15:59:00.000+07:00

June is drawing closer in Ho Chi Minh City and with it has come the furious mid-afternoon downpours. The sky opens and within seconds Vietnamese motorbikes are at the sides of the road with frantic drivers pulling their poncho's over their heads. And the city is transformed. Plastic, motorized ants glide the streets and, while the rain comes down from the clouds, muddy water sprays from the ground, soaking the shoes of Saigon.

The horizon of June has lunged my students into laziness. Once bright eyed models of hard work and diligence, the promise of tomorrow and the American skyline has rendered them unmotivated and tired. Tired of the 6 hour days and crack of dawn mornings, tired of the feeling that they're never actually leaving, tired of our classes and our work. I hope they leave soon. I am severely attached to them but do not want to enforce education anymore. It's time for them to go.

While the airports of June wink at my students from afar, they also hurtle me to the U.S. The smells and sounds and mayhem of Saigon will recede for a month while I tiptoe through the streets of New York and experience what once was. The land seems as foreign to me right now as Vietnam did 9 months ago. What to expect? Who knows...

And with the calendar of June, comes the midpoint of the year, the time when we all sit back and ponder what happened to the days, how the pages flipped so fast and whether it's all been real or not. My June of 2005 will signal a healed bone, a broken friendship, balmy evenings and frigid nights, the teaching of something, the un-learning of everything, the awe of Saigon and the fear of being foreign. But above all it signals a discovery, a process of uncovering that I have only just begun.

Article to be published in TEFL Magazine

2005-04-12T16:45:00.000+07:00

It's 7:30am and I'm approaching the staff room of ELS Language Center in Ho Chi Minh City with the last minute intention of devising a game for my students. A thunderous, "Good morning Teeeaaaccchhherrr!" explodes at me as six of my uniformed students bound down the hallway and onae younger boy pokes another before they rush into a classroom to get their energy out before class begins.

It's a long day for both the teachers and students. Six intensive hours pass by as we work our way through complex grammar structures, essays, stories, sentences, electives and fun. The Vietnamese are always good-humored, regardless of what challenging or complex activity you may throw their way. As the day ends we all pour through the hallways. Some of us are drained from the hard work, while others are energized, but there's always a general feeling that there has been a lot accomplished and a considerable improvement has been made. As the day ends, songs and smiles recede down the hallway as we walk off, enthused by the prospect of what might be achieved tomorrow.

I had never considered being a teacher before I decided to move to Ho Chi Minh City. When I graduated from New York University in May 2004 with a degree in Journalism, I took a look at my panicked fellow graduates and decided I was not going to fall into a 9-5 corporate pit. Instead I packed my bags, bought my ticket and propelled myself thousands of miles across the globe to a sliver of Asia called Vietnam. My initial intention was to travel and teach English as a means to get by. My goal was to spend six adventurous months teaching conversational English at minimum hours and to focus my energy on absorbing the country and culture around me. Little did I realize that my initial journey would transform itself into months of dedication to 30 hour weeks, academic teaching and a job that sticks with me when I sleep and never leaves my side.

My friend told me about the job. He told me that a new school was opening in Ho Chi Minh City and the director was looking for fresh, motivated and excited teachers. The prospect of working for a start-up, internationally recognized language school immediately appealed to me. ELS is an English language center that first opened in Washington, D.C in 1961. Since then, ELS has taught English to students from over 140 countries and has become the world’s largest network of campus-based, English language programs. ELS first opened its doors in Vietnam on the campus of American Pacific University in Ho Chi Minh City on October 1, 2004.

My first day of teaching was frightening. I entered our 14 student school and was certain that I would be an immediate failure. The day before I began teaching I wrote in my journal, "Will I be faced by insolent faces in strong defiance of learning? The uncertainty is killing me. I'm aware that I'll most probably encounter charming young Vietnamese students eager to learn more about me and my language and that everything will be fine. But for right now, the teacher terror has taken hold..."

The next day I luckily encountered the charming young Vietnamese that I had hoped for. All of my classrooms were filled with eager, polite and helpful students who were and have continued to be respectful and enthusiastic. Two months later, our branch of ELS evolved from a tiny school with three full time teachers to one of eighty students. The transformation took place overnight. One day we arrived at school to be greeted by sixty fresh faces from Vietnam Airlines who were eager to learn and to become proficient in the English language.

All of these new students were sponsored by Vietnam Airlines as a mutually beneficial package. The students get to study at ELS until they are proficient in the English language and then will transfer to a college in the United States to hone their aviation skills before they return to Vietnam to continue working for the airline. The students have been given a time limit within which they must complete our course. Failure to complete the course in the allotted time would send them into thousands of dollars of debt. As a result, the students that we have accepted into our classrooms are motivated and committed to their studies. There's a dedication to education and language enrichment that most experienced teachers here have rarely experienced.

Our students hail from diverse backgrounds. Some are from wealthy Vietnamese families who drive cars, wear fashionable clothing and live in nicer neighborhoods. Some, however, are not as privileged. But whether rich or poor, there's an enthusiasm and energy that I never saw in my student days.

Given the difficult history between America and Vietnam, one would think that there would be a mistrust of Americans. In fact, neither I nor any American with whom I have spoken has ever experienced discrimination or hard feelings. In fact, it is really quite the opposite. Our students are enthusiastic and full of praise for the United States as a place to live. While many do share the popular sentiment across the globe that America's foreign policies are less than desirable, they look beyond this fact. The general feeling that I have encountered is that the American War is a mere dot in the 2000 year history of war in Vietnam. Most Vietnamese welcome the tourists and Americans to their countries as friends and allies and are enthusiastic about the effects of tourism on the economy of Vietnam.

Our students, who have been given the opportunity to study in the U.S, see the country as a means to a better life and a way to improve their and their family’s economic status. It is amazing to encounter the jovial spirit of a population that was so wronged by a nation yet has been able to put the past behind them and move forward. It is indicative of the personality of the population as a whole, as this country is filled with gentle, kind and enthusiastic people with an eye on economic improvement.

Throughout my time at ELS, I have observed many cultural differences between the studying and learning ethics of the Vietnamese and American classrooms. One of the strongest distinctions is between the traditional lecture approach of the Vietnamese classroom and the communicative approach of the American. None of my students are used to being prompted for engaged listening and personal responses. My students have told me that they were rarely, if ever, asked for their opinions and ideas by their Vietnamese teachers and instead, their traditional learning environment has been one of absorption as opposed to immersion. It is therefore remarkable how easily they have adapted to our learning style. We are rarely, if ever, faced with blank faces or bad attitudes. Any game, activity or idea is usually snapped up with glee.

One of the major challenges we have confronted has been original responses. Plagiarism has been a recurring problem which has mystified our staff. One of my students recently submitted an explanation that seems the most logical. It seems that the traditional means of responding to teachers is a regurgitation of facts instead of an interpretation and effort to make an idea original. Instead of being encouraged to think freely and submit original ideas, many of our students have always handed in essays filled with their teachers' words and ideas instead of their own. One of my students told me that creativity is frowned upon and discouraged by traditional teachers. This explanation has made sense to me because it reflects the Vietnamese culture and the ideas of expression in society. Free thinking and creative minds are not encouraged and at times, are frowned upon.

The average day of class in our Ho Chi Minh City school is rewarding yet challenging. Our teachers work over-time to coach our students while they work rigorously to perform well. While the heat pervades the outside world, we crunch together in an effort to really learn and from any angle one can see we are really succeeding.

NYC in July

2005-03-29T16:54:00.000+07:00

Today I booked my flight back to New York. I plan on going back in June to a city that I will have been gone from for ten months. It's strange that a place can be your home for so long, can be so clear and real to you that nowhere else seems to exist and then one day you pick up and leave. And then a new place becomes your home and you adjust to your surroundings and the same feelings develop in relation to your new place. Routine, enjoyment, security.

But I can feel that it's time to visit New York and see my family and friends again. I've missed the energy and excitement that pulse through New York. I've missed conversing in English and really hammering at current events in the world. I've missed new music and movies and a public forum where art comes to life and is unavoidable to anyone on the street.

I'm excited to visit all of these activities and feelings and luxuries. And I'm excited to make peace with the call of NYC from so many miles away and to really understand where home is.

Motorbikes, tunnels and an uncle

2005-03-29T15:32:00.000+07:00

I conquered a major fear of mine this past weekend and rode a motorbike again. For those of you who might remember, I was in an accident a few months ago and landed up in a cast for a full month. Being in a cast is never fun, let alone when you live in a city where it's difficult to walk around as it is and your bedroom is on the fourth floor of your house. So I've been weary of driving ever since I was a hop-a-long and had not yet climbed on a motorbike until this weekend.

My uncle was in town for business and we actually sat down and spoke for the first time in a few years. It's amazing how quickly time can pass and, before you know it, it's been 4 years and a lot of maturing before you speak to a person again. We decided to drive out to the Cu Chi tunnels, located 2 hours away from Ho Chi Minh City. After an hour of driving along the same road in the city, it dawned on me how huge HCMC actually is. We tend to stick to our neighborhood and those surrounding us but it becomes clear that you live in a sprawling metropolis of 12 million or so people when you're actually trying to get out of it.

We drove along highway where the Vietnamese actually wear helmets, displaying the first signs of being concerned for their skulls that I've seen. And we turned off the highway onto smaller country roads and wound our way through rice fields and country homes.

Once at the tunnels, we crawled through the claustrophobic caves and listened to the good-natured attitude of our Vietnamese tour guide who fought with the Americans and has no gripes for either side of the troops. And then I mounted the bike for the first time in months and off we went, back through country roads. We stopped several times for sugarcane juice in hammocks and later cold beer before we returned to the heat and smog of the endless stretch of city.

Procrastinate

2005-03-22T16:10:00.000+07:00

I'm supposed to be submitting an article to TEFL magazine tomorrow and have not started writing it yet. This behavior reminds me of my college days when papers started to get written the night before while a panicked "I can't do this....!!" came gargling out my mouth. But the papers were always written and I always made the deadline.

The situation right now is looking a little different. Any of you who may check my blog occasionally in hope that I have updated will know that I am currently stricken by a writers' block and am finding it difficult to get thoughts onto paper. This makes writing a 1500 word article fairly difficult.

I guess my major hindrance in writing the article is that I lack confidence in what I have to say. The story is about my experience here as a teacher in Vietnam and right now all I can think about is "what the hell do I know? I'm still bumbling around in the dark out here." Teaching has come naturally to me but it's a constant challenge to complete the days and impart knowledge onto my students in a way that satisfies my innate desire to succeed. So now, as procrastination in the multimedia lab of my school, I am going to do some of the free writing that I press onto my students on a regular basis and see what comes out.

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More to come later...

A post

2005-03-12T15:45:00.000+07:00

A month without posting...again. My life continues in a whirlwind over here with constant sights, sounds and experiences that change my life's course and perspective and meaning on a weekly basis. I've come to recognize my street as home and my neighbors as colleagues in this wonderful adventure that has slowly become my daily life. I've hit the 6 month mark and I'm here and happy with a stellar job, home, life. But for some reason I have trouble getting my thoughts out onto paper. I sit in front of this screen often and dabble with words but they just don't come. Perhaps my overwhelming exposure to the English language at work deprives me of expression of my own. Or perhaps I read the exciting and crazy posts of my friends out here and think to myself, wow...my life just isn't that crazy. But it's wonderful and exciting and fresh and I love the exposure I'm gaining over here and the lessons that I'm learning. So I'm gonna try write more often, I'm totally going to try.

Time to breathe

2005-02-11T15:44:00.000+07:00

We've been in Hanoi for a week and it's been great. Hanoi is really the poets' city where everyone wears darker clothing and the skies are grey. The cafes and pubs are cozier than the garish ones of Saigon, and the lakes and trees dull down the constant hum of motorbikes and mayhem. We've been truly chilling. Playing scrabble by the lake and in comfortable cafes. Spending hours lying on couches in restaurants that exist solely for the purpose of comfort. Sleeping till noon every day and then rolling over and sleeping some more because there's nothing urgent to take care of. We swept through Halong Bay and admired the enormous limestone structures that peered at us through the mist. Uncle Ho's embalmed body was locked away during Tet and we were unable to visit his corpse due to the holy nature of the past week. The entire city has shut down and we're in a Vietnam that I never knew existed. The only shops that peek through are the tourist galleries and jewellery stores where they charge more for an item than most Vietnamese make in a week. But it's been a fantastic getaway from the powerful energy of Saigon. While I count myself lucky to have a moment of pause and relaxation in HCMC, there has been little else to do here besides think. I'm writing this hours before I return to the noise and smog to meet my mother who is touching down in Asia for the first time in her life. Seeing her will remind me of my first encounter with the tangled traffic and buzz of life in the city that took me a minute to love but I still do not understand.

The

2005-02-10T15:58:00.000+07:00

6 years ago a 16 year old boy named The left the countryside of Vietnam to re-build his life in Saigon. He was tired of his one room home and poor family. He wanted more than his tiny village had to offer. And he had dreams of money and success and a richer life in a big city. He came to Saigon and worked in restaurants and on the street. He taught himself English until he could afford lessons, and later he became a real estate agent for foreigners in need of homes.

He came into my life about three months ago when I was looking for a house in Saigon. The worked hard to find us the perfect home and continued to work tirelessly for our comfort and pleasure once the commission had been paid. He has become an essential and central part of my life in Saigon. Any question I have or task I need to face, The is the go to man. I consider him to be one of the closer friends I've made here.

He returned to his home for the first time 4 days ago. The poverty of his family and the simple countryside of his village was still there. But The went home a different boy, with money and flashy clothing and western friends. He invited our group to his home which took us two hours, countless country paths and a lot of near accidents to reach. We hesitantly entered his home where his family had gathered in a room where everyone eats, sleeps and lives. The communication lines were impossible to overcome and we smiled at the shocked and curious faces of our hosts, many of whom had never seen white faces in their lives. We ate their Tet feast at the table while the family crowded on a bed behind us.

We were taken from home to home, winding our way through dirt roads while a hoard of children tagged behind us calling out the few English words they knew. We were told that the last foreigners to reach the town were members of the U.S army. But unlike us, they had arrived with weapons and the intention to kill. We drank and laughed with those that had fought back. The seemed out of place in his Hip Hop shirt and fashionable clothing. He hardly interacted with them besides when he acted as a translator for us. And then he packed up his expensive duffel bag and piled into our van that took us back to Hanoi where the sight of foreigners is not a once in a lifetime experience.

Year of the rooster

2005-02-09T17:27:00.000+07:00

It's a new year and we're all older than we were yesterday. Midnight brought in a new lunar year, fireworks and a renewed hope that this year will be luckier than the last. Sucess will be abundant, money will be plentiful and love will be in the air. The year of the rooster will probably be the same same but different to ones gone before and life will continue as per usual. But the expectation of happier moments and wealthier times was fervent in the air last night as the government burst colors through the sky and the crowds cheered. Fireworks were followed by a frantic effort to pull down all the trees in the neighborhood. Apparently it doesn't matter if the trees have bad luck, just as long as the people collect good omens. It was obvious to us just how special the moment was but we felt separate from the celebrations. We can not understand just how meaningful this day is for the Vietnamese because of the color of our skins and the language that we speak.

For the next few days we must be on our best behavior. No arguments, negative thoughts or bad actions. It's bad luck for those who have had an accident or lost a job, a relative to enter people's homes. Tomorrow Mike and I will bring all three curses to The's home when we enter the region of bird flu in order to experience what the New Year is actually about. But for now it's observation and guessing. Because we are not nor will we ever be Vietnamese.

Woof!

2005-02-06T18:55:00.000+07:00

We met up with about 30 of our students last night and were surprised if not deterred when we pulled up to a dog meat restaurant. I, being the only vegetarian and avid lover of dogs, was somewhat put off but I persevered as I was excited to see the kids who keep me going on a day to day basis.

Out came dog liver, intestine, unknown body parts and fat. Some of the students enthusiastically dug in while others informed me that the tradition was quite unappealing but came along so as not to offend their colleagues. Matt gorged himself on poor Fifi and Fido's various body parts, inhaling the experience as though there was nothing less delicious in the world. Other members of our Western party tried the food tentatively and came to an agreement that it's not all that dog gone spectacular. The evening continued with regular Mot, hai, ba YO! cheersing of Hanoi vodka with an exceedingly high proof and it wasn't long before the dog intestine in front of me failed to remind me of my pet pooches I've loved over the years.

Hanoi

2005-02-06T17:04:00.000+07:00

We flew up to Hanoi on Friday evening for some cooler temperatures and a change of pace. Hanoi is exceedingly charming and more peaceful than Saigon and it's refreshing to be in a more quiet city with greyer skies.

My immediate impression of Hanoi was that it was far less overwhelming than Saigon is. Our ride to the airport in Saigon was crazy and hair raising with 8 or more near accidents and a driver who cracked his knuckles at every traffic light. Our ride back, however, was slow and tranquil with a driver who stared off in the distance as though meditating on his life. It was midnight and, while the streets of HCMC were still throbbing with life and adventure, Hanoi's narrow lanes were quiet and dark. Yesterday we took a stroll along Hoang Kiem lake, a grey mass of water that would calm the most anxious explorer.

You can feel a different influence on your senses and the air hangs in a less frantic way. I love Saigon and am constantly invigorated by it but it's a welcome change to feel a mist in the air and a feeling of tranquility, although I'm sure I will welcome the return to the heat and the adventure in a week.

Chuc mung Nam moi!

2005-02-04T14:36:00.000+07:00

Happy New Year once again! This time it's the Vietnamese traditional New Year celebration called Tet and we have a week off of work to celebrate. So 6 of us including Carrie, Matt, Mike, Craig and Dave will venture up to Ha Noi to explore the capital and wear some warmer clothing. It's apparently quite bitter in Ha Noi right now so we're half scared, half excited to experience the cold for the first time in 10 months!

Sorry I've been so MIA recently, I've had tons to take care of and tons to do and have thoroughly neglected my blog. But I'll make a concerted effort to update more frequently, especially now that I know my students are reading it!!

Students' blogs

2005-02-04T14:34:00.000+07:00

I have my advanced students blogging again. Check out what they have to say at...

Hieu

Thien

Minh

Phong

Hoa

Vinh

Tung

Hoang

Dung

Khuong

A Vietnamese Wedding

2005-01-09T15:38:00.000+07:00

Yesterday I attended my first Vietnamese wedding. The events here are somewhat of a legend. Most Vietnamese spend the majority of their time dreaming of and planning their marriage. The actual event, therefore, is the culmination of years of desires, day dreams, hopes, fears and anxieties.

The invitation said to arrive at 5:30pm so we did. We sat there fairly uncomfortably for a full hour before the next guest arrived. Apparently it's considered normal to arrive an hour after the invitation says to...? Right on schedule, at 6:30pm all the guests streamed in, throwing us shocked and mystified glances and taking their seats on the plastic stools set out for the wedding.

I became the focus of conversations a few times..."so when will you be getting married?" "I'm sure you have a beautiful voice, please sing karaoke" and so forth. I even had to pose for a photo with the bride's bouquet which is said to be a sure sign of marriage in the near future.

The reception itself was tres bizarre. Guests streamed in in outfits ranging from dresses to jeans. One five year old girl had her hair crimped, her make up applied and her nipples sticking way out of her dress. Until someone mentioned it to her and made her self conscious for the rest of the event.

The waiters consistently replaced our empty beer bottles and the guests dutifully drank it, shouting "Mot, hai, Ba, YO!" (One, two, three, YO!) before every second or third swig. Six courses were served, five of them containing meat. So I sat and accepted the horrified reactions at my vegetarian preferences...

And then the wedding ended as abruptly as it had began. Seconds after our last course had been placed on the table, 400 people somehow received a signal to leave and simultaneously rose and left. Of course we were the weirdos who don't know enough to do things right. We weren't aware that we had arrived an hour early by arriving on time, we missed the signal to bolt for the door and I didn't eat the meat??????????? Those weirdo foreigners...

Same same but different

2005-01-06T17:19:00.000+07:00

One of my students asked me what the date was this morning and I answered "the 6th of June." Yes, it's 6 days into the New year yet it already feels like it's been six months.

Perhaps the long and taxing days have something to do with it. Our 20 student school accepted 50 new students this morning and our 4 teacher staff has been working like crazy to try get everything sorted out for them. We've hired all sorts of new teachers including Cindy and Matt who will be taking over one of my classes. I handed them over to him tearfully and will miss that awesome and boisterous class who never fail to entertain! And I'll be taking on two new classes including a Fun with English class which I personally designed...it'll be a fun class with TV, Poetry writing, creative response, music, plays and more. Should be good. And I'll also be starting a college level class for my graduated advanced students. We'll be reading novels and adapting them into conversation, presentation, writing and research. Should also be challenging yet fun.

What else might be wearing me out? Perhaps the fun and games us Saigoners get up to at night. For an extensive list of our fun-time crew, "click here." This weekend Dave, Mike and I will go to our first Vietnamese wedding ever. From what I've previously heard, a wedding here normally consits of tons of food, tons of drinking and a fashion show down a cat walk in the middle of the reception...? Say wha?

So, the moral of the post is that life is same same but different, that I have become less like my party-gal self than I ever have been and that life is good but crazy. And that Saigon is the shiz.

Pho Shizzle

2005-01-06T17:14:00.000+07:00

ha ha ha

New Years where it's not a New Year

2005-01-02T14:21:00.000+07:00

Twenty expats in Saigon came together to celebrate a New Year in a country that doesn't acknowledge January 1st as a new year. Yes, they will now consider the date to be 2005 but the Vietnamese will wait for their annual celebration of Tet before they celebrate their New Year. Nonetheless, us foreigners threw a party on the new big pimpin' home of Saigon that belongs to Mike, Linda, Mat, Euan and Tiana. We drank an exorbitant amount, played good tunes, shouted out the count down and generally had a eastern new year with a western face.

What's a New Years without resolutions? I have resolved to not only learn how to play pool but also bowling and badminton before the end of the year. Hopefully it won't take me 12 months of frustration to become decent at these games. Our social lives in Saigon tend to gravitate towards activities and I have become determined to master the skills.

So, Happy 2005 to all my friends and family throughout the globe. Have an awesome year and hopefully we'll get together at some stage in 2005!

Bibo No. 2

2004-12-29T18:02:00.000+07:00

I have a new student in my intermediate class.

Her name is Lyn.

Her nickname is Bibo.

For any of my loyal readers (if there are any!) you will remember that my nickname is Bibo! I couldn't believe my ears when, on her first day in class, she introduced herself as Bibo. "But that's Alison's nickname!" my students cried out. Apparently it's hers too, which leaves me feeling less original...

Now, when my students call me Bibo there are two of us that respond!!

Visit from the law

2004-12-29T17:54:00.000+07:00

A few days ago I heard our doorbell ring and looked out of the window to see a policeman and our landlord. I immediately jumped to all sorts of conclusions about why he was visiting. Rumors consistently circulate in the expat community about police randomly kicking foreigners out of their homes, accusing men of setting up brothels and bribing them for money, and many other acts of corruption. But
apparently our policeman was just there for a social visit. He sat on
our couch for over half an hour in an animated conversation with our
landlord until he politely excused himself and left. We have yet to find out the exact purpose of his visit but believe that the police were curious as to who we were and what our deal was, so they sent someone to check up on us. Tres bizarre...

Noel vui nhe!

2004-12-26T11:10:00.000+07:00

Nope, no christmas snow storm for us in Ho Chi Minh City. But we did go through a whirlwind of celebration, organization and fun. It didn't feel like Christmas but we still managed to stuff ourselves silly in true Christmas tradition.

A group of 10 misplaced foreigners gathered on our roof for Christmas dinner. We shared stories of Christmas Eve excursions and celebrations and began the drinking a wee bit too early. Our Christmas feast consisted of barbequed shrimp alla Donna, rice, salad, spicy vegetable stir fry and a duck with it's head still on! The duck beak of course became a focus of the fun later in the evening. We opened gifts given to us by Santa Mat and reminisced about Christmas in a Christmassy country while Frank Sinatra dreamed of a white Christmas in the background. The Christmas celebrations continued in a downtown bar that took me a while to reach after a brief run in with Johnny Law. The and I were pulled over by a cop and he had his bike confiscated by a very grumpy looking police officer. Poor, poor The! But we're going to all chip in some christmas spirit and rent him a bike today. After everything he has done for us, it's the least we can do. It was a Merry Christmas but oops, I forgot, it wasn't Christmas! That, according to the Vietnamese was the 24th... My bad.

Flying fish

2004-12-24T23:07:00.000+07:00

One of my students gave me two tiger fish for Christmas. Yippee, I think...I've never had fish as pets before! I duly named them after two of my more rambunctious students and settled into my new role as fish owner. Fast forward a few hours and that role is quickly demolished. I was reading on my bed and noticed the fish making a lot of noise in the water. "Could the fish possible jump out of the bowl?" I think. "Nah, never." Carrie assures me. I'm assuming that the prospect of living in a fishbowl was too bleak for one my swimmers because when I came home from shopping there was only one fish left in the bowl. The fish jumped out and met a very sorry ending on the base of my bed.

That night I commented to Carrie that the other fish might be lonely and could possibly jump. Again, "nah, never..." Until I got home and realized that the bowl was now completely empty. Apparently swimmer no. 2 believed his friend had made it to a better place and wanted to check it out himself. But where is it? I searched around the bowl, knocked over and smashed a bottle of wine while checking beneath my mattress and still, no fish. I had to summon Craig from downstairs to come investigate and scoop out the dead animal that had lodged itself between the base and headboard of my bed. Heart breaking. So I am now sans fish and have little desire to buy new ones. My first experience was hardly encouraging. I knew that fish had a short life span but I definitely didn't expect them to only live a few hours!

A Christmas Eve Whirlwind

2004-12-24T10:43:00.000+07:00

I woke up on Friday morning wondering how the Christmas weekend would turn out. Our school threw a Christmas party after giving students their grades back. For some this meant "Hey, you failed but Merry Christmas!" Giving a student a bad grade is hard, failing them is heart wrenching but failing them on Christmas!!?? It couldn't be more painful if it was physical torture. Most of the failed students did take the news fairly cheerfully and we moved onto gift exchange and a Christmas buffet. A few of my students gave me gifts including a leopard print shirt with frilly sleeves (uh...thanks...) and my favorite gift, two tiger fish and a fishbowl. (read the separate post to find the fate of my fish.)

Our friend, The came over on Christmas Eve and asked whether we were going downtown to look at the lights. We told him we'd go on Christmas. "But it is Christmas!" The exclaimed. Say wha? Apparently the Vietnamese believe that the 24th is Christmas and that it ends at midnight... Possibly something to do with uneven numbers being unlucky? So we trooped downtown (or should I say fought our way) through the hordes of people. Ho Chi Minh City is rumored to have about 10 million residents and I strongly believe that about 7 million of them were in the Dong Khoi area on Friday night.

What a spectacle! The whole area was decorated with fairy lights and tinsel... dancers and singers and bands were competing to see who could make the biggest noise and attract the most attention. Street vendors were selling confetti by the bag to reckless Christmas-ers such as ourselves who sprinkled the surrounding crowds with their wares. Of course, our trio of white skins attracted more attention than most and we found ourselves to be direct targets of the confetti sprinklers. All this was done with humor and cheer but, when we found ourselves surrounded by a crowd of fifteen boys who began to pelt us with confetti, rub it into our hair and add a sprinkle of shaving cream for effect, things began to get a little out of control. Craig was choking on the confetti, I had it in my nose and eyes and Carrie had it everywhere from her ears to her underwear!! It took us a while but we finally managed to escape the reckless crowds and seat ourselves in the park where little children practiced their Merry Christmas and there was little room for confetti throwers to move around.

A little reassurance of a job well done

2004-12-23T21:40:00.000+07:00

I just scanned my students' blogs after my last post and came across an entry to erase any stress or angst I've had today! Just what a teacher loves to see...

Stress central

2004-12-23T20:55:00.000+07:00

It's finals week again and this one has been a lot more stressful. Not only has my number of students doubled, but four of their grades determined whether they would be considered proficient enough to be eligible for graduation. I rushed to school this morning at 6am with eighteen exams to grade including argumentative essays, reading exams and writing exams. I was shocked and upset to find that three out of five of my advanced students failed, although the majority of my intermediates passed with flying colors.

I finished grading my advanced students a few minutes before class and found myself in tears about their grades. (Yes, I know, I am way too personally invested in my students...) I walked in, handed the exams back and we all had a good cry together. Luckily their grades didn't effect them too much and they managed to pass the level. Congratulations Oanh, Anne, Ai and Trung!

The week is almost over and with it, the stress and sleepless nights I have devoted to the students.

Not dreaming of a white christmas

2004-12-22T23:17:00.000+07:00

It's cold in Ho Chi Minh City. It's more bitter than any weather I've experienced in months. Of course, bitter is a relative term when you're living in a city with only one season being THE HOT ONE! But I've experienced at least four shivers over the last two days and I thereby declare it freezing. One week ago I stopped using the air conditioner and on Monday evening we had to put on sweaters and shawls
while on the roof. Last night I was rubbing my arms to keep warm. I'm hardly complaining, as it is definitely a welcome change to the normal sweltering heat that causes torrents of sweat to cascade down one's body. But then I hear stories about 9 degree days from family and friends in New York, and imagine Mike adjusting to the bone chill of Ohio and I am grateful for the lingering heat that prevents us from
even imagining a coat or a sweater. So, while my Christmas won't be a white one, it will be a few degrees below boiling. And for that I'm grateful.

My tit's angry

2004-12-21T23:19:00.000+07:00

The English teachers at our school have started Vietnamese lessons. We're struggling. So much, in fact, that our teacher even laughs at us. The language itself isn't so difficult as there's no conjugation or tenses...I think? But the tones are killing us. We find ourselves jiggling our bodies from side to side in imitation of the tonal signs. And our voices strain to go up and down but we still say things such as "bread please" instead of "How are you?"

Carrie and I found ourselves in a fit of giggles this afternoon when learning about ordering food at a restaurant.

"Mai thich an gi," meaning "Food I like to eat" (or something to that effect) continued to come out of our teacher's mouth as "My tit's angry." We were suddenly back in high school again, the two childish girls in hysterics about something that really isn't funny at all. What made it worse was that my students were eagerly staring in the window, trying to catch a glimpse of their teachers' struggling nearly as much as they do. And there we were...crying we were laughing so hard. Thoroughly amused and no, our tit's were not angry...

Weekends with wings

2004-12-19T20:01:00.000+07:00

The weekends here fly by so quickly. One moment it's Friday afternoon and the weekend seems to stretch ahead of me with one thousand things on my list to do and see. And the next moment it's Sunday evening and I'm prepping for my class the next day and it's pretty damn important that I get some sleep before the week begins. I'm entering my eighth week of teaching which is hard to believe. I feel like I'm still as fresh in my teaching career as I was two months ago. I've heard that it takes a few years of teaching before anything really starts feeling normal. So now into finals week and the week before Christmas in ninety degree fume ridden yet exhilarating and awesome Saigon!!

Pics of our house

2004-12-18T11:26:00.000+07:00

Christmas Kitsch

2004-12-18T11:10:00.000+07:00

It's unbelievable how much the Vietnamese love Christmas. I didn't even expect them to acknowledge the holiday's existence but the reality is that they're more nuts about it than many Americans. A few days after Thanksgiving, true to Western form, the Christmas trees came out and most shop windows were spray painted with fake snow and messages such as "Merry Chirstams." Spelling true to Vietnamese
form. The Christmas spirit has since accumulated to the point that I have heard nothing but Christmas carols in public places, and all the shop windows are encouraging consumption for Christmas. I even spotted a herd of Santa's speeding down the street yesterday, obviously late for a show or party. A friend of mine recently attended a wedding where the waitresses were dressed as Sexy Santa girls...

Where did all this hype come from? Over the last few weeks we have hypothesized that the Christmas kitsch of Saigon has many sources. First of all, there's the fascination with Western culture and tradition that was first instilled in the war years when the streets were flooded with American soldiers and ideas. This imitation can be seen in many areas of the culture, including my school where the students are convinced that the American way is the best way. We also came up with the idea that the Vietnamese don't have as many traditional cultural celebrations as we do and celebrating Christmas is just one way of releasing some cheer. Plus which, Christmas is a festive, fun and enjoyable holiday that adds life to the Decembers of many people throughout the world.

But my favorite hypothesis is really that the Vietnamese love their kitsch. They love their neon lights and tacky signs. They love bright, loud colors and music to match. And the Christmas spirit embodies all of these ideas, and has been wholly embraced by Vietnamese living in Saigon. So, although Christmas in 100 degree
sweltering motorbike fumes sans family will be strange, at least I'll be able to see Santa's, shop till I drop and listen to joyous yet hideous pop songs such as "I'm logging onto Santa.com!" Ha ha ho and merry Christmas!

Bibo

2004-12-17T15:46:00.000+07:00

My low intermediate students have caught onto my nickname. Not that it's anything amazing cos I told them what it was. We were doing a lesson on nicknames, given names and surnames and I was asking all of them their nicknames when they came right back at me and asked me for mine. I have finally accomplished the task of getting them to stop calling me "Teacher." Now they just call me Bibo...

The Second Sex

2004-12-16T16:02:00.000+07:00

This morning we were speaking about gender roles in my conversation class. One of the advanced students was making a point about the unequal treatment of men and women in Vietnam. As he began describing how boys are often put on a pedestal by their fathers, I heard the string of words "are more intelligent than girls" come out of his mouth. Say wha? Yes, it was true... He actually said the words and then continued to defend the point that men are, in fact, more intelligent than women. Absolutely stunned and appalled, I began to tear apart his argument only to find that it was not only he but ALL the boys in this class who not only believed what they were saying but really didn't understand how women could be more intelligent than them. I asked for examples. "Girls cry when they're faced with a challenge," they said. I asked them why women are the chosen sex to rear children. "They aren't as intelligent as men so men need to earn the money," they said. When I asked why, at the advanced level of ELS, there were more girls than boys in the class they looked stumped but maintained their stubborn argument by saying "I don't know, it just happens that their are more girls."

Of course, the girls' argument that men are women are of equal importance was the more intelligent of the two ;) ;)

The bite of snake wine in a new perspective

2004-12-14T17:47:00.000+07:00

Snake wine is quite the delicacy over here in Vietnam. Almost anywhere you go, you can see snakes pickled in alcohol waiting for some unlucky fellow to come along and drink its bathwater... And apparently some are more unlucky than we think...

The background to the blog entry that I linked to above, is a near bet Mike and I took over whether this story was true or not. I obviously was adamant that it was a farce but Mike persisted with his story and dug up the truth... Check it out...

Saigon streets beware!

2004-12-14T17:43:00.000+07:00

The day I arrived in Saigon, I was terrified of the traffic. Bikes
seem to come from every direction and crossing the road was certain
death each and every time. I slowly progressed to being nervous of
the traffic. The lawless order and patterns of the bikes began to
make sense to me. The trick is to relax and not concentrate on how
overwhelming the traffic appears to be. Bikes will swerve and avoid
you. The next stage was feeling confident on the back of bikes. Once
you're on one, you really do just have to sit back and relax and allow
the crazy xe om's to do what they want, regardless. I've found that
it's much less stressful to watch the action on the side of the road
as opposed to concentrating on the mayhem of the streets.

And now I have made another crucial step in the process. I have
joined in the sway of the traffic and am now riding on my own, weaving
in and out of the traffic and learning first hand what the rules of
the road actually are. After a few trial rides up and down an
alleyway, I progressed to the streets of Saigon on Saturday evening
when the roads were fairly deserted. And every day I have taken yet
another crucial step in my driving and am slowly but surely mastering
the once unimaginable feat of driving a bike in Ho Chi Minh City. Of
course Mike, who has been patiently (and fearfully?) been teaching me
how to drive, has his own perspective on the trials and tribulations
of Alison behind the wheel. Regardless of my performance, I am proud
of the bravery with which I have ventured on my journey. As of next
week, I'll be riding alone!!

Clothing addiction

2004-12-12T21:42:00.000+07:00

I'm not an obsessive person by nature. OK, some people will argue that, but it really does take me quite a lot to become addicted. Here in Saigon my interests and enjoyments include salad rolls, xe om driving, soda chanh and Dalat wine but the real addiction has turned out to be tailored clothing.

Every weekend I get lured into the market where reams and reams of material induce the most wonderful and dangerous ideas. The criteria for inventing a new outfit is little. If you can imagine it, you can have it made. Of course this has set me off on a buying frenzy. I spend many free moments dreaming up all sorts of outfits that I've always wanted. I now have two material stalls who know me by name and give me discounts because I buy so much from them. I have tailors who could clothe their entire families with the amount of clothes they make for me and I have a wardrobe that is expanding at such a rate that I need to double my hanger collection every few weeks. Yes, I'm addicted. I guess I'll need to be placed in a fume tent to get my sickness sucked out of me. Either that or it's tailor rehab for me...

Shoe thief

2004-12-12T21:01:00.000+07:00

Our house has a small courtyard separating our gate from our front door. Because the saigon streets are covered in filth that I don't necessarily want in my house, we have been exercising a "no shoe policy" in our home which meant that we were leaving our shoes outside. One day I came home from work only to find that my shoes had been stolen! CArrie was sympathetic yet apathetic regarding the event until she found out that her shoes had been nicked as well! The two of us stormed through our neighborhood glaring at everyone's feet and doorways, lividly attempting to locate the thieves. But to no avail. Our shoes are either well hidden or so far down the black market that there's no point in even looking.

Intestines travelling

2004-12-11T19:27:00.000+07:00

It's amazing what the Vietnamese can carry on their motorbikes. I've seen coffins, families, eight huge bags of flour, full length mirrors and week old infants. But when I saw two baskets filled to the brim with jiggling intestines and innards, I knew I'd seen it all. The man was driving at about 60 kilometers with two plastic baskets hanging off of a wooden bar that was resting, unattached on the back of his motorbike. First of all, where was he going with the innards? And why on earth were they uncovered, unattached and on the back of a bike? I looked around at the still daunting masses of traffic and wondered what on earth it would look like if this man had to crash or even bump into another bike on the road. Spilled intestines would soon be followed by masses of vomit from all who would witness the scene. So, just when I thought I'd witnessed a once in a lifetime sight, I saw it again the next day!! Looks like it's quite the common commodity in downtown Saigon.

Tiger Cup

2004-12-11T19:03:00.000+07:00

So, I've never been much of a sport fanatic. For those of you who know me well, you'll know that I'll pass up a game any day over a night out or a good read. But when the Tiger Cup came to Saigon, I couldn't resist going to my first soccer game of my life. Six of us ventured out to the stadium sans tickets and searched for scalpers. True to form, they were there in abundance and the 6 whities who walked up were accosted shamelessly from every direction. Luckily, Dave speaks Vietnamese and could get us a good deal. Or so we thought. Soon after we all triumphantly received our tickets, we walked to the gate only to be informed that we had been taken for a ride. The clever scalper had glued together a used ticket and a different stub and sold it to us as real. Nasty of him. But we soon found real tickets and squeezed our way through masses of crowds to the only tiny spot remaining in the entire stadium at the very top. It was worth it. It was 2 hours filled with entertainment by an elated crowd and a rather weak Vietnamese soccer team who feigned injury every time they were given a penalty. Not quite the sportsmanship we're used to. Vietnam and Singapore ended up tying at 1 all and we all trudged home, not exactly victorious but my first soccer match ever was definitely an invigorating experience.

Back and rockin'

2004-12-11T18:48:00.000+07:00

So, it's been almost a month since my last update...

That's pathetic.

What can I tell you? These last few weeks have been a whilrwind of work and fun, of heat and exhaustion, of fulfillment and enjoyment... And at the end of the day, I've been too damn busy to write. But I'm back with a vengeance and will promise to update regularly as long as everyone continues to check it regularly.

Apologies again. And now back to Saigon madness. Here I go again.