Bring it on.

When the other moped hit us it didn't hurt much.
Just a tap.
It was the shock more than anything.

As I yell out a loud obscenity I realize two things:

1. The small child on the back of that motorbike is in the class I just finished teaching.
2. It's a good thing I haven't taught my five-year old class English cuss words yet.

At that moment the words I had been searching for hit me like a ton of bricks. I have been looking for a description for the drivers in Hanoi, for their insanity and carelessness, for their disrespect for the rules of the road and of life. I have found them:

Reckless Indifference.

Yes. The pure illogical, maniacal sense of invincibility. It drives me crazy. The driver of the other motorbike, I'm assuming Phuong Thuy's father, for that is my student's name, did not even give a hint of remorse for bumping my xe om into another motorcycle in morning traffic in central Hanoi. Nor did he seem perturbed that his five year old daughter who got jostled on the back was not wearing a helmet!

Viet Nam Absurdity: It is a law that everyone must be wearing a helmet on a motorbike, and it is enforced most stringently, yet children are an exception!!! I have never seen a child wearing a helmet as their irresponsible parents weave in and out of thousands of other motorcycles in their hurry to get nowhere fast.

The only positive thing I can say about motorbike drivers in Hanoi is their creativity when it comes to strapping giant loads onto their bikes. So far I have witnessed some miracles, including a full-sized coffin lying horizontally and breezing through three lanes of full-stop traffic. Twice. I can only hope there wasn't a body inside, but I wouldn't put anything past the Vietnamese. I have seen a seven-foot tall tree, roots, soil and all tied and standing vertically to a man on a Vespa. I have seen five microwaves, out of their boxes and stacked three high and one on each side of a moped. I have seen five Vietnamese teenagers all on one two seater motorbike. All of this astounds yet no longer shocks me. After five months in southeast Asia, nothing does.

In response to this ridiculous driving, I am doing the only thing I can do in protest.
I'm learning how to drive a motorbike. Bring it on.

A Nice Welcome Home

I went for a run this morning through the surrounding neighborhoods, and on turning a corner I got chased half-way down the street by a tiny lady trying to sell me cigarettes. It's my own fault though, as I was jogging through the Cheap Cigarette District.

Oh how I love Hanoi.

Last week I was sitting at the Bia Hoi with my buddy Tony talking about life, and trying to put in words why we loved this crazy city so much. We look back to the street where a moped had just clipped a little old lady carrying about twenty kilos of oranges in baskets connected to a bamboo pole balanced over her shoulder. As her and her pointy grass hat goes flying, Tony looks over: "It's the chaos of it all. The beautiful chaos." I couldn't have said it better myself.

Getting settled is a lot harder than I imagined it might be. For example, I've been in my apartment almost a week and still don't know if I have an address and am not sure where to put my trash once the bin is full. Even though the apartment came "furnished" there are still a few crucial items I want, like a table. So the logical thing for me to do was go down to the Table District.

Here in Hanoi, if you're looking for anything, it's best just to figure out where the "District" is, because once you find it, there will be seventeen different shops on one street selling the exact same thing. I live, hilariously, in between the Welcome Mat District and the Maternity Dress District and yes, it IS the greatest street in the world. There are exactly twelve stores that sell the same ten welcome mats. I'm not sure if anyone has thought to mention that it might be a bit more profitable if they were to spread out around the city, because they certainly haven't figured this out for themselves. Perhaps the government allocates this space specifically for welcoming purposes. Perhaps this is newest form of the Communist Regime, to make all pregnant women get to this specific location so they can be dressed suitably. Whatever the reason, if there is one, I absolutely love it, and my favorite area is the Colorful Buttons and Ribbons District. Go figure.

My friend Peter swears there's a Prosthetic Leg District, but I think he's lying...

I love that this city makes absolutely no sense, and still functions.
I love that I am daily surprised by cultural differences, which keeps me on my toes.
I love Welcome Mats.
What else could a girl want?

Thrill-Seekers Anonymous

Nothing could have possibly prepared me for the moment when I got milked by a four year old this morning. Nothing. What an oddly normal ending to a fantastically strange week.

Today we learned about animals. As it was nearing the end of the hour, we roared like lions, flew like bats, clucked like chickens, purred like cats, barked like dogs, and mooed like cows. These games are great because they are beneficial to the kids and wear them out, plus it's very entertaining for me and it kills five minutes of time. I took a moment to get up from my "cow" position to check on everyone, when I feel small hands on my stomach. Looking down I find my favorite kid, Mai Chi, pretending to milk me. The Vietnamese teacher sees this at the same time and we simultaneously burst into hysterical fits of laughter. This brings the kids to start laughing, and we kill another five minutes. Score!

I have learned that the average 3-5 year old has an attention span for 4.5 minutes. That means I have to have something new, fun and different to do every five minutes. That's a lot of singing and dancing; I am usually left for dead at the end of the class, too exhausted to move. I'm having a great time though.

Me teaching children English is just one of the oddities that currently makes up my life. Public transportation is another. Here in Hanoi I take a Xe Om to work, which is a moped-taxi. I could not possibly describe a Xe Om ride, except to compare it to that movie 'Final Destination', where the guy cheats Death and then Death goes looking for them. Apparently Death has never been to Viet Nam, or has recently misplaced his passport. The first fear-gripping ride should have been my last, but one gets bored of near-death experiences after a while, so I take them to work and back every day and am on the lookout for new thrills.

Enter: My new apartment. Nickname: "The Fridge".
It's hard to explain, except to say I'm living in a standard Vietnamese tree-house. Yes, that makes sense. Basically what it comes down to is complete insanity, which is why I immediately took it. I have a five story apartment, each floor measuring to about six square meters of hilarity, all of this connected by a series of M.C. Escher-esque ladders. I also have two refrigerators (one that works, one that holds my teaching books), two TV's I'll never use, a reading/yoga/meditation room, and a washing machine on my balcony. I'm sure that there was a family of fifteen living here before me, but I'm quite content with my new-found haven, all for the low low cost of two hundred dollars a month!

Now I just have to figure out how to get down the ladders at seven a.m. without breaking my neck, which I guess, is just a part of my new thrill-seeking nature.


***My good friend Adrian Hartwell just brought to attention that tomorrow is the anniversary of Martin Luthor Kings assasination. I would just like to take a moment to honor a man who inspired a nation, improved the world through his words, and loved with an open heart. May his memory never fade.

Saving The World

Last Saturday the power was shut off at the Hanoi Backpackers Hostel from 8:30-9:30 p.m. to make a statement supporting Earth Hour. Although Hanoi was not technically participating in the world event to curb energy waste, it felt good to take part in something that is bringing awareness to the masses about the realities of global warming.

The world needs a Band-aid. No need to worry though, because I've solved the worlds problems. Again. Yesterday I talked to my friend Adam in Birmingham who says there are two million unemployed people in England. Two million! I sat down, drink in hand, and pondered.

I'm confused because I have just gotten two jobs and am now feeling a bit greedy. I'm still in Hanoi, Viet Nam, and today is my first day of work. My official job description is "Teaching Five Year-Olds How To Sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." I know what you're thinking...."Rachel hates children." Well, I don't hate children, they just scare the living crap out of me.

The Vietnamese are ravenous for English teachers. I have no experience, no diploma, no training, and my only real qualification being that my skin is white. (My second job is teaching a month-long workshop on traditional Cuban style Salsa dancing at a dance studio, which I am qualified to do.) Viet Nam is a rapidly developing country, and speaking English is the way forward for them. It is impossible to sit in the park for less than ten minutes without someone walking up to ask if they can practice their English, and I am more than happy to help. I truly believe that every day it is increasingly more important to speak more than one language, as that's what connects us all in the end. I can't think of a better gift to give a child, plus they're paying me twenty American dollars an hour! Cash! To play with toys! Sweet.

Rachel's Plan to Curb Unemployment and Help the World (please keep an open mind):

To all of you unemployed Americans, Canadians, English, Irish, Welsh, Scottish, Australian and New Zealanders: Come to Asia. No, I'm actually serious. Think about it:
-Low cost of living and a high salary.
-When will anyone else pay you twenty dollars an hour for being completely unqualified except for being born in a country whose language they want to learn?
-It would cost more to stay unemployed, or at a low-paying job you hate, and having to pay more for living in your country, when here in Asia they are begging for "teachers".
-Korea, China, Viet Nam, Thailand and Malaysia are offering big bucks for anyone willing to help.
-Did I mention you get to play with toys?

Let's do the math, get a calculator if you must. I'll do this in American dollars because that's what they pay here.
$20 an hour x 3 hours a day= $300.
$300 x 4 weeks= $1,200 a month/ 900 Euros/ 850 Pounds/ 1,750 Australian Dollars

That is only working fifteen hours a week. Full time is way more, and if you have a degree from Uni, any degree, or teaching experience, they pay more. Considering a meal on the street is thirty cents and a nice one in a restaurant is three dollars, the cost of living here is way below our norm, and the possibility, probability, of saving money here is fantastic! I am a genius! The only thing to do now is to uproot yourself from the society you've always known, throw your TV out the window, and set out on an adventure I cannot tell you the end of. I will only say that it will be one of the best things you will ever do, plus you get to live in Asia!

But that's not human nature, so I doubt anyone will take my great advice into account, which saddens me. If more people listened to vagabond hippies we wouldn't need to bring attention to our global problems by turning off the lights of the Eiffel Tower! People would already know! Now I'm getting a bit carried away, so I'm going to sit back and take a nice, deep breath.

I understand that for most people it is not easy to uproot and that I am a freak of nature. Instead of preaching the wandering ways, I will simply offer advice, information, and perhaps a nudge in a direction that might be very new and different. If anyone is interested, or perhaps is considering the possibility, please do not hesitate to ask. I have gathered an odd assortment of knowledge on the inner workings of acquiring jobs in other countries and would love to help if I can. Or you can check out www.newhanoian.com and see how many jobs there are for yourself.

I think I'm going to go buy a cape.
Adam Fumagalli, I expect to see you here in less than a week.

Going Hmong

The Hmong tribe villagers of Sa Pa believe that painting a red circle on your forehead using water buffalo's blood will cure a headache.

On arrival from our bogus journey through the mountains we find ourselves surrounded by small, fiery tribal women hawking their wares for us tourists who quite obviously have just gotten into town. Usually I push my way through with my hands over my head for protection from "The Village People", but there was something different about these women. Maybe it was the fresh air in my lungs or the pure joy of getting there in one piece, but I really enjoyed their company and laughter. I bought a pretty scarf from one of them that I had been eying ever since my arrival, and they promised to come back later to show us around. Weathered travelers know that people will say just about anything to get you to buy stuff, so I wasn't actually expecting to see much more of them.

I was surprised to be awakened from a nap by Haydin to inform me that there were some village ladies downstairs and that they had invited us out for drinks. My travel radar went off again, knowing that there are a lot of scams where you get "invited" out by locals, only to get stuck with a hefty bill at the end of the night. We all went with them anyway and sat down at a Bia Hoi.

Bia Hoi is a genius idea. These old ladies have kegs of beer out on the street, and you buy a pitcher of beer for the price of a bottle in a bar. They have tiny plastic chairs you used to sit on in kindergarten and it's the social event of the town until the kegs run dry. So we sit and we chat and I find them to be beautiful, amazing women. Sue, Sa, and her daughter Cue all speak fantastic English, as well as Vietnamese, their local Hmong dialect, and an assortment of French and Spanish as well. I almost fell out of my chair when I told Sa that I lived in Mexico and she replied with "Hola, como estas?"

It's hard to describe these women, but I can definitely say that they glow. Their traditional dress includes a pair of velvety shorts, a tshirt and a beautifully stitched outer coat. All of this is tied together with a hand stitched belt that took over a year to make. Add a little hat, a scarf and matching velvet leg warmers on a four foot tall tribal lady wearing all the rings, earrings and necklaces she can without falling over, and you have an idea as to what my new friends, or should I say my new mommies, look like. Or you can check out the picture I attached.

Yes, I've been adopted. After hours of talking, laughing, sharing stories and learning about each other, we all split the bill evenly and they invite us to their village for lunch the next day. We meet up and walk the seven kilometers that they walk every few days to get back home from Sa Pa, talking the whole way. Sa holds my hand and says, "Rachel, you must come live in the village and I will get you a husband. It's best to be Hmong woman in the village because the man must pay the dowry to marry the woman. You get paid! And my husband also takes care of the children and our pet water buffalo! Ha! It's best that men do the house work too, and I spend my time in Sa Pa having drinks with you! Ha!"

I have an announcement to make: I'm moving into the village and never leaving.

The last three days in Sa Pa I have seen them everywhere, always greeting me by screaming "Daughter!" from across the street with huge smiles, hugs and kisses while I scream "Mommies!" as they skip up. These women took us into their homes, cooked us lunch, taught us about their culture and language, dressed us up in traditional Hmong clothes and introduced us to their husbands, mothers and children without a second thought. Today, at our request, they brought us blankets and belts for us to see and buy because I want one, I love these woman, and because I'm wearing the most beautiful hand stitched belt in the world right now. When the time came to say goodbye it was a sad event. They each give me a big hug, Sue gives me a pretty little purse made by her six year old daughter and Sa gives me a pair of silver earrings. She knows I don't wear earrings and explains that they're not for me. They're for my other mommy.

Tomorrow Haydin and I are back on the motorbike headed east, which is why I'm writing this now. Mel took the train back to Hanoi yesterday and Andrew left on his bike this morning. We'll do four more days cruising around the national parks in northeastern Viet Nam before getting back to Hanoi. From there I might just hop on the train and come straight back! Sa apparently has a husband lined up for me, and I've promised to teach them how to read English if they teach me how to sew.

But only if I get my own water buffalo.

Rachel's Guide to Being Hard Core

To quote Bill and Ted, I just had a most excellent adventure.

Adventure comes in many forms, from a good hike to parenting to just trying something you wouldn't normally do in your daily life. A few days ago I did something I never would have dreamed of doing, purely for logical and safety reasons. It's amazing what you'll do when you have nothing else planned, so I said yes and hopped on the back of a giant dirt bike for a three day journey through the mountains of northwestern Viet Nam with Haydin from New Zealand, Andrew from Canada and Mel from England.

There are a few reasons why this is so wild and crazy for me, the first being that my mom is going to kill me because I have been conditioned my entire life to know that motorcycles are dangerous. Others might be that I know absolutely nothing about bikes or riding them, I am a nervous wreck just watching other people ride motorbikes, and I am ridiculously not hard-core. And still I said yes. The only preparation I could contribute to the trip was to switch from my Buddha necklace to my St. Christopher necklace, which seemed important at the time. I also became the Navigator, because I'm pretty good with maps and talking to people who don't speak English, which made me feel special. Other than that I was completely lost, and on sharing this with fact with Mel I realized that at least I was not alone. So together we put on our "Brave Face", tried to figure out how to put a helmet on, and jumped on the back of a roaring bicycle from hell.

Day One: Ache.
Getting out of Hanoi (a city of four million) in morning traffic was enough to put me over the edge, but I was committed so I tried not to scream too much. Instead I just held on to Andrew so tight that he was having breathing problems. Out of the city however, we had a good day of zipping around mountains, water buffaloes and giant trucks, getting about three hundred kilometers between us and chaotic Hanoi with only minor brushes with death. I don't know if any of you have gone three hundred kms. on a dirt bike, but they are ridiculously uncomfortable. You can't move at all, so when your butt goes numb with pain you have to deal with it or stop to allow circulation to flow once more. At one of the rest breaks I decided that our bike was named Clyde, after my grandfather, because he is strong, smart, and I had the sneaking suspicion he wanted me to go back to University.

Day Two: Pain.
I fell off the bike. Three times. We started off well and I was pumped, purely from the elation of still being alive. But then the child on the bike swerved the wrong way and Andrew decided to hit the mountain and spare the little bastard. My right leg ended up a little smashed up, but other than that we were ok. Actually I'm completely lying. I was really shaken and lost all my confidence for the whole day, making me a nervous wreck and an annoyance to everyone else. After the other two minor slides I was so depleted of all energy that I almost didn't make it. Andrew, Haydin and Mel were all very supportive, but I learned that I'm not much of a motorcycle rider, seeing as how I don't like peeling around blind corners on Vietnamese "highways" and am not much of a thrill-seeker.

Day Three: Excellent!
Haydin talked me back onto the bike for the last leg of the journey, and for that I am very thankful. He said that it's easier to just let go and enjoy the flow of the ride, rather than try to control things that are beyond control to begin with, and he was right. So I woke up early, meditated, practiced my yoga, and charged my iPod. During meditation my Muay Thai trainer Ay appeared and said, "No crying!" which is something he used to say to keep me going when I was down and exhausted. My head clear and my confidence returned, I stopped crying, figuratively, and got back on. With 'Rage Against the Machine' flooding my ears, the wind on my face and my friends beside me I felt alive once more.

The ride was amazing. If you have never seen the rice paddies in northern Viet Nam, then my words can do them no justice. I can only say that they are emerald stairs towards the heavens, shining as the water catches the sun's rays, as far as the eye can see. Little figures in pointy straw hats weave amongst them, and the countless views of peace and perfection are forever seared into my memory. Viet Nam, with all of it's symmetrical yet curvy green rice fields, reminds me of an M.C. Escher painting.

When we reached Sa Pa, our final destination, Mel and I hugged each other in peals of joy and laughter for having survived. Andrew and Haydin just laughed at us for being so ridiculous. I wouldn't have made it without Mel there, and we have jointly decided that we are now "Hard Core", which is pretty cool...

Being self-proclaimed Hard Core always is.

Frolicking Regulations

I've lost my voice from screaming/haggling in Viet Nam.

I don't know if I was trying to test myself or I just wasn't paying attention, but I definitely took the wrong way to cross the border, or the right, non-tourist way, depending on how you look at it. Either way, it took me five days through the mountains of Laos in the back of a tuk-tuk to finally reach the most stringent border crossing I have ever faced. After losing one travel buddy at the border due to a small paperwork error, I continue on into Viet Nam with a crazy Canadian guy named Andrew who taught the border guards how to play the didgeridoo while I danced so they wouldn't take his camping knife away, although they did make him promise not to stab anyone, which is fair.

Andrew and I make a good team because we're both poor and really stubborn, which is a good quality when trying to get through Viet Nam without being charged six times the going rate. The one bus a day that left the border town headed towards Hanoi tried to charge us one million Vietnamese dong, which is about fifty American dollars and an absolute atrocity. After refusing their price, screaming in English, Spanish and Thai, we storm off in a huff up the highway with our backpacks, fully intending to hike the fifty kilometers to Hanoi rather than pay this ridiculous sum. The bus driver, determined to get our foreign money, circled around the town and came back to try and get us again:

"800,000 dong!"

"No! Screw you! 300,000!" And again we start walking.

"800,000!"

"You don't seem to understand haggling. NO! 400,000 or go away!"

The bus continues to follow us slowly, filled with people, I might add. The Vietnamese loved the show and were in no way perturbed by the hold up. The Norwegian couple on the bus who payed the money were not entertained in the least. Finally the driver and his helper give up,and the bus blows past us. My thumb pops out and I am satisfied to hitchhike, until we round the corner...

"600,000!"

Andrew and I look at each other and shrug. Take a chance, knowing that no car may pass us the whole day, or pay the blasphemous fee and have the whole thing done with. At 300,000 dong each, it's still a rip-off but a lesser evil. We take the deal and the driver bursts into laughter, takes our money and shakes our hands. His knowing nod and smiling eyes say, "I'm proud of you for taking a stand. You're just another crazy foreigner but a good negotiator, and damn do I respect that."

Excellent. And it only took an hour.

Viet Nam is a whirlwind of chaos and regulation at the same time, slightly different from the tranquil back roads of Laos. The constant honking or horns and motorcycles zipping by me in the busy streets of Hanoi has really stressed me out. In Thailand they drive on the left side of the road, in Laos the right, and here in Viet Nam they all tend to stick to the middle of the road and the sidewalks. When going to visit Ho Chi Minh's tomb we had to check our cameras, walk in pairs in somber silence, and got poked a lot by "Official" looking seventeen year-olds wielding pointy guns in military uniforms whilst walking past the nation's savior who has been dead and embalmed for nearly forty years and looks like a wax statue. So basically Viet Nam makes me feel like a slinky in a room full of ironing boards.

The perfect example of Viet Nam, I feel, is outside the old prison in Hanoi, where I believe John McCain spent some time during the war. There at the entrance is a sign listing all the do's and don'ts for visiting. In big, bold letters at the bottom it reads: NO FROLICKING.

I am outraged and intend on frolicking my ass off.