I am surrounded by white people and it's freaking me out a bit.
I have left life as I know it.
My kids have new teachers.
My lovely apartment is empty.
My vegetable lady is wondering where the hell I am.
All I can say is that recently a strong wind has been blowing from the north, and I now find myself in Hoi An, a town quite a ways south of Hanoi. Back in the traveling circuit I am no longer the solo foreigner on the road and I am having trouble adjusting.
I miss Hanoi and my way of life for the last four and a half months. It's the longest I've stayed in one place in almost two years. I miss that it's close to impossible to get a decent cold shower because it's so hot outside that it heats up all the pipes. I miss the decrepit old lady who lives in our alley who always pinches my cheek and speaks to me in rapid Vietnamese when she knows she has to speak slowly for me to understand. I miss my tofu lady I see twice a week. I miss that our alley is not just an alley but a community. Viet Nam is a community. Viet Nam is a family.
What is really getting to me is how much I miss my kids. Those little bastards have sure learned how to tug on my heartstrings, which I wasn't aware I even had. I miss how they run screaming at my knee caps when I walk through the door in the mornings, how they hug me and show me toys they have brought from home, mostly of the McDonald's quality. I love watching them progress, the proud look of accomplishment on a four year old when he can count to ten and the mischievous grin of a six year of when she can make a joke with me that we both understand. I imagine that my kids will grow and continue to learn English, become educated young adults and lead Viet Nam into its already developing future. I feel blessed to be able to take part in that process, in a special part of their lives, which I will always remember. I hope they will remember me too.
To the teachers, students, families and friends who made my life so much easier in such a challenging country, I smile from my heart and say Thank You. I will continue heading south to Saigon, aka Ho Chi Minh City, and then into Cambodia for two weeks to conclude a nine month stint in South East Asia. As I said before, the northern winds have been very strong and are taking me from Bangkok to New Zealand on August 9th so that I will arrive in Christchurch on my 24th birthday, starting a new chapter in this crazy life of mine.
May the winds blow you along your paths as well.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
I swear I get more Vietnamese every day.
I think the reason I haven't written in a long time is not due to lack of weird things to write about, but that the oddities of a life in Viet Nam have just become the norm. Most mornings I wake up early and try to dress conservatively because showing any shoulders, stomach or knees is considered whore-ish. In one hand as I walk out the door is a green army helmet covered in mesh with a Viet Nam flag on the side.. A gift from my boyfriend Haydin, it is so I don't have to wear other peoples helmets on the multiple moto-taxis I take all the time. In the other hand is a pink and white flowery face mask with a filter in it.. The face mask is a common accessory here in Hanoi due to the raging polution problem. The first time a giant bus hacks up a cloud of black exhaust in your face, you will wear a filtered face mask too. If it's raining, which is often, a bubblegum pink rain coat keeps me and my school supplies somewhat dry. So with my helmet, face mask, rain coat and a pair of giant purple sunglasses I look like a smaller, more colorful version of Darth Vader. The funny thing is that I still look like everyone else.
I walk down my alley to the street where a couple of xe om (motorcycle taxi) drivers usually hang out. A quick conversation in Vietnamese as to where I need to go and how much I will pay and I'm on the back of the bike zooming towards 15-30 kids waiting for me to teach them English. It really makes my day when I can have a little joke with the xe om guys, because unless they know me, most of them aren't expecting Hanoi street slang from a big, tall, white girl. (Insert: ling ta ling ting.) My Vietnamese is coming along nicely, but it has been quite an interesting challenge. For example, there are six different tones, eight accents, eleven vowels, and nothing is said the way it is spelled. As you might imagine, I spend a lot of time trying to get the right pronounciation so that I can get simple messages across. I have a theory about the Vietnamese language: it is made of so many minute differences that any deviation of the exact pronounciation does not register at all. So if I'm trying to get to my street, Ngo Van So, I might have to say it seven different times in seven different ways before they understand.
I'm not giving myself much credit, but I do speak a little. I can hold small conversations, answer questions, haggle, and not get ripped off as much as other foreigners, which I'm actually quite proud of. There's a three-way tie for my favorite phrase:
Toi la giao vien, khong phai la hach du lich.
(I'm a teacher, not a stupid tourist.)
Ling ta ling ting.
(You're talking shit. (in a joking way))
Khong phai ga viet!
I am not a Vietnamese chicken!
Basically all my key phrases are in effort to save me money and not be pegged for some oblivious tourist that will pay triple the price because they just don't know better. I'm not shocked by it though, as nothing shocks me anymore. Twelve year olds driving mopeds through morning traffic with giant, slaughtered pigs strapped to the sides while chain smoking cigarretes no longer phases me. The roads of Hanoi no longer scare me, but kind of remind me of the Super Nintendo version of Super Mario Cart, complete with slippery banana peels laid out by giant Donkeys driving go-carts and explosive red turtle shells bopping across the lanes of traffic. I've stopped flinching at chicken heads and feet floating in bowls of soup, deep-fried whole baby ducklings, and dog-meat kebabs. Seventeen year olds weilding AK-47s at major tourist sites make me laugh, as do the great lengths the people here go through to remain as pasty white as possible, while I run around trying to soak up the sun for a better tan.
I'm also never shocked when a Vietnamese friend or acquaintance of mine will bend over backward to help me out. My favorite Vietnamese person is a woman named Huyen, a manager at one of the schools I teach at. She takes me to the outdoor market so I can buy fresh fruit and veg without being overcharged. She invited Haydin, Brittney and I for coffee on her one night off a week so I could meet her husband, son and mother. She has taken me to the Van Phuc Silk Village outside of the city twice so I can find some nice, affordable clothes. We swap teaching each other English and Vietnamese phrases and laugh at the beautiful differences between our two cultures.
The differences here are amazing, but we learn to live with it, laugh about it and love it, like when the government shuts off the power in different areas of Hanoi (including mine) a couple times a week to save energy. That's always fun.
I think the reason I haven't written in a long time is not due to lack of weird things to write about, but that the oddities of a life in Viet Nam have just become the norm. Most mornings I wake up early and try to dress conservatively because showing any shoulders, stomach or knees is considered whore-ish. In one hand as I walk out the door is a green army helmet covered in mesh with a Viet Nam flag on the side.. A gift from my boyfriend Haydin, it is so I don't have to wear other peoples helmets on the multiple moto-taxis I take all the time. In the other hand is a pink and white flowery face mask with a filter in it.. The face mask is a common accessory here in Hanoi due to the raging polution problem. The first time a giant bus hacks up a cloud of black exhaust in your face, you will wear a filtered face mask too. If it's raining, which is often, a bubblegum pink rain coat keeps me and my school supplies somewhat dry. So with my helmet, face mask, rain coat and a pair of giant purple sunglasses I look like a smaller, more colorful version of Darth Vader. The funny thing is that I still look like everyone else.
I walk down my alley to the street where a couple of xe om (motorcycle taxi) drivers usually hang out. A quick conversation in Vietnamese as to where I need to go and how much I will pay and I'm on the back of the bike zooming towards 15-30 kids waiting for me to teach them English. It really makes my day when I can have a little joke with the xe om guys, because unless they know me, most of them aren't expecting Hanoi street slang from a big, tall, white girl. (Insert: ling ta ling ting.) My Vietnamese is coming along nicely, but it has been quite an interesting challenge. For example, there are six different tones, eight accents, eleven vowels, and nothing is said the way it is spelled. As you might imagine, I spend a lot of time trying to get the right pronounciation so that I can get simple messages across. I have a theory about the Vietnamese language: it is made of so many minute differences that any deviation of the exact pronounciation does not register at all. So if I'm trying to get to my street, Ngo Van So, I might have to say it seven different times in seven different ways before they understand.
I'm not giving myself much credit, but I do speak a little. I can hold small conversations, answer questions, haggle, and not get ripped off as much as other foreigners, which I'm actually quite proud of. There's a three-way tie for my favorite phrase:
Toi la giao vien, khong phai la hach du lich.
(I'm a teacher, not a stupid tourist.)
Ling ta ling ting.
(You're talking shit. (in a joking way))
Khong phai ga viet!
I am not a Vietnamese chicken!
Basically all my key phrases are in effort to save me money and not be pegged for some oblivious tourist that will pay triple the price because they just don't know better. I'm not shocked by it though, as nothing shocks me anymore. Twelve year olds driving mopeds through morning traffic with giant, slaughtered pigs strapped to the sides while chain smoking cigarretes no longer phases me. The roads of Hanoi no longer scare me, but kind of remind me of the Super Nintendo version of Super Mario Cart, complete with slippery banana peels laid out by giant Donkeys driving go-carts and explosive red turtle shells bopping across the lanes of traffic. I've stopped flinching at chicken heads and feet floating in bowls of soup, deep-fried whole baby ducklings, and dog-meat kebabs. Seventeen year olds weilding AK-47s at major tourist sites make me laugh, as do the great lengths the people here go through to remain as pasty white as possible, while I run around trying to soak up the sun for a better tan.
I'm also never shocked when a Vietnamese friend or acquaintance of mine will bend over backward to help me out. My favorite Vietnamese person is a woman named Huyen, a manager at one of the schools I teach at. She takes me to the outdoor market so I can buy fresh fruit and veg without being overcharged. She invited Haydin, Brittney and I for coffee on her one night off a week so I could meet her husband, son and mother. She has taken me to the Van Phuc Silk Village outside of the city twice so I can find some nice, affordable clothes. We swap teaching each other English and Vietnamese phrases and laugh at the beautiful differences between our two cultures.
The differences here are amazing, but we learn to live with it, laugh about it and love it, like when the government shuts off the power in different areas of Hanoi (including mine) a couple times a week to save energy. That's always fun.
Monday, May 4, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
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.
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?
Friday, April 3, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
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.
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.
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