My Vietnam Experience

These days, seems like all I’m doing is wiping the sweat off my face till the next shower, reapplying mosquito repellent, and then starting the whole thing over again.

This, obviously and thankfully, is a huge inaccuracy, but I’ve recently been thinking about the topic of everyday life, and what mine is comprised of. It's fun to consider how typical parts of my routine here are so different from my past-and-near-future American life:

Bike Accidents
Having my foot run over by a car, falling off my bike while riding over some train tracks, crashing into Laura and falling off again, having half my big toenail rip when a guy on a motorbike pulls out of an alley and into my path without looking...this is just part of my life, as much as filling up the tank in my car was at home. I recently visited a website to check current gas prices at home, and now I'm wondering whether I’d rather have buying gas or sustaining minor injuries as part of my weekly transportation regime.

Interrupted Sleep
Another part of everyday life is waking up in the middle of the night, usually at 3 a.m. Most nights I wake myself up coughing, and many times when this happens I end up creeping downstairs for a drink or a snack to coat and soothe my throat (I know, not exactly healthy eating. Oprah Winfrey is haunting my conscience, because I keep thinking of how, in her intense dieting days, she refused to go to bed within 2 hours of eating.) If I don’t wake myself up halfway through the night, the neighbor’s rooster usually takes it upon himself to make sure I don’t fall out of routine.

Smiling & Nodding
I've never done so much smiling and nodding in my life as I do here when I don't understand but want to proceed from the moment. Whenever Co Non, who helps Co Ha with cooking and cleaning, is here, I do a lot of smiling and nodding. She's one of various people I know who like to speak to me as if I'm a native, without modifying speed or pronounciation or word choice to accommodate my limitations. I always wonder if she seriously thinks I understand. I get a kick out of it though. I keep thinking of 2 characters from the movie "Love Actually": a Portuguese woman and an English man who continue to speak to each other in their respective native languages, even though neither knows what the other is saying.

Repeated phrases
Every day when I come down to breakfast Co Ha says "Gooood morning!" and then tells me a) that she is tired, or b) that she has a headache. Every time I leave the house when Son is there, he says, "Wish you would be joyful!" Recently, every day Thu Giang plays this terrible game where she says very fast: "Who-hate-me-put-hand-down! See? Everyone hand down, everyone hate me."
Every day someone in my family says “Oh my goodness! Only one month left!” They’ve been saying this since there were 2 months left and we’re still not at the one-month mark. General talk of our limited remaining time together has been going on since about month six. I guess it could be worse; I could be getting up in the morning to someone saying, "You're STILL here?? Wow, this is really dragging on!"

Lychees (A chef getting ready to cut up some lychees for me? I don't know...)
For about a month now lychees have been another part of my everyday life. They're only 25 cents a kilogram, so Co Ha keeps buying them, but I'm the only one who eats them really. Many Vietnamese people limit their lychee intake, because they are considered a "hot food", meaning they are a food that makes you hot. I, on the other hand, am eating about a kilo a day, which is 2.2 pounds. Co Ha keeps telling me they’re good for your brain, so I figure by the end of lychee season I should be a fluent Vietnamese speaker, if not a genius. Or would genius come before fluency in Vietnamese? I’ll have to get back to you at the end of lychee season.


I’ve found I love to use my Vietnamese in playing cards. Lately we’ve been playing this simple card game at home that takes more luck than lychees, and I love it, because it’s one place I don’t feel the language barrier. Sure, there is speaking going on, but really it’s confined to things like: “two of clubs” “can’t go” and “deal.” So all it takes is a few rounds of hearing my playing partners saying these things before I too am dropping these phrases like a native. A few MORE rounds and I’m even capable of woefully declaring myself the loser!

Last night I was sitting on a bed with Thu Giang and aunt Co Oanh, playing cards, when Son came home from studying. I was peripherally aware of his presence, but none of us looked up, since we were in the middle of a game. So Son the Drama Queen collapses against the doorway, lets out a long sigh/moan and declares “I’m SOoooo tired!” We may have looked up from the game, but none of us really responded, so he came over, flung himself across the bed, and again: “I’m SOOOOooo tired!” (Dear Katie King: I don't even know if you read this blog from Swaziland, but if so, I hope you are now remembering a certain incident from my visit to EMU sophomore year, and I hope you are now laughing in spite of whatever African parasites are currently reigning in your body). Co Oanh called him lazy and told me “All Son does is sleeps. And all Thu Giang does is eats.”
“And all Renee does is take showers” said Thu Giang.
“That’s because all Renee does is sweats” I said.

Oh, this everyday life. Soon to be nothing more than a memory from way over on the other side of the world...

Friday, April 20, I walked into work, sat down at my computer, and realized they were in the air flying to me. I then commenced to feel probably something like I would feel after 4 cups of coffee (if, in fact, I actually drank coffee).

Sidenote: There is a coffee in Vietnam that is made from coffee beans extracted from weasel feces after the weasels have eaten them and they have passed through their systems undigested.

Saturday morning, April 21, Co Ha and Thu Giang accompanied me to the airport for their 9:30 arrival, and I was still feeling pretty anxious, though we were just standing around talking. I tried very hard to avert my eyes from baggage claim, because I wanted to limit the length of time I saw them through the glass without being able to touch them. Finally, there they were, walking out through the crowd of others waiting to receive their guests, and I ran towards them. There was Kelly in front, and, looking up, she beamed at me and I beamed at her, and as I took her in my arms I closed my eyes to shut out all the curious Asian faces staring at us. When I opened my eyes there were tears of joy (or of being overwhelmed with the collision of my two worlds) on my face. Both my mom and Co Ha were a little misty-eyed as well. Thu Giang was half amused and half shy because she'd never seen me cry before I guess.

I hugged Kelly, and Lisa, and Mom, and after introductions and the traditional Vietnamese presentation of flower bouquets to each of the guests, the six of us piled our luggage and selves into a 7-seater vehicle and headed off to Ruth & Lowell's, where we would stay for the first two nights.

It was wonderful having them there. After settling in at Ruth & Lowell's, I sat on the tile guestroom floor with my Mom and Lisa and sorted through all the stuff Mom had brought for my host family and the office and me. There wasn’t a sense that we needed to catch up on the past eight months; we just picked up where we left off. After showering we went downtown and walked around the famous lake, over the famous red bridge, into the famous pagoda on the lake. We stopped for Italian ice cream before walking around the Old Quarter a little bit, seeing the sights, taking our first steps at conquering Thanatophobia, which is the fear of dying, but which I think also applies to the fear of crossing the streets of Hanoi.
At 5:15 we all went to the traditional Vietnamese Water Puppet show, and all slept through most of it.

Sidenote: the water puppets are wooden figurines that are operated by puppeteers positioned behind a curtain, and the whole show takes place in the water. Traditionally, shows were performed in lakes, but this place we were at is set up indoors. I’ll post pictures once my family gets their act together and sends theirs to me.

Then we went to the Dinh Lang Vietnamese Restaurant over the lake and ate some good food while a traditional band played folk songs in the background. And for the record, don’t eat the mini rice-shrimp patties wrapped in a leaf without disposing of the leaf first (despite what the waitress tells you, and despite the fact that you do eat the leaf fresh spring rolls are wrapped in). It’s amazing how long you can chew on some things with nothing happening except the debilitation of you jaw!

Sunday we went to Bat Trang, the ceramics village and bought too many ceramics, except for me, because even after my third trip there, I’m still indecisive. It’s HARD to choose one beautiful tea set out of a million beautiful tea sets! I believe there are a couple hundred families in the village who are in the ceramics business.

In the afternoon we went to the Qi salon for massages. For my belated birthday present I got a hot rock massage for 90 minutes for $35, in the same room as cousin Lisa. My first massage, and a good one, though I really am not the type to enjoy pamperings like that, especially after living my MCC life for 8 months, and I couldn't help but think it was a waste of money (as I then also felt about the nail art we had done on our last day). And I didn’t like the feeling of lying face down without being able to see what was going on. At least I could get a kick out of the 27 or so power outages that occurred throughout the course of the massage. (Because of the recent drought conditions, hydroelectrically-powered Vietnam has been having some issues with the power shutting off). When the CD of relaxing music has to be started over 27 or so times, track #1 really begins to lose its sense of serenity.

For dinner we went to the host family's, and I was very stressed through the whole evening, though in retrospect it is hard to pinpoint why exactly. I felt a need to be protective of both my host family/Vietnamese culture and my own family, so I was defensive and disappointed whenever either let me down, that night and throughout the whole trip. Anyway, the meal Co Ha cooked was amazing, the conversation awkward but okay, and I think they really enjoyed the gifts my mom brought from home. Although Chu Thanh didn’t seem to appreciate the flying monkey slingshot (that screams when you fling him) that I had selected for Thu Giang. Thu Giang is infinitely louder than the monkey, so I guess I just didn’t foresee it being an issue!

Sidenote: Men in Vietnam call ugly girls monkey/gorilla. The other night I walked into the room to watch Tarzan with my host family (this is after my biological family had left) and as soon as the monkeys came on the screen, Chu Thanh said “Look, it’s Renee.” Earlier he had been commenting on how I looked ugly that day, and that it must be because I miss my mom and can’t sleep.

Monday we flew down to the central coastal town of Hoi An, where we stayed till Friday afternoon, and that was a great time. Beautiful, charming old town...very touristy, yes, but relaxing. Probably even more relaxing if you don’t let yourself get sucked in by the 450 tailoring shops, which we regrettably did. Especially Lisa, who, halfway through the trip, refused to speak of tailoring anymore, because she was finished with it. Well, the next day I think she arranged for something like 2 skirts, 2 shirts, and a pair of shoes to be made...We all had a fair amount of clothes tailored though, and at about six different places, so much of the week was spent running around to fitting appointments. I had figured we’d be at the beach every day, but in fact only Mom and I rode bikes down one afternoon. It was a lovely beach.

We also spent a day with the Red Bridge Cooking School, which was definitely a highlight for me. Starting at 8:30 in the morning, we had a tour of the local market, where our guide gave us advice on how to select quality food. Then we hopped on a boat for a leisurely, half-hour ride down the river to the cooking school, which was a great added bonus to the cooking, because one of my favorite things is leisurely boat rides. At the school, we had a brief introduction to their herb garden, and then we took our front row seats for the lesson. The chef had a great dry sense of humor, and a deep strong voice that came as a surprise from his wiry frame. The food we made was incredible (though I may have been biased since I helped cook it): squid and vegetables in a pineapple boat, rice paper, fresh shrimp spring rolls, eggplant in a clay pot, Hoi An style pancakes...we even tried our hands at food decoration. My cucumber Vietnamese hand fan was a bit of a failure, but the tomato rose wasn’t so bad. As for the cooking, I think we all did a fine job. Kelly was a little skimpy with her rice paper, but it worked out in the end, right Kelly? Anyone who wants me to cook for them when I return, I am more than willing, though I may ask for a donation, since I’m sure shrimp and squid are a tad more pricey in the States!

Friday we flew back into the Hanoi airport and were bussed to Halong Bay, location of the annual MCC Asia Retreat, which went well for me, but since I had meetings, the family was on their own a lot, and I think they got bored. Perhaps they should’ve come to our sessions! Our speaker was Earl Martin, who was one of the few MCCers on assignment here during the war who remained through the fall/liberation of Saigon. And the theme of the sessions was “Telling Your Story,” so it was great to hear his stories. It also motivated me to try and journal about more of my experience, especially considering that my memory is about as reliable as that in my broken laptop, which I have allowed to remain defunct after its second crashing.

Anyway, by the end of our time in Halong Bay, the family was ready to get back to Hanoi. It was a holiday weekend for the Vietnamese (3 holidays in one weekend: commemoration of the dynasty of kings who founded Vietnam, International Labor Day, and Liberation Day, of Saigon) so Halong city was packed with people, and it was stressful being out in it all. Plus Kelly and Lisa got tired of getting ripped off for being Westerners. It’s definitely something that takes some getting used to. We had a nice boat ride with MCC on the last day, which is really the best thing to do in Halong Bay. The water is a beautiful green from the 3,000+ limestone islands that jut out of the water throughout the bay...there are caves to walk through for only $2...floating villages of families who live/work on the waters...and the water was optimal swimming temperature.

We returned to Hanoi for the last two days, where we did some more shopping, ate at a nice restaurant, had our nails done. By the last night all I wanted was to buy some fruit and sit in the hotel with my family. It was really stressful having to make so many decisions in the planning of the trip, and then having to deal with the added emotional stress of having my America life mixing with my Vietnam life, so I just wanted to have my family to myself for the last night. But my host family insisted on taking us out to dinner. Co Ha's sister from Saigon was here, and she wanted to take us out. It was strange for us, because you think we should be the ones taking them out—they’ve been caring for me and providing me with food, a place to stay, and much more all year. But the way it works in Vietnam is that they are expected to treat guests to their country. So this woman took us out and basically ordered all of the most expensive items on the menu: lobster, clams, shrimp, crab...it was insane! But extremely delicious.

The rest of our time was spent trying to figure out how to pack ceramics. On Thursday morning of May 3, we got 3 people and about 8 or 9 bags loaded into an airport taxi, and there it was—time for hugs and tears again. Actually, though, I felt alright with the goodbye, because I know it won’t be too long till I see them again. And because it felt good just to have had someone from my Pennsylvania world get a glimpse of what it’s been like here in my Vietnam world.

And it was nice to go home to the host family that night. Thu Giang and I hung out in my bedroom talking about dental floss. Son hovered around my room talking about girls in Vietnam and how all they care about is looks and money, then told me "But wish is wish, hope is hope, love is love," whatever that means. I did two loads of laundry, resuming the offensive in my ongoing battle against the mold. Counted how many days till home and then got mad at myself for counting, because why should I count when I’m having a good time?
Who knows. But life is good.

This Easter crept up in much the same way as this past Christmas did for me. Something I find difficult in Vietnam is the lack of biblical reminders I have here. I still have church, but what’s missing is the communal buzz that picks up as a significant point in the church calendar approaches. In Vietnam, at work and at home, I have no one to talk about the themes and traditions of the season with. I don’t see signs around advertising holiday plays or concerts or TV specials...I don’t even get the casual “So what are you doing for Easter? Dinner with the family?”

And I don’t feel the motivation to hang lines of scripture on my wall like I did in college. It’s not that I’m embarrassed; I just really cherish feeling like a part of my family here, and so I don’t like to emphasize the points that divide us.

We have exchanged some minimal information on religion with each other. Once Chu Thanh had Thu Giang attempt to translate his story of the “Mother goddess” maybe? (Thu Giang didn’t really understand it either, so that didn’t help). Many times I’ve looked on as Co Ha changes the food and flowers on the family altar before she prays, while she laments to me about how much work it all is, and how nice it must be to not have to do this in America. But I never told them about Christmas. Vietnam knows of Christmas as a Western holiday with Santa (or “Fanta,” according to Thu Giang, who often confuses him with the orange soda). And Easter...well Easter hasn’t made its way into popular Vietnamese culture yet—not even the bunny, not even the candy.

In the States, my mom has always hid Easter baskets around the house for us to find on Easter morning, and I decided this year I would introduce Easter to Son and Thu Giang through this family tradition. So I bought some candy (even found some Easter chocolates at the Western grocery store) and arranged it neatly in some plastic containers, since I didn’t have baskets. Then at 3:00 am on Easter morning, when I was sick and unable to sleep, I got up to hide the baskets and then decided to write them a note, since I would be gone for church before they got up.

It was an...interesting...note! Basically it went something like this:

Happy Easter! Today is Easter, which is a Western holiday we celebrate in the Christian church, like Christmas, except Christmas is for the day Jesus Christ was born, and Easter is the day that we say he came back to life after some bad people killed him.
But these holidays are not only celebrated in the church, and that’s why there is Santa to bring toys for children on Christmas, and the Easter Bunny, who hides candy for kids on Easter (this is just pretend though).
Every year since I was very little my mom hid baskets of candy somewhere in the house for me and Kelly to find, so I thought it would be fun to do the same for you! But I didn’t have baskets, so you have to look for plastic bowls. Have fun!

Strange how bizarre the Jesus story sounded when I wrote it like that, but I had to keep the English simple! And I opted to draw a smiling pink bunny on the bottom of the note, rather than an empty tomb or something of that nature.

Later I came home and Thu Giang was jumping around excitedly because she had found one basket(and, judging from the height of her vertical, had probably already finished the chocolate). But she still hadn’t located the one hidden between the legs of the 3-foot tall ceramic dog. So I gave her hints till she found it.

As she descended upon the chocolate bunnies and chicks without even pausing to appreciate the festively decorated foil wrappers, I asked her if she had read my note.

“Yes,” she said.

“Did you understand it?”

“Yes...well I’m only reading part of it. About you and Kelly and the baskets of candy. I’m not reading the first part.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you read the first part?”

“Because I didn’t like it. I’m just wanting to find the candy!”

Oh well, I suppose I was of a similar mindset at age nine as well!

It’s unbelievable how much Thu Giang is spoiled. She gets everything she wants, no questions asked, and there’s no such thing as the magic word of “please” for her. Just being Thu Giang is magic. If she is watching TV after school (on her knees, with her eyes ten inches from the screen) and the door that is 2 feet away from her is ajar and letting in a draft, she can call to her mother, who is cooking her dinner in the kitchen: “Mom! I’m cold! Close the door!” and Co Ha will drop whatever she is cooking and come sprinting over to close the door as if the draft wafting in was actually carbon monoxide filling the room and her child’s lungs.

But this is how Thu Giang has grown up, so this is normal for her. She doesn’t know any different. She still manages to be very loveable, and she’s got a good heart. It’s just funny how confused she gets in the situations where I decline her requests.

At Saturday night Chinese tea, Co Ha was forbidding us to speak of July, because that’s when I’m leaving. And I told the Mongolian girl who was with us and who spoke great English, about how difficult it was, because what I want is to somehow go home to Pennsylvania without leaving Vietnam. “Why do they have to be at opposite ends of the world?!” I cried. Then Thu Giang told me she was going to make a magic door, so that America would be on one side and Vietnam on the other, and all she had to do was open it to see me, and we could go back and forth. I told her it was a great idea, and then it struck me that it wasn’t too long ago that probably many wives and mothers, etc., longed for such a door. But then it would’ve been to save loved ones from being killed. This door Thu Giang and I want is so two sisters can still play together.

It's funny how attached I've gotten in spite of the million and twenty-seven cultural differences that STILL boggle my mind. And in spite of the frustration of knowing that I will never really be a part of it, and it will always be on the opposite side of the world from my own culture, and Thu Giang may never take part in any Easter festivities again.

[Insert “But” and a positive concluding sentence here. Perhaps something about life lessons. ]

1,000 years ago, Hanoi saw its beginnings as the commercial quarter of Vietnam. In the Le dynasty (15th – 18th centuries) the commercial area was divided into 36 wards. Each of these was a tiny artisan workshop village that specialized in one craft and resembled something similar to guilds. The guild members worked and lived together, making their products and transporting them to the market streets that sold them. Each product had its own street: Silk Street, Fan Street, Silver Street, Cotton Street, Basket Street, Coffin Street, Hat Street…

Today many of the street names/products have changed. Raft Street now specializes in shoes. Waterpipe Street now sells mattresses and quilts. What hasn’t changed is that there are still many streets that specialize in just one or two products. Even outside the Old Quarter and downtown Hanoi you can find this set-up: here, ten stores in a row selling air conditioners; there, 15 selling toilets and bathtubs.

I’m always curious as to what keeps a store owner’s business alive in such conditions. Why not establish oneself far away from competition, where you will be the only one selling air conditioners, so that everyone in that area will have no choice but to come to you? Sure, there’s that initial hassle of making the move, but wouldn’t you be better off in the grand scheme of things?

I suppose as a seller of air conditioners who always worked around others in the same business, going out on my own to run my business in isolation from other air conditioner sellers might sound lonely. My other friends who sell air conditioners understand me. They commiserate with me in the winters when business is slow and we all have to tighten our budgets. They back me up in the summer when I’ve run out of one kind of air conditioner and they happen to have the one I need available (and later we can split the profit accordingly). We have our similar air-conditioner stories to share and our similar air-conditioner-selling lifestyles we lead, and there is comfort in that.

Of course I don’t know if this is what it’s really like, but the strong sense of community in Vietnam leads me to imagine it that way.

Especially since it also allows me to connect with the context, since I've left my own context of comfort (home) for some place where maybe I'm not thriving so much cause it's all new to me and I mess up a lot, but I still can know that the change will have been good for me in the grand scheme of things.

I’ve been humoring the thought of what I shall do upon my return home, when I will feel compelled to fall into the standard adult routine and acquire a full-time job with benefits. If I were returning to Boston, or relocating to New York, it would be easy to find a job in publishing, but I am going home to Souderton. Even in Philadelphia, there doesn’t seem to be much around, but then my searching thus far has been very UNextensive. It's still early though; I'm not too worried.

I am certainly not committed to publishing. I really enjoy editing, and writing, and I love projects, but I have other interests as well, including music, conducting, teaching (not ESL to a group of rowdy teenage Vietnamese boys at different levels though!), service or NGO work...and—lately—anything involving physical movement.

I like my job, but I get sick of sitting around. I think of my car at home, which my Dad runs at least once a month, since it’s not good for it to just sit there for long periods of time. It is built for movement, and if no one moves it, it becomes increasingly harder for it to run when it is made to move. It is not good for me, either, to sit here in front of my computer for long periods of time, and I feel like my legs and arms, still young and healthy, are frustrated with the sedentary state my position has resigned them to. And now I’m recalling a time not too long ago when I sat for 20 hours of flight across the world, and suffered stiff and swollen ankles and feet for over a week afterwards...

I adore the climb to the cafeteria on the roof for lunch every day, and my Saturday and Sunday-morning runs, and my Monday and Wednesday-evening swims, all of which I have tried especially hard to fit in recently, despite having to deal with my host family’s insinuations, when I return home later than expected, that I have acquired a boyfriend in Vietnam. And despite the fact that, in the pool I go to, few people just swim back and forth in one straight line. Some swim the perimeter; others swim diagonally to get the longest distance; still others swim the narrower distance across the width of the pool. Reminds me of Hanoi traffic!

Anyway, I now have just a little over four months left here, so both the end of my stay here and the start of a modified version of life at home are feeling increasingly real. I’m sad about leaving this new life I’m growing more and more accustomed to, but also excited to return home, where I can once again feel the comforts of life as an air conditioner seller on air conditioner street.

I never even heard of International Women’s Day until I came to Vietnam. Here, everyone is shocked to find out that we in America don’t really recognize the occasion (that I know of).

I suppose it is rather strange, considering that America has been more progressive than Vietnam as far as women's rights and gender equality (note: this is just my opinion from observing life in both cultures. I don't have scientific research to back that up). In Vietnam I sometimes feel like I’m in 1950s America with the unbelievable domesticity of Vietnamese women, who cook every meal (and cook it well) and work nonstop. Co Ha sleeps about 5 hours a night.
And this is a generalization, but expats and many Vietnamese women alike often tell me that many men here cheat on their wives or go out drinking a lot or abuse their women. And the women often just put up with it, and the men still come home to food on the table.

On the 3 nights a week that the Canadian guy comes to teach English, Co Ha always urges me to offer him fruits and cookies and drinks. In America my standard hosting was casual, usually consisting of “Do you want pretzels?” and then either throwing or handing the bag (with one hand) to the guest. Here, there is more formality involved. There’s usually a specific way I have to cut and stack every fruit, neatly on a little plate. Then I must offer it to the guest politely, with both hands, and hold it out until he takes some. Maybe it doesn’t sound too different, but it actually does feel a lot more subservient than setting the plate on the table and letting him help himself. Just imagine holding out a clementine to a friend with both hands.

Anyway, the Canadian guy and I always have a laugh about my duty to pretend to be a proper Vietnamese hostess. I don’t mind it at all with Vietnamese people, but with Westerners it feels very wrong, and embarrassing even.

But back to Women’s Day. The day before Woman's Day, March 7 (Happy Birthday Lowell! ) we had a celebration with the MCC staff by taking a trip up to Lang Son, at the Chinese border. The men were included as well. Lang Son is known for its big markets and cheap goods from China. I’m not really a shopper, and mostly I was overwhelmed by all of the stuff, so I didn’t really buy anything. At the request of Co Ha, however, I did bring home a blender, a vacuum cleaner for the computer keyboard, and 2 electric mosquito killers, which undoubtedly go by a more technical name that I’m not aware of. I also bought a bottle of oil that’s supposed to be good for pain in the joints. I’m not experiencing pain in the joints, but I probably will someday! And besides, I have made an unofficial decision to start a collection of aromatic Asian oils.

In addition to shopping I visited a pagoda, took a picture of China (we couldn’t cross the border without a $40 visa) and ate a really good baked sweet potato for about 5 cents, if that. Actually that sweet potato was probably my favorite part of the whole day; it was that satisfying. Forget the clothing and kitchen appliance bargains; I got the best deal that place could offer with my five-cent potato! Overall, the day was tiring, but fun.

On Women’s Day then, the The Gioi staff went out to lunch at a modest little hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street, the kind that you would never know existed unless you're Vietnamese and accustomed to spotting all the good hole-in-the-wall establishments. There didn’t seem to be any menus, and I didn’t see anyone order anything; plates of food were just continually plunked down on the table, and I noticed that the tables around us had the same foods. Fried squid, sweet potato greens, nom salad, shrimp, beef, french fries, bun (noodles & soup), banana/snail salad, and some kind of fried birds completed our meal, which, as usual, was an exorbitant amount of food. At one point I was eating some sweet potato greens and found a fried bird foot in my bowl, so I just picked it up with my chopsticks to place on the bird platter, saying to Laura, “Wrong plate!” Laura then said something about how it’s funny how unaffected we are by those kinds of things now, since, as she noted, “That’s the kind of thing a restaurant in America would get sued for.” And we laughed. Suddenly I became aware of the heap of whole, uncooked birds in a makeshift kitchen dividing the two dining rooms that we had passed to get to our table when we first came in. It is funny how we in America go to such lengths to ensure that our meat doesn’t actually look like an animal. True, there is the Thanksgiving turkey, which comes close, but even that we decapitate and depeditate (my new word for removing feet) and even go so far as to fill it with other, non-animal food, almost as if to leave it unfilled might remind us that there were at one time animal organs in this space. I admit I still have no interest in eating whole birds that are literally cooked, chopped up, and put on a plate (including head and feet), but it makes more sense to me now.

After work I went home and gave Co Ha a rose, since that is the thing to do on this occasion, I am told, though I probably could've figured it out on my own, since I passed about 27 rose vendors on my ride home from work. I wrapped up a present for Thu Giang as well, since 2 days earlier she had asked me if I was buying her something for Women’s Day. (At which point I inwardly answered: I am now!) After I gave her the package, Thu Giang banished me to my bedroom until she was finished with something. Finally she burst into my room, threw up a great handful of shredded paper confetti into the air while yelling “Happy Women’s Day!” and handed me a small package of my own, which contained a handmade beaded bracelet, that is now arguably my accessory with the greatest representation of the color spectrum.

Since women are supposed to have the day off from cooking on March 8, we went out to a restaurant down the street to eat lau, which I think I’ve described on here before...you get a big hot pot and do all your cooking on the table. Even a nice heaping plate of raw beef, pork, liver, brain, egg yolk, and clams. Before the food was ready, Thu Giang and I hung out at the shrimp tank for awhile. She wondered if one of the shrimps was dead and I wondered what purpose the plastic hair curlers bobbing around in the water served. Decorative? Recreational? Back at the table, the family joked about how I look like a little kid (yeah, I have no clue where they’re coming from either), and Chu Thanh told them how before we left for the restaurant he had to help me with my sleeves, because, as I had put my sweatshirt on in a haste, my sleeves of the shirt underneath had bunched up to above my elbows and I couldn’t pull them down. He had laughed as he helped me fix them, saying in Vietnamese, “Renee is the same as a little kid. She doesn’t know how to get dressed!” After dinner we stopped by the Chinese tea place and when I ordered my tea that translates as “beautiful lady tea” they all insisted that no, I have to get “beautiful baby tea.”

Back at home, I hung my laundry out to dry on the balcony and got ready for bed. But just as I was closing my door Son ran into my room excitedly and started dragging me out, “for a surprise.” He made me stand outside on the balcony of the third floor, commanded me not to move, and then bounded up to the 4th floor. Soon I could see him leaning over the balcony above with a plastic bag in hand, and the next thing I knew hundreds of little pieces of Styrofoam were floating through the air in front of me. Well, in fact a breeze made them all blow to the side of the house, but his desired effect was still achieved.

Laughing, I exclaimed, “Oh my goodness it’s snowing in Vietnam! I thought I'd never see it!” I had told him once that I was sad that this would be the first winter I wouldn't get to see snow.

He is a thoughtful one.