Imagine going through your day and only being able to get things done if you were good at playing Charades… where holding up two fingers doesn’t mean there are two words… in a situation where the person you are acting for probably doesn’t even know the word you’re acting.
It can be so funny you feel like you’re playing the game on purpose for fun with friends. It can also leave you with the feeling that you’re lost in a world with no way to communicate. So… I thought it would be fun for you to imagine how something like this plays a part in our lives in Vietnam. Each day requires a bit of this Charades routine but here are a few worth mentioning.
- Asking the Security Guy at my school to change the big drinking water jug on the machine or that I need him to blow up 50 more balloons.
- First time we had to understand the lady at the shop next door when she was saying in Vietnamese (and doing a bit of acting herself) that we would need to return the beer bottles in order to get our bottle deposits back.
- Explaining to the various people who knock on our gate that we do not pay the bills and that they need to phone "this" person. This is after having to figure out which bill they’re collecting for which is like a doubly whammy round of the game. Note: Mail is not delivered. Rather, people have to go house to house and ask for payment in cash which is apparently done around 5pm…when many people aren’t even home from work yet. And if they come five times and you still don't pay it, they shut off your service. So efficient!
- We went to the market to try and find a shower curtain and something that can serve as a shower caddy to hold products so they don’t sit on my always gross, wet floor. Danielle stood by laughing as I pretended to shower and wash my hair so that I could reach for the shampoo bottle in the "imaginary" shower caddy. The lady offered a plastic spray bottle. No. Then she tried to sell us more hangers and a frying pan. This is all while other ladies continued to gather around to watch the entertainment. And I still haven’t found these things!
- Asking for my hair to be chemically straightened which included figuring out that she wanted to know if I had colored it within the last two years.
- Danielle explaining how she wanted her hair cut. Very brave!
- To replace my bedsheets which Danielle so accurately described as 5-count plastic, I spent an hour at an actual bedding store trying to understand the sizes and individual products for sale. I was at one point laying on the display bed with arms stretched from end to end to determine the size of that bed. I finally bought a fitted sheet and think blanket which do not match but compliment each other. And now the too small sheet is stretched across my bed. Note: They don't sell flat sheets here.
- Danielle tried to buy Tiger Balm and was offered Tiger Beer, then hair gel. She's still itching.
- In search of a Monkey Temple in Thailand, I "modeled" (as we learned to do in our teacher training class). I climbed imaginary steps, formed a temple with my hands and imitated a monkey. I had to do this for three different people and finally a man and his daughter, who we flagged down as they approached in their truck, led us to the temple area as we followed on motorbike.
- One day I "moooed" like a cow to ask why there was no beef in my hamburger.
- Needing to buy tampons which includes acting out what a tampon is in the first place. Yes, just imagine…I was wearing a bathing suit!
When we get back to the States, who wants to be first to challenge us in a game of Charades?
~ Jen ~
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
...and then go and do that...
How do you overcome your biggest obstacle when that obstacle is yourself? I have come to realize that I have much more to offer the world than I give myself credit for. I have so many valuable ideas, so many desires and so many things I want to accomplish and change. I have the mentality to do these things, to make a difference and to make something of myself, yet the thing that is holding me back is myself. Maybe the fear of failure? Taking risks? Making bad decisions? Wanting to do too much? I have always been so indecisive about everything I have done. I have always kept quiet when I could have been sharing a valuable piece of myself. I have so much I want to do, yet make no effort to accomplish it. I know this about myself, yet I have no idea how to overcome this fear of myself. I think this is maybe what separates the successful people from the average people. Sometimes I think if only I could conquer myself, then I could find true happiness within myself. Its difficult knowing that I have the potential to do so much, yet I spend all my time pondering how to do it rather than acting on it. Somewhere throughout my life, I lost all confidence in myself, and no matter how times people tell me how smart and beautiful and talented I am, I remain credulous without reason. And no matter how many times people tell me that I have the world at my feet and can do anything I want to do, I feel I will most likely dwell on what to do with the world until it is too late to do anything at all.
~D
~D
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Lost in communication
In order to adequately advise you of what it is that has me back in the working world after 18 months, I would need to write a book as Danielle did about her new best friend, her xeom. It would require additional chapters with many footnotes. Instead, I will give you the cliffnotes version as I’m sure the daily antics of my job will serve as entertaining reading in the future.
The plan was to teach English as a Foreign Language. But rather it’s me who feels like I need to learn a foreign language in order to do my job. I’m the Marketing Manager for a new International Kindergarten here in Hanoi. It is the first of this franchise in Vietnam. The owner is Chinese and speaks no Vietnamese. All staff except for me speak Vietnamese and a range of decent to no English. I was hired to promote and market this very new school and to launch several new programs. Obviously I didn’t exactly know what that would mean but I thought it would be a good challenge to learn to market something other than Consumer Packaged Goods in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language or have a sense of what works and doesn’t work in terms of advertising and marketing.
My understanding is that I would work with the owner and have some interaction with other staff members as needed. I was to 1) market the school to increase enrollment, 2) launch a program called FasTracKids, 3) launch two other smaller programs, 4) manage the English department, 5) teach English classes myself eventually. The owner has a Western mentality because he grew up in Canada. He’s very smart and motivated. I could sense that he would work at a fast speed and I was ready to get started. I accepted the job on a Wednesday at 4pm and was flown to Ho Chi Minh City the next morning for four days training. Since then, I often times wonder what the hell was I thinking?! Turns out, the owner lives in HCMC and all my work revolves around communicating with the local staff. In my attempt to create some efficiencies for the school and selfishly for myself, I am now also responsible for Sales and managing several of the local staff which means communication with a whole other group of people. This might be one of those times when over achieving is not a good idea.
Funny stories for you (frustrating for me) will come your way in the future I’m sure. But for now, let me say that it takes 30 minutes to discuss something that should take five minutes. I cannot say “do you understand” because the answer is always “yes”. My questions are often interpreted to mean something completely different. Vietnamese tend to hide their feelings so it’s difficult to decipher if they are ok with what is going on, frustrated, angry, etc.
To me, this doesn’t begin to describe my work situation. There are some days where my head actually hurts from concentrating so hard to understand the communication and discussions. However, I’m having a great time and loving the challenge. I’ve always been a patient person but this is bringing me to a whole new level. If I may say so myself, a future employer of mine is going to reap the benefits of my current unusual world.
The plan was to teach English as a Foreign Language. But rather it’s me who feels like I need to learn a foreign language in order to do my job. I’m the Marketing Manager for a new International Kindergarten here in Hanoi. It is the first of this franchise in Vietnam. The owner is Chinese and speaks no Vietnamese. All staff except for me speak Vietnamese and a range of decent to no English. I was hired to promote and market this very new school and to launch several new programs. Obviously I didn’t exactly know what that would mean but I thought it would be a good challenge to learn to market something other than Consumer Packaged Goods in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language or have a sense of what works and doesn’t work in terms of advertising and marketing.
My understanding is that I would work with the owner and have some interaction with other staff members as needed. I was to 1) market the school to increase enrollment, 2) launch a program called FasTracKids, 3) launch two other smaller programs, 4) manage the English department, 5) teach English classes myself eventually. The owner has a Western mentality because he grew up in Canada. He’s very smart and motivated. I could sense that he would work at a fast speed and I was ready to get started. I accepted the job on a Wednesday at 4pm and was flown to Ho Chi Minh City the next morning for four days training. Since then, I often times wonder what the hell was I thinking?! Turns out, the owner lives in HCMC and all my work revolves around communicating with the local staff. In my attempt to create some efficiencies for the school and selfishly for myself, I am now also responsible for Sales and managing several of the local staff which means communication with a whole other group of people. This might be one of those times when over achieving is not a good idea.
Funny stories for you (frustrating for me) will come your way in the future I’m sure. But for now, let me say that it takes 30 minutes to discuss something that should take five minutes. I cannot say “do you understand” because the answer is always “yes”. My questions are often interpreted to mean something completely different. Vietnamese tend to hide their feelings so it’s difficult to decipher if they are ok with what is going on, frustrated, angry, etc.
To me, this doesn’t begin to describe my work situation. There are some days where my head actually hurts from concentrating so hard to understand the communication and discussions. However, I’m having a great time and loving the challenge. I’ve always been a patient person but this is bringing me to a whole new level. If I may say so myself, a future employer of mine is going to reap the benefits of my current unusual world.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The story of the xeom
Prologue
They say that coming to Southeast Asia is like going back in time, but it is actually going ahead in time. Maybe the person who created time zones should have planned for this better.
Chapter 1
I met my xeom (Vietnamese for motorbike taxi driver-literally translates to hug), while wandering through the old quarter one day in search of a bank. He was selling photocopied books on the streets to tourists (a very popular occupation amongst the locals in the old quarter). It is always best to be cautious of these touts, as they usually tend to be relentless, sometimes aggressive, and there have been numerous reports of theft from expats during encounters with them.
I became skeptical of him when I told him I didn’t want to buy any books and he didn’t push the matter any further. Instead, he just asked where I was going and offered to help me find a bank. My first instinct told me that this must be part of a scam to steal my newly acquired money or credit card information. However, I had not yet learned the secret to crossing the streets of Hanoi so I followed him as he cleared a path through the unwavering stream of motorbikes. He patiently waited outside as I entered bank number one, which turned out did not accept visa. Against my better judgment, I followed him again to bank number two, which was now closed for siesta. At bank number three, I was able to withdraw cash from the ATM machine but was careful to keep my credit card information hidden and my money held close. I figured that in exchange for his help, I would surely be obligated to buy a book from him in order to avoid a confrontation.
Interlude:
I’d like to pause here to clarify that I am not proud of myself for being so distrusting. I think it is shameful that we cannot always accept a stranger’s help without thinking they want something in return. Yet, I am a young women venturing outside the comfort zone of suburban America for the very first time into a country I know very little about. Historically, my naivety often gets the best of me, and I can’t help but to be overtly cautious, not only for my own safety, but also to appease the qualms of my overly worried family, whose reminders to “be careful” constantly ring in my ears.
Chapter 2
I realize the boy with the books is after nothing, except genuinely wanting to help someone in need and to make a meager, yet honorable, living. I have three job interviews that day, and he offers to take me. He asks if he can take me to work everyday, and I agree. It is the only guaranteed source of income he has.
Chapter 3
For three weeks, he has faithfully driven me anywhere I need to go. He is never late, and never complains when I call him on short notice. Each time he picks me up, he has a piece of gum and a new Vietnamese song on his mp3 player for me. One day it started to rain while he was taking me to work. We stopped and he bought us a rain poncho, a lovely bright pink piece of plastic with two head holes for us to share, equipped with duck billed hoods. Other motorbike drivers sped past us, dressed in similar attire, splashing water up at us as we went, but my nice work clothes remained perfectly dry underneath.
He gets frustrated with me because he thinks I don’t go out enough. “Why you always go home? Why you never go anywhere? Always work and home! I think you go see Ho Chi Minh museum, I take you! You never eat? You don’t like Vietnamese food? I think I show you Vietnamese food!” I can attempt to explain myself, but his English is poor and he doesn’t understand, so finally I agree to let him show me Vietnamese food.
Chapter 4
We go to a typical Vietnamese restaurant. Small metal tables and tiny plastic stools lining the sidewalk. The menu is all in Vietnamese so I tell him to order something good for me. The waitress runs across the street to fill dirty glasses with bia hoi, a Vietnamese microbrew. Small eateries and other dives concoct their own versions and varieties of it. Stored in plastic containers that look like a large drum used to carry gasoline (and probably once was), with a long rubber tube hooked to one end and a cork serving as a tap; you never really know what you are going to get.
My intention was only to stay out for a quick dinner, an hour tops. Although every third sentence was answered by one of us saying, “I don’t understand,” frequent pauses, and trying to come up with a simpler way to explain something, we ended up talking for a long time. Slowly the story of his life unfolded.
He grew up in what he calls, “his country”, which really isn’t another country at all, but a village about 50km from Hanoi. His mother is 60, which is very old for the Vietnamese, and her health is failing. She can no longer work, and he helps pay for her hospital visits when he can afford it. He never knew his father. His younger sister is 18. She is married to a much older man and has a baby. He asks me why I am not married yet, because in Vietnam 23 is old for a women to not yet be married. I explain to him that in America, 23 is still very young to be married and ask him why he is not married. He tells me that men do not get married until they are 27 or 28 and typically marry women 10 years younger than themselves. He also tells me that he only attended school for six years. There is no requirement to go any longer here. When he was 13, he left the village and moved to Hanoi by himself to sell books. His mother could no longer care for him and it was the only way he could support himself. I ask him where he lives, and he tells me that he shares one small bedroom with 7-10 other men. They all sleep on mats on the crowded floor. His rent is 10,000 dong per night, about $0.56. It is all he can afford, but he has never known the comforts of a bed, so he is content.
It is time to leave, and I try to pay the bill, but he insists on paying. It is tradition in Vietnam, and besides, it was a good day. “Today I sell many books and make a lot of money,” he says with a big smile, “$44 US. It was a good day”.
They say that coming to Southeast Asia is like going back in time, but it is actually going ahead in time. Maybe the person who created time zones should have planned for this better.
Chapter 1
I met my xeom (Vietnamese for motorbike taxi driver-literally translates to hug), while wandering through the old quarter one day in search of a bank. He was selling photocopied books on the streets to tourists (a very popular occupation amongst the locals in the old quarter). It is always best to be cautious of these touts, as they usually tend to be relentless, sometimes aggressive, and there have been numerous reports of theft from expats during encounters with them.
I became skeptical of him when I told him I didn’t want to buy any books and he didn’t push the matter any further. Instead, he just asked where I was going and offered to help me find a bank. My first instinct told me that this must be part of a scam to steal my newly acquired money or credit card information. However, I had not yet learned the secret to crossing the streets of Hanoi so I followed him as he cleared a path through the unwavering stream of motorbikes. He patiently waited outside as I entered bank number one, which turned out did not accept visa. Against my better judgment, I followed him again to bank number two, which was now closed for siesta. At bank number three, I was able to withdraw cash from the ATM machine but was careful to keep my credit card information hidden and my money held close. I figured that in exchange for his help, I would surely be obligated to buy a book from him in order to avoid a confrontation.
Interlude:
I’d like to pause here to clarify that I am not proud of myself for being so distrusting. I think it is shameful that we cannot always accept a stranger’s help without thinking they want something in return. Yet, I am a young women venturing outside the comfort zone of suburban America for the very first time into a country I know very little about. Historically, my naivety often gets the best of me, and I can’t help but to be overtly cautious, not only for my own safety, but also to appease the qualms of my overly worried family, whose reminders to “be careful” constantly ring in my ears.
Chapter 2
I realize the boy with the books is after nothing, except genuinely wanting to help someone in need and to make a meager, yet honorable, living. I have three job interviews that day, and he offers to take me. He asks if he can take me to work everyday, and I agree. It is the only guaranteed source of income he has.
Chapter 3
For three weeks, he has faithfully driven me anywhere I need to go. He is never late, and never complains when I call him on short notice. Each time he picks me up, he has a piece of gum and a new Vietnamese song on his mp3 player for me. One day it started to rain while he was taking me to work. We stopped and he bought us a rain poncho, a lovely bright pink piece of plastic with two head holes for us to share, equipped with duck billed hoods. Other motorbike drivers sped past us, dressed in similar attire, splashing water up at us as we went, but my nice work clothes remained perfectly dry underneath.
He gets frustrated with me because he thinks I don’t go out enough. “Why you always go home? Why you never go anywhere? Always work and home! I think you go see Ho Chi Minh museum, I take you! You never eat? You don’t like Vietnamese food? I think I show you Vietnamese food!” I can attempt to explain myself, but his English is poor and he doesn’t understand, so finally I agree to let him show me Vietnamese food.
Chapter 4
We go to a typical Vietnamese restaurant. Small metal tables and tiny plastic stools lining the sidewalk. The menu is all in Vietnamese so I tell him to order something good for me. The waitress runs across the street to fill dirty glasses with bia hoi, a Vietnamese microbrew. Small eateries and other dives concoct their own versions and varieties of it. Stored in plastic containers that look like a large drum used to carry gasoline (and probably once was), with a long rubber tube hooked to one end and a cork serving as a tap; you never really know what you are going to get.
My intention was only to stay out for a quick dinner, an hour tops. Although every third sentence was answered by one of us saying, “I don’t understand,” frequent pauses, and trying to come up with a simpler way to explain something, we ended up talking for a long time. Slowly the story of his life unfolded.
He grew up in what he calls, “his country”, which really isn’t another country at all, but a village about 50km from Hanoi. His mother is 60, which is very old for the Vietnamese, and her health is failing. She can no longer work, and he helps pay for her hospital visits when he can afford it. He never knew his father. His younger sister is 18. She is married to a much older man and has a baby. He asks me why I am not married yet, because in Vietnam 23 is old for a women to not yet be married. I explain to him that in America, 23 is still very young to be married and ask him why he is not married. He tells me that men do not get married until they are 27 or 28 and typically marry women 10 years younger than themselves. He also tells me that he only attended school for six years. There is no requirement to go any longer here. When he was 13, he left the village and moved to Hanoi by himself to sell books. His mother could no longer care for him and it was the only way he could support himself. I ask him where he lives, and he tells me that he shares one small bedroom with 7-10 other men. They all sleep on mats on the crowded floor. His rent is 10,000 dong per night, about $0.56. It is all he can afford, but he has never known the comforts of a bed, so he is content.
It is time to leave, and I try to pay the bill, but he insists on paying. It is tradition in Vietnam, and besides, it was a good day. “Today I sell many books and make a lot of money,” he says with a big smile, “$44 US. It was a good day”.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Vietnamese Customs and Taboos
1. It is polite to remove your shoes upon entering someones home, but not necessary upon entering someone's shop.
2. When offering something to someone older or of higher status than you, you should use both hands, not just one.
3. The youngest person at the table serves everyone else, starting with the oldest or most important. Sometimes, if you're an important guest, people will choose the best parts of something and put it in your dish. It shows you're respected.
4. Eating is a big part of life in Vietnam and lunch is a very important part of the day. Don't expect to get anything done between 11-1pm
5. Chewing noisily and eating with ones mouth open is not culturally offensive of impolite.
6. In Western culture, picking ones nose is considered rude and disgusting, yet picking ones teeth is quite acceptable. Well, it's the direct opposite here. So don't be alarmed when you're chatting to someone and they suddenly pop their finger in their nostril. You may wish to cover your mouth with your hand while using a toothpick so as not to be considered disgusting yourself.
7. Vietnamese women rarely drink alcohol or smoke. So, as a western women one needs to be careful when drinking or smoking in public, in case they get a bad impression of you. Some poeple don't mind, but you need to be aware of this as it might lower your status in their eyes.
8. Losing face is a big thing here, so do not lose your temper in public. If you do, you will have lost face (respect) in the eyes of whomever you were with. Regaining this respect is virtually impossible.
9. Bargaining for ANYTHING is the way to go, unless you're in a supermarket or restaurant. Considering that haggling is part of life here, it only makes sense that the more you haggle, the better your business relationship will be.
10. Ho Chi Ming is a national hero and held in high respect. Either show the same respect or steer clear of his name entirely.
11. Vietnamese are extremely superstitious. Photographing groups of 3 people are considered unlucky and the first person to visit your stall/shop in the morning is supposed to hold the luck for the day's income.
12. Vietnamese may nod their head in agreement, even if they don't understand you. This may cause some confusion, as it is hard to know whether they really understand or agree with you or not.
13. Many students may avoid eye contact or speak quietly and passively. This is how they show respect to their teachers.
14. Vietnamese add the word "oi" after a name.
15. Crossing the index and middle finger is a very offensive sign in Vietnamese custom. It doesn't mean hopefullness like it does to us.
16. Asking personal questions such as "how much do you earn?" "how old are you", or "how much do you weigh?" are quite acceptable questions in Vietnamese culture (and often included on resumes). They don't mind telling you how fat you look either.
We've been warned. Now let's start picking our noses.
*taken from Apollo's Introduction Guide for New Teachers
2. When offering something to someone older or of higher status than you, you should use both hands, not just one.
3. The youngest person at the table serves everyone else, starting with the oldest or most important. Sometimes, if you're an important guest, people will choose the best parts of something and put it in your dish. It shows you're respected.
4. Eating is a big part of life in Vietnam and lunch is a very important part of the day. Don't expect to get anything done between 11-1pm
5. Chewing noisily and eating with ones mouth open is not culturally offensive of impolite.
6. In Western culture, picking ones nose is considered rude and disgusting, yet picking ones teeth is quite acceptable. Well, it's the direct opposite here. So don't be alarmed when you're chatting to someone and they suddenly pop their finger in their nostril. You may wish to cover your mouth with your hand while using a toothpick so as not to be considered disgusting yourself.
7. Vietnamese women rarely drink alcohol or smoke. So, as a western women one needs to be careful when drinking or smoking in public, in case they get a bad impression of you. Some poeple don't mind, but you need to be aware of this as it might lower your status in their eyes.
8. Losing face is a big thing here, so do not lose your temper in public. If you do, you will have lost face (respect) in the eyes of whomever you were with. Regaining this respect is virtually impossible.
9. Bargaining for ANYTHING is the way to go, unless you're in a supermarket or restaurant. Considering that haggling is part of life here, it only makes sense that the more you haggle, the better your business relationship will be.
10. Ho Chi Ming is a national hero and held in high respect. Either show the same respect or steer clear of his name entirely.
11. Vietnamese are extremely superstitious. Photographing groups of 3 people are considered unlucky and the first person to visit your stall/shop in the morning is supposed to hold the luck for the day's income.
12. Vietnamese may nod their head in agreement, even if they don't understand you. This may cause some confusion, as it is hard to know whether they really understand or agree with you or not.
13. Many students may avoid eye contact or speak quietly and passively. This is how they show respect to their teachers.
14. Vietnamese add the word "oi" after a name.
15. Crossing the index and middle finger is a very offensive sign in Vietnamese custom. It doesn't mean hopefullness like it does to us.
16. Asking personal questions such as "how much do you earn?" "how old are you", or "how much do you weigh?" are quite acceptable questions in Vietnamese culture (and often included on resumes). They don't mind telling you how fat you look either.
We've been warned. Now let's start picking our noses.
*taken from Apollo's Introduction Guide for New Teachers
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
the tale of two sheets and the first night living in a vietnamese home
I guess I should leave it up to Jen to share the details of her new job (if she ever gets around to it). What I will say is, after accepting her job, she was immediately flown to Hochimihn City the next day for four days of training. What followed could be described by some as separation anxiety. We exchanged four emails each day (morning update, afternoon update, late afternoon update, and evening update) followed by a before bed phone conversation. Excessive? Probably yes, but it was the first time since we had met two months ago that we were apart for more than a few hours. It quickly became apparent to us how lucky we were to have each other on this unknown journey. Without someone to share my daily frustrations and humorous accounts with, many days giving up and going home would have seemed like the only sane thing to do. While I consider myself a very independent person and thoroughly enjoy my "Danielle time", it is the simple things, like having a normal conversation in English, that I took for granted.
Since then, we have settled into our daily routines, moved into a great house, and FINALLY unpacked our bags. Jen works during the day and I am teaching at two different language schools nights and weekends, which results in us not seeing each other very often. We joke that we have turned into an old married couple, struggling to find time to catch up about our day over a dinner. Since moving into our house, we are even sleeping in separate bedrooms now. Well, with the exception of our first night here.
That morning, we woke up early and collected everything we own into our few bags. We were picked up by a taxi driver, who was immediately irritated with us for having more luggage than the typical backpacker. Disgruntled, he threw our bags out onto the street leading to the alley that was our new neighborhood. The alley was too narrow for the taxi to drive through, so we had to make two separate trips in order to carry everything home. Jen made the first trip, while I sat on the corner surrounded by our bags and curious stares from the locals. Upon arriving in our new home, we quickly discovered that the Vietnamese idea of clean varies greatly from our western standards. I spent a large portion of the day scrubbing the house with only soap and water, since cleaning products other than dish soap seem to be non-existent here. And after lugging around my 1000 thread count, sateen, egyptian cotton sheets (I am a bit of a linen nazi) for two months, I joyfully removed the hideous teeny bopper, neon blue and pink flowered bedding with "Smashing" written on it that someone had specifically chosen for me, off the bed and replaced it with my beloved sheets. I could not wait cuddle up in bed that night with quality sheets for the first time since arriving in Asia.
After a long day, we ventured out in search of dinner. We came across a grocery store down the street from us and decided to check it out. We were tickled to find delicasies inside, such as peanut butter and cheese, and opted for a dinner of peanut butter sandwiches, crackers and cheese and of course beers, instead. While very collegiate, to us it tasted like heaven.
We returned to our rooms to prepare for bed, only to discover that the power in my room was out. We grabbed my headlamp and began a blind search for the fuse box. After finally stumbling across it in the hallway, Jen bravely stuck her hand into a very unsafe, ancient looking fuse box. With each switch flip, I cringed, praying that I wouldn't have an electrical burn victim on my hands. What followed each flip could best be described as the noise of a rat being electricuted combined with the sound of Chucky's laughter, but to no avail, the power did not return. And thus, I was forced to spend my first night in our new house, sharing a bed with Jen, to escape the heat of an unairconditioned, fanless room. While the room next door contained a bed equipped with the finest linens, I slept on weird plastic like, 5-thread count, crazy blue floral (the perfect print for a muumuu) Vietamese sheets that came with Jen's bed. Needless to say, if we had bladder control problems, these sheets would have worked wonders. Regardless, she has since then purchased new sheets of the more comfortable variety.
Since then, we have settled into our daily routines, moved into a great house, and FINALLY unpacked our bags. Jen works during the day and I am teaching at two different language schools nights and weekends, which results in us not seeing each other very often. We joke that we have turned into an old married couple, struggling to find time to catch up about our day over a dinner. Since moving into our house, we are even sleeping in separate bedrooms now. Well, with the exception of our first night here.
That morning, we woke up early and collected everything we own into our few bags. We were picked up by a taxi driver, who was immediately irritated with us for having more luggage than the typical backpacker. Disgruntled, he threw our bags out onto the street leading to the alley that was our new neighborhood. The alley was too narrow for the taxi to drive through, so we had to make two separate trips in order to carry everything home. Jen made the first trip, while I sat on the corner surrounded by our bags and curious stares from the locals. Upon arriving in our new home, we quickly discovered that the Vietnamese idea of clean varies greatly from our western standards. I spent a large portion of the day scrubbing the house with only soap and water, since cleaning products other than dish soap seem to be non-existent here. And after lugging around my 1000 thread count, sateen, egyptian cotton sheets (I am a bit of a linen nazi) for two months, I joyfully removed the hideous teeny bopper, neon blue and pink flowered bedding with "Smashing" written on it that someone had specifically chosen for me, off the bed and replaced it with my beloved sheets. I could not wait cuddle up in bed that night with quality sheets for the first time since arriving in Asia.
After a long day, we ventured out in search of dinner. We came across a grocery store down the street from us and decided to check it out. We were tickled to find delicasies inside, such as peanut butter and cheese, and opted for a dinner of peanut butter sandwiches, crackers and cheese and of course beers, instead. While very collegiate, to us it tasted like heaven.
We returned to our rooms to prepare for bed, only to discover that the power in my room was out. We grabbed my headlamp and began a blind search for the fuse box. After finally stumbling across it in the hallway, Jen bravely stuck her hand into a very unsafe, ancient looking fuse box. With each switch flip, I cringed, praying that I wouldn't have an electrical burn victim on my hands. What followed each flip could best be described as the noise of a rat being electricuted combined with the sound of Chucky's laughter, but to no avail, the power did not return. And thus, I was forced to spend my first night in our new house, sharing a bed with Jen, to escape the heat of an unairconditioned, fanless room. While the room next door contained a bed equipped with the finest linens, I slept on weird plastic like, 5-thread count, crazy blue floral (the perfect print for a muumuu) Vietamese sheets that came with Jen's bed. Needless to say, if we had bladder control problems, these sheets would have worked wonders. Regardless, she has since then purchased new sheets of the more comfortable variety.
The transition from drifter to resident
Believe it or not, I started this post on September 30th…right before we decided to move on to another city. It’s been a little crazy ever since. We were jobless, feeling a bit frustrated and dreading moving our excessive amount of luggage to a new city…again. We always prompt horrified looks from other travelers as well as bus drivers when they see us coming. What they didn’t realize is that we weren’t tourists or travelers…we were hopeful inhabitants of Vietnam who have in possession more items than what they require…not to mention the books and remnants of a month-long teaching course in yet another backpack provided by the school. We considered printing shirts that made an excuse for our ridiculous amount of luggage but decided it was more fun to watch them gawk. Well, there was the one time when I got in the van and literally announced to everyone why we had so much stuff. All that did was cause them to ask a slew of questions when in fact I didn’t feel like talking at all.
We are now officially finished with the hauling of the luggage situation. Only two days after arriving in Hanoi, we had several interviews and as many job offers. It was finally decision time!! Before we share our big news of how we will change the lives of Vietnamese children, let us give you a glimpse of some of the “communications” with those hiring English teachers.
…“It is regrettable when not to cooperate with you. I wish you will soon find the job you want. Though not work together we will be friend together. If you have obstacles do, do not hesitate to phone me. I will be happy to help a foreigner like you have come to our country. You are very nice.” ----- from the lady we turned down because of better offers.
…“Very sorry for the answer you want. To visit our school, if you do not mind carrying a few papers that follow you as necessary. See you soon on the way tomorrow.” ----- few papers meaning our diploma, teaching certificate, birth certificate, etc.
…”I hope we can cooperate to work for a long time.”
Danielle went to an interview and ended up teaching two classes because the instructor was leaving town. She actually got paid in cash that night whereas I taught a demo and got squat.
It seems with every interview we went to, an offer usually was made but some were a bit sketchy or too good to be true. A lady who is in charge of opening a new language center offered me the full-time job of managing the whole joint…everything from developing curriculum to managing the foreign and native teachers. She proceeded to post our profiles on their new website, invited us to the Opening Ceremony and requested us on facebook, twitter and Gmail IM.
So what are we doing now? We’re working and making a life in Vietnam.
We are now officially finished with the hauling of the luggage situation. Only two days after arriving in Hanoi, we had several interviews and as many job offers. It was finally decision time!! Before we share our big news of how we will change the lives of Vietnamese children, let us give you a glimpse of some of the “communications” with those hiring English teachers.
…“It is regrettable when not to cooperate with you. I wish you will soon find the job you want. Though not work together we will be friend together. If you have obstacles do, do not hesitate to phone me. I will be happy to help a foreigner like you have come to our country. You are very nice.” ----- from the lady we turned down because of better offers.
…“Very sorry for the answer you want. To visit our school, if you do not mind carrying a few papers that follow you as necessary. See you soon on the way tomorrow.” ----- few papers meaning our diploma, teaching certificate, birth certificate, etc.
…”I hope we can cooperate to work for a long time.”
Danielle went to an interview and ended up teaching two classes because the instructor was leaving town. She actually got paid in cash that night whereas I taught a demo and got squat.
It seems with every interview we went to, an offer usually was made but some were a bit sketchy or too good to be true. A lady who is in charge of opening a new language center offered me the full-time job of managing the whole joint…everything from developing curriculum to managing the foreign and native teachers. She proceeded to post our profiles on their new website, invited us to the Opening Ceremony and requested us on facebook, twitter and Gmail IM.
So what are we doing now? We’re working and making a life in Vietnam.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
I'm a celebrity, get me out of here!
At some point while you were growing up, you probably dreamt of one day becoming rich and famous. Now, you probably watch TMZ and think to yourself, "if only I could have cameras following me around". You probably make fun of Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton, but only because you are jealous. You secretly practice your supermodel poses in the mirror and practice your acceptance speech after every major awards show. You buy the huge, bug-eyed, Gucci knockoff sunglasses because you saw Nicole Richie wearing them in Cosmo. And, you probably practice your signature on the restaurant's napkins, just in case.
Well, now all your dreams can come true. Simply move to Asia.
We live in a country where working only a few hours can earn you over 2.5 million (dong that is) a week. We are considered rich because we are white. Everyone wants to talk to you. People discretely, or non-discretely, pull out cell phones attempting to snap your picture as they cruise by on a motorbike, nearly crashing in the process. You cannot eat dinner in peace, because everyone in the restaurant wants to meet you. You begin to wonder how many people are showing off pictures of you to their friends, or if you are in the picture frame of a person's name you do not know. School children swarm around you asking for your autograph. And without fail, someone will tell you that you are beautiful at least once a day.
This may sound like the lifestyle you have always wanted. Yes, it can be endearing and fun, but it can also be overwhelming and annoying.
An email I sent to Jen yesterday recounting my day:
"Went to the park to do some reading. Got harrassed by the book lady. Ended up buying three books. Then got harassed by the fan lady. Ended up buying a stupid fan. They tell me Im beautiful, and it gets me every time. Got harassed by the sketch artist. Didnt buy a sketch but ended up teaching him how to tell time in english for a half hour before making up an excuse to leave. Tried out another bench for reading. Got through half a page. Got harrassed by some chinese guys who wanted to take pictures with a white person because we are so rare. When he asked if he could take a picture with me, I said, "Why? Aren't there any Americans in China?" Got harrassed by a different book lady. Decided to go home. Got harrassed by everyelse on the way. Decided to sit in the room for the rest of day".
Maybe I'm just heartless or maybe Good Charlotte described it best when they wrote: "Life styles of the rich and the famous,
They're always complainin', always complainin'".
~D
Well, now all your dreams can come true. Simply move to Asia.
We live in a country where working only a few hours can earn you over 2.5 million (dong that is) a week. We are considered rich because we are white. Everyone wants to talk to you. People discretely, or non-discretely, pull out cell phones attempting to snap your picture as they cruise by on a motorbike, nearly crashing in the process. You cannot eat dinner in peace, because everyone in the restaurant wants to meet you. You begin to wonder how many people are showing off pictures of you to their friends, or if you are in the picture frame of a person's name you do not know. School children swarm around you asking for your autograph. And without fail, someone will tell you that you are beautiful at least once a day.
This may sound like the lifestyle you have always wanted. Yes, it can be endearing and fun, but it can also be overwhelming and annoying.
An email I sent to Jen yesterday recounting my day:
"Went to the park to do some reading. Got harrassed by the book lady. Ended up buying three books. Then got harassed by the fan lady. Ended up buying a stupid fan. They tell me Im beautiful, and it gets me every time. Got harassed by the sketch artist. Didnt buy a sketch but ended up teaching him how to tell time in english for a half hour before making up an excuse to leave. Tried out another bench for reading. Got through half a page. Got harrassed by some chinese guys who wanted to take pictures with a white person because we are so rare. When he asked if he could take a picture with me, I said, "Why? Aren't there any Americans in China?" Got harrassed by a different book lady. Decided to go home. Got harrassed by everyelse on the way. Decided to sit in the room for the rest of day".
Maybe I'm just heartless or maybe Good Charlotte described it best when they wrote: "Life styles of the rich and the famous,
They're always complainin', always complainin'".
~D
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