Making Sense of Sneaky Sneakers

We've now been in Saigon for a solid two weeks, working at our internships, mucking through the Vietnamese language classes, chilling with our roommates and exploring the city. To the left we're grabbing some dinner at one of the street-vendors, and the right is a photo of Turtle Lake, an urban oddity near my guesthouse.




Usually after our internship, Matt and I will wander the streets talking to people, keeping the Vietnamese economy well-oiled, and soaking up city life.



Here's a photo of some cool kids Matt and I befriended. The boy in blue really impressed us by nearly swallowing a lizard. We typically have great conversational results by buying too many pastries from a nearby bakery and sharing them with whatever stray yokels we find. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that, with a few exceptions, eclairs and cream puffs are transcultural!

These boys were playing around a nasty, nameless river nearby. The stench was somewhat overpowering, and the sunlight caught on the flotsam moving at a snail's pace downstream. Very disturbing.


There' s much, much more outside of bustling HCMC, however.







Recently we visited some of the hinterlands area around HCMC, driving through a flash flood (see the photo to the left) and beside some verdant rice paddies. We were going to check out one of the realities of Viet Nam most well-known to Americans: a Nike factory.

In 1996, some of yall may remember that CBS News on its "48 Hours" show covered the exploitation of female workers at particular Nike factories in Viet Nam, citing outrageously subterranean wages and even physical beatings. Since then a plethora of anti-Nike organizations, websites and boycotts have plagued Nike's reputation and sales.

At least in Viet Nam, Nike no longer owns its own factories, but rather subcontracts with shoemaking factories. The largest of these near HCMC opened its doors to us, and we were privy to the rows of assembly-line cobblers.

When we first arrived, we were ushered warmly into a room with a billboard proclaiming "Welcome CET!" and a table spread with crunchy snacks and soda. An average-looking Philipino man introduced himself as the general manager of the factory, and informed us that usually the factories are not run by local Vietnamese but rather by foreigners supported by South Korean investors. A public relations lady more accustomed to giving tours to English-speakers gave us a fascinating PowerPoint presentation with statistics concerning factory production, wage earnings, seasonal demand, and worker turnover.

Following her talk, we ambled after the general manager, snapping photos and asking him questions nonstop. Most of our questions, given Nike's public sins and our American tenderness towards paesanos, went like this:

Would you mind telling us about the average work week for the factory women? Do they have time to sleep, eat and breathe?

Are they paid minimum wage, or do you make them pay you to work here?

Do you honestly believe they derive satisfaction from the mind-numbingly repetitive work for which they receive little gratitude and even less sufficient compensation?














Honestly. We were harsh. He was very open with us, and explained that the workers are indeed paid far above the average wage in Viet Nam and even the average wage for other factories of this kind. (Average was 700,000 dong a month, these women earn approximately 1.2 million dong a month)

We walked through the lines of machines and watched the nimble-fingered women sew, glue, spraypaint and generally assemble one of the most popular types of footwear that hardly anyone in Viet Nam wears.

The women truly did seem happy.












Some of the most investigative-inclined among us got Didi to translate Vietnamese-English and ask some gently probing questions of the factory ladies, such as "Are you happy working here? Are you paid enough? Are you being forced to smile? Do they beat you?"

None of the answers gave cause for alarm. Instead of the horrific documentaries one sees concerning assembly lines in which conditions are dirty, dangerous and depressing, this particular factory was clean, airy and fairly humdrum.

Here are some photos of the ladies hard at work, occasionally smiling up from their work at us. There are a few bundles of the celebrated Nike swoosh, boxes ready to be shipped to depots all over the world, and seemingly endless lines of whirring multipurpose machines.

We had a few intense altercations on the bus ride back, arguing the pros and cons of assembly-line organization as well as minimum wage and outsourcing.

I certainly don't know the answer to reaching the idyll of well-paid workers in a comfortable work environment and optimized production at reasonable prices to the consumer, but I figure if we can at least verbalize our goals, we're getting closer. The more open Nike and other big corps are in their manufacturing processes, the more the public can get involved in selecting the process they want for their goods.

So we're currently trying to learn what it means to be Vietnamese by living here and talking to everyone who doesn't shy away at our broken Vieglish/Englamese. Below are the two boys again, communicating with the age-old ridiculous one-upsmanship common to all tough 10-year-olds. Also here is a Catholic man who spoke to us animatedly in French for a solid fifteen-minutes, before realizing that our "Oui, oui...uh...bonjour...um, eclair?...un peur..." were hardly indicative of fluency. He was chalking a meaningful paragraph by the side of the highway, telling readers that although life is hard, by trusting one another and working together goodness can be achieved.















So we work together--English- and Vietnamese-speakers--trying to make a better understanding, better shoes and better life in general.

Like It, Love It, Gotta Have It - Religion and the Cu Chi Tunnels

A bumpy bus ride filled with conversation on everything from Duke vs. UNC basketball to comparative religion, the Robertsons and their Vietnamese roommates arrived first at the famed Cao Dai temple.

The primary Cao Dai temple, located in the Tay Ninh province of Viet Nam, is home to one of Viet Nam's most syncretic religions. In a rather bizarre and flamboyantly colorful way, Cao Dai combines Confucianism, Taoism, Buddhism, and motley pieces of Catholicism, Hinduism and French philosophy.

Cao Dai began in the early 1900s as an extremely Vietnamese nationalist religion, developing its own militia and taking political sides against the colonial French. Today its followers stand at over 2 million in Viet Nam as well as approximately 30,000 in California and a substantial group in Australia, as well as a Center for Cai Daiist studies in Sydney.

Certain scholars have refuted Cao Dai's claim as a legitimate religion, pointing to its intensive political involvement, military force, unwieldy theology and most especially, its cultic worship. A fascinating study for anyone interested in the development of religion, the Cao Dai practice orients itself around French philosophy and use of Ouija boards and séance. Members gather daily to ceremonially pray and sing hymns at 6am, 7 am, and noon.

We were privileged to have a primo view of the Cao Dai worship service at noon; watch the video below and see how the followers enter in a hierarchical fashion, the leaders preceding newer novitiates, and colored robes symbolizing the branch of Cao Daism walking in separately.

The service lasted for approximately an hour and was surprisingly simple, given the overly ornate, rococo decoration of the temple. The service was primarily one of prayer, music comprised of light flute, gong and native Vietnamese sounds, and the burning of incense.

Although I found it difficult to photograph to show yall, the temple is organizing in an ascending fashion, with the entrance at the lowest point and the height progressing until the restricted section containing religious symbols depicting God (the eye in a triangle) and the saints (shown here are Buddha, Jesus, a female saint on the left, etc. Also included in the smorgasbord of saints are Joan of Arc and Victor Hugo).

Even though the highest section was off-limits to snoopy tourists, I had the good fortune to befriend the security guard (pictured here), whose name was Co, I believe. This made conversation a bit difficult, as Co is also the Vietnamese word for “you-older female,” so I was a bit confused on whether I was addressing her formally or more intimately. Anyhow, she was a sweetheart, letting me go further than was allowed and explaining much of the symbolism to me.

[Translated from Vietnamese by my good friend Khue] “The three animals in the circle represent the three values of Cao Dai. The tiger-creature on the right symbolizes wisdom; the turtle represents intelligence; the bird represents kindness.” Co has been a Cao Dai member since her youth, which somewhat surprised me, as Cao Dai was suppressed in prior years by the Vietnamese government, who rightfully recognized Cao Dai as a significant military force and political bloc.

In any case, the religion is fascinating. The temple is grossly overdecorated, reminiscent of a Seussian circus. Combining symbols from each of the religions and preaching an all-inclusive doctrine of universalism, Cao Dai seems like the answer to tolerance excepting atheism.

As a religious studies major, I always find it very interesting in studying what religions have to say about one another. Clearly there are religions that declare themselves exclusively correct, such as the stream of religions known as the People of the Book (Judaism, Christianity, Islam). However, religions that are universalist have always bothered me. How is it logical to say that Hinduism, with its multiple reincarnations of multiple gods, can possibly dovetail with Islam’s singular Allah who has never incarnated into human flesh? Not only is it irreconcilable, it seems to be very rude and naïve to tell religious followers that their doctrines are the same as every other religions’ tenets. People live their lives based on these beliefs and explanations of spirituality and the world, and telling them that it’s really no different from another religion is callous, silly and inaccurate.

In any case, I find Cao Dai a really interesting phenomenon in its nationalist yet all-inclusive perspective. Entering on the women’s side (left entrance when facing the temple), I was wowed by the phantasmagoric iconography and size of the temple hall. Definitely go visit if you get the chance, and don’t be surprised to see Cao Dai outside of Viet Nam in Australia and California, U.S., as its universalist ideology proliferates.

Learn more at Cao Dai's official website by clicking here.

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Afterwards we continued back the way we had come to the Cu Chi tunnels, a vast array of subterranean tunnels used by the Viet Cong during the Vietnam War. We saw an extremely nauseating exhibit of the macabre traps used by the VCs as well as their fiendishly clever kitchen pits. We even shot AK-47s down a shooting range, which happened to be a very discomfiting situation as we weren’t given hearing protection or any rules. The best part, however, was of course going down the hollowed out tunnels ourselves, stooping then kneeling then crawling. Here are some photos of myself and David within the larger tourist tunnel to demonstrate the size. We were about 10-15 ft underground and crawled through two tunnels, one about 30 meters long and the other maybe twice that.

All in all, I was duly impressed by the ingenuity of the guerrilla VCs and sorrowful for the American soldiers who must’ve thought that the enemy soldiers were supernatural in their powers to navigate the dense forests and disappear at will. The tunnels were very cool and would make a fantastic paintball arena, but the knowledge of how many desperate men fought and died here gave it a quiet, special reverence.

Here are the videos of myself and friends attempting to squeeze into the tunnels:

Learn more at Cao Dai's official website by clicking here.

Koreans Ain't Got Nuttin' on Us

I-Y-C: Where I AND YOU CONNECT! The sea of white-polos sporting orange sleeves waved their arms over their heads in time with the booming music. The girl and boy to my left and right tugged my arms up, urging me to stand and join in with the group. Everyone stood and sung out with happy, earnest faces. The entire auditorium converged in a rousing chorus of "I-Y-C":

By our hearts, we dry all the tears,
By our brains, we design future,
By our hands, we improve the world, make the better place.

I-Y-C, I and You Connect, we can make this life warmer
I-Y-C, keep one's hands in hands, aiming to world without borders.

I'm not going to lie; I was a little afraid.

We were guests of the youth center across from my guesthouse in Ho Chi Minh City. The center is something of a Vietnamese YMCA, only with a much more collective, socialist perspective on helping others. The program we attended attracted maybe 300 or more students, mostly members of the club.

The program, however, was targeted towards non-members.

I sat down next to a sweet girl whose name (I think) was Hac. She had a chic pixie haircut and snazzy purple eyeglasses, as well as the uniform IYC white polo with neon orange sleeves.

"Herro! MynameisHachowareyoudoing?"

"You should join IYC. Ilikeitsomuchwedofun."

We had a lovely conversation, but I felt more like a customer speaking to a salesperson rather than one out-of-place U.S. college kid to a Vietnamese highschooler. Anyhow, the program began with a few fun icebreakers, and I started to think about that popular movie "Titanic," starring Leo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet.

We all began to dance, following the leaders onstage in their wacky, quasi-80s moves (Kate and Leo meet each other aboard the ship, each feeling as though they were from another world and unable to connect.)

The first game is an icebreaker (the Titanic takes off pretty smoothly, crunching up floating ice easily), in which we pass paper rice-hats down the row by placing them on the person's head next to you and then passing them back. During this time the IYC song is playing to pump us up. Rows that finished stood up and swayed with arms in the air to the IYC song.

The program leaders introduce a competitive game and asked for volunteers in 3 teams. All three teams have two foreigners and two IYC reps--Matt and Samson were chosen for groups 1 and 2, and we discovered another bunch of Americans plus a reticent English gal named Harriet. The goal of the game is to listen to a song that's playing, figure out the language of the song (Chinese/Thai/French, etc), and then match that language to the 8 foreign "I Love You"s written on big paper hearts. (Kate and Leo get to know another very well.)

The groups prepared to leave the stage, but the hosts asked that they stay on for another game. And then another. The first was a guessing game about a survey of foreign students that made zero sense to every foreign student there.

Example:

Q: What places do foreign students most often be in countries?

A: Playing sports (as opposed to other choices: bars/cafes, class, traveling)


Q: Do foreign students join in social activities?

A: Very few (as opposed to these choices: many, often, never)


Q: What do foreign students find most difficult in Ho Chi Minh City?

A: Accommodation (as opposed to communication, exercise, transportation)

And so you see, our groups did not come in first. We were very confused. The next game was a guessing game focusing on other cultures: "a tartan skirt...a shamrock...a KILT!" and "cherry tree...(photo of George Washington)...GEORGE WASHINGTON!" and other such.

Finally, the teams descended and it was time for the guests to share a bit of our culture with IYC. Now, we'd been told that we had to sing and dance or some other entertainment for a few minutes, so we’d worked up a passable a cappella arrangement of “Seasons of Love” from the musical Rent. Check it out if you get a chance.

(Titanic approaches; we see the crowds of eager Vietnamese students awaiting certain embarrassing antics.)

“Please welcome our visitors from KOREA!” We looked around, nonplussed, and then the lights dimmed.

BA-NUH, BA-DUH DUH, BA-NUH, BA-DUH DUH—a powerful, rhythmic backbeat resonated in the stadium and one lone Korean fellow, cute guy with a cool haircut, advanced out in a black dance costume reminiscent of the 20s.

He danced like a pro—keeping time and making sharp, break-dancing movements. Then three more came to join him. The crowd cheered wildly. Then five more came out to join him. We just sat, openmouthed and horrified, knowing we’d have to perform next.

(Captain! Captain! The Titanic is approaching an iceberg!!!)

Then the fog machines and neon flashing lights turned on, turning the Korean break-dancers into a pop sensation for IYC. Gaping in our seats and breaking into cold sweats, we checked the exits and prayed they’d forget us.

(Great Scot, the iceberg is enormous!!!! Turn the ship!!!! Turn the ship!!!!)

After THREE choreographed and ticket-worthy dances by the Korean group, the hosts asked for the next group: the CET program from America.

We walked up the stairs to the front of the stage, stepping gingerly over the sound cables. We gathered a little to the left of center stage, slightly huddling and leaning toward the back wall. Rob bravely took the mike and gave us an honest introduction: “We’re the CET program from North Carolina, United States. We don’t have costumes…or fog or lights…but we have a song we’d like to share with you. Thank you for letting us be here.”

And then one of the two microphones was passed to me. We started out timidly with out piano-imitation: da, dum, duh-duh-duh, duh dum da…da, dum, duh-duh-duh, duh dum da….

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure…measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife

…How about love?

And so forth—we divided the group up into parts, and Tom and I each took a solo, stepping forth and giving it all we had. We gave them some pop star moves, doing the grape vine left and right, stretching out hands to the audience, and other desperate attempts to express enthusiasm. The crowd LOVED US! (We know because they said in unison WE LOVE YOU!!!)

(The Titanic is saved! The iceberg was avoided! No gash in the side, no compartments filling up, no “Don’t let go, Jack!”)

Shortly afterwards we shuffled out of the auditorium, our way made difficult by the IYC students thrusting membership sign-up cards in our faces. I’m not sure that any of us made it out without at least putting half-true information on the cards. I tried to tell my buddy Hac that I live in a different nation and thus couldn’t come to meetings, but she insisted that should I ever visit Viet Nam again that I could come. Yeah. That’s a different kind of logic.

Anyhow, it was remarkable, and we all went out afterwards for dinner at one of DiDi’s favorite places to debrief and relax after the intense recruitment. The food was DELICIOUS—tasty noodles, pork and greens, homemade chilled yoghurt for dessert, then traveling to a boba tea bar for dessert after that. Eatin’ well in Saigon!

(Titanic makes it to America, Jack and Rose get hitched, and Hollywood comes out with a sequel and TV series.)

P.S. Many apologies for the lack of visual representation--my camera ran out of batteries!

Just Joking Around in June

After yesterday's heavy post, here are a few happier snapshots of the sweet life in Saigon! Enjoy!




<--delicious taro ice cream and chocolate-covered Kem Eskimo at a five-story ice cream restaurant in the city center

the girls go out to Thai pizza and the Underground--->

I love my roommate Tram! Here we are on her motorbike (and I did wear a helmet)

<--a cute Cao Daist-in-training poses with me outside of the temple in Tay Ninh

<--Matt's new Vietnamese girlfriend...

...who cheats with Samson!!!-->

Kevin, the constantly misidentified Asian, and his Vietnamese roommate Vu, an ultra-talented singer of Chinese songs! --->

<--Rob and Matt chill at an outdoor cafe, ordering nuoc and ca phe sua da

IN YOUR FACE-the bad and the ugly

Saigon is not all glamour and glitz. Sometimes the tourist industry Viet Nam pushes more clearly reveals, rather than masks, the poverty of the people.

Fellow Robertson and Duke student Kevin celebrated his birthday recently with our gang. We opted to head to the Vietnamese Chinatown in his honor and our curiosity. A nail-biting motorbike ride later, we found the Chinese restaurant we sought.

We parked our motorbikes and immediately out of the shadows appeared emaciated, deeply-tanned children bent over from carrying a limp baby brother or sister on their hip. The children hardly had to speak a word; the desperate scene explained everything. My Vietnamese friends saw my evident anguish and explained that some street kids are required by their parents to take their sleeping baby sibling and beg for money. The parents usually demand that the kids make a certain quota before they can come home and rest. These kids were dirtied with the muck of the streets, and I've seen toothpicks thicker than their wiry brown legs and arms.

The most frightening image, however, was the silent, limp baby. Arms hanging back awkwardly with fingers splayed instead of curled, the babies gave no indication of response to their surroundings or even of being alive. Their heads lay back into the air, and they didn't make a sound as the kids shifted them roughly or scampered across lanes of traffic to approach cafes. I've no idea if these babies are so malnourished that they do not respond, if they are drugged, if they are absolutely exhausted or what; all I know is that it was one of the most nauseating scenes to silently, unabashedly continue before my eyes.

We traveled up a flight of stairs to chow down family-style from hotpots (lau) steaming with shrimp (tom), rice (com), chicken (ga) and pork (heo). The food was delicious, but for me was tainted by the stares we received. We sat and a woman pointed me out to her daughter, then held up a cell phone to me and took a photo, smiling hugely all the while.

Weeeeeiiiiird, I thought. My friend DiDi let me know that most likely my sun-reddened cheeks signified beauty to them. I think they were just staring because I look different. But really, I'm the gal in the group with brown eyes, brown hair. Why not gather the paparazzi around the blonde blue-eyed bunch?

Anyhow, poor Kevin is now feeling ill. Theories of the origin of his discomfort are the eggs (trung), chicken (ga), and ice (da) that he might've taken in. Please pray for him/send your best.

In the evening, some of our gang went out to a bar. The bars here are divided very clearly into two categories: those frequented by wealthy tourists and those of a more local nature.

We visited a bar called "The Underground," in which the English flowed as freely as the Amber Stout. Poverty slunk out of the shadows here, too: a gaggle of beautiful, scantily-clad Vietnamese women distributed themselves throughout the room, flirting with ease. I looked to my left and saw an American war veteran still sporting a crew-cut interacting without speaking to three of the prostitutes. Oy vey, oy vey, oy vey. Thoughts are welcome on this subject, but my friends and I launched into a discussion of the alternatives, if any, for these women, and the lecherous activity of the man near to us.

The next bar, Alley Boo, had an unusual attraction beyond bamboo-roofing and Vietnamese vodka. A young Vietnamese boy, possibly five to seven years old, began to dance enthusiastically around the tables. I've honestly never seen someone that size exhibit as much coordination and dance flair as this little guy possessed. He scooted up a chair to a pool table and danced around the lights, bobbing and gyrating to the music in a very adult way.

To finish off my IN YOUR FACE entry, the veteran barhopper reminded me of the War Museum our group visited earlier in the week. The museum (once called the American War Crimes Museum and now politically softened in name) had a devastating selection of photos. The deformities of dioxin and Agent Orange were photographed exhaustively, and the scenes of battle burned everyone's eyes. Similar monstrosities are begging on the streets and are presumably disabled from such herbicide-induced injuries. Also horrific were the countless epitaphs to the international wartime journalists who lost their lives--made me really rethink journalism as a major.






Why should I document a war rather than doing something more direct to stop it? That's a segue into a longer debate, no doubt.





At any rate, it was strange to think, as I read the English captions beneath the Vietnamese words, that not only am I reading an imperfect translation, but I am reading with an utterly different cultural context than the man from Ha Noi, Viet Nam. We might read with the same aghast horror, but I first see American soldiers bleeding from the same American heart I've got. It's only recently, now that I am learning to understand the Vietnamese, that I see their corpses too in the pictures and wonder about the families forever aching.

I'm very thankful I do not live during the time of the war and that Viet Nam and the United States are working with one another. Despite the French/Indian War we work with the French, despite the Revolution we count the British among friends, despite WWII the Germans and Japanese trade with us, despite the Viet Nam War I am allowed and even welcomed here.

Still, if you say "Viet Nam" to the average American, images of the war flash by first. Despite Americans' perceived image of enviable wealth, why shouldn't the the Vietnamese vendors I pass think of the war first when they see me?

Will we one day trade and vacation in the Middle East as this war fades into history as well?

Herrro, my name is...

Unfortunately, "Herrro, my name is..." were the introductory statements made by approximately twenty Vietnamese young adults whom we hope to have relatively conversant after four meetings.

That's right: fellow college junior Matt and I are tackling the exciting, often frustrating, and highly open-ended internship with the Triangle Center for disadvantaged youth. The goal is to teach the youth, aged anywhere from fifteen to twenty-one, hospitality skills useful for working in a hotel or restaurant environment. As Viet Nam is currently marketing itself as a tourist destination with beautiful beaches and multifaceted culture, learning English to communicate with the American, British and Australian tourists is immensely valuable.

I learned from my Vietnamese buddies that the public school system has incorporated English language studies in their mandatory curriculum starting as early as age 6 and continuing through the college level. However, the kids Matt and I deal with come from a variety of backgrounds that are very discouraging to education.

"We want to get to know you. What is your name, how old are you, what is your favorite food?"

We spoke as slow as molasses and smiled maybe sweeter than molasses. Confronting blank stares with enthusiastic gestures and simplistic chalk-drawings, the kids answered as best they could in English and made nametags. It was a very good thing we'd brought a pack of Crayola markers and colored paper, because these kids had nothing but their clothes and a fierce curiosity about the foreign, Vietnamese-ignorant kids their age.

Matt and I decided to teach them English that would be most practical in a restaurant or cafe setting. After compiling a list of vocabulary, we chose the categories "People in a Restaurant," "Drinks," and "Silverware."

The kids knew virtually no English beyond “My name is” and occasionally helpful terms like “apple,” “chicken,” and "Aquafina.”

Names, age and 1 favorite food (many apples, chicken, bananas, 1 orange juice and 1 dog) later, we were reconfirmed in our assessment of a limited English vocabulary. The class delighted in competing with the other side fo the class and repeating Matt’s “WA-TER, WA-TER, WA-TER”. We had them repeat, recognize the words with games and tossing the ball to the students selected to pronounce.

Next time we have planned a game of bingo (you can see our prototype to the left).

The kids were mostly interested in learning the English and listening carefully to our emphasized pronunciation. With the exception of a single mishap in which a boy drew a large naked monster on the wall, there weren't signs of the infamous behavior of which we had been warned.

My guesses: either they were on extra-good behavior, we don't know them that well yet, or there is a different cultural perception of "bad" behavior here than in the States. More educated observations to come.

After the internship Matt and I wandered along the street to pick up a sugar cane juice and a quick bite at a cafe to review/regroup/react to our hour-and-a-half of English lessons.

We weren't offered menus (odd, we thought), and the girl laughed rather heartily when Matt ordered a "sinh to dau" (strawberry shake).

She's rather pretty, I thought to myself. Looking around, all the waitresses are rather pretty.

Hmm...suddenly the absence of a menu, lights, and female customers dawned on us. We looked at a nearby tabletop and saw a naughty photo under the glass.

Ohhhh man.

I'm still hoping that this was a Vietnamese version of Hooter's and not the Moulin Rouge, but it wasn't very clear. Anyhow, we moved on after a few unsuccessful attempts in Vietnamese to ask what there was to order other than food and drink (we were painfully curious).

The pastry shop and pirated DVD stores were our next stops, and we had a lovely taxi ride back to the guesthouse. (We walked further than we had thought, hailed a cab and were surprised when he took us about two blocks further on the same road. Somewhat embarrassing!!)

All-in-all, the internship seems like a fabulous opportunity to give the kids some tools in searching for a livelihood in hospitality. We have to do considerable lesson-planning and avoid cheesy games at which young adults would scoff, but they seemed to like us. Probably helped we gave them M&Ms at the end.

Either way, can't wait for Monday's lesson with another group of 25. We'll work with roughly 60 kids throughout the duration of the internship, and Mon/Tues/Fri from 1:30-3pm seems hardly enough time. We'll negotiate more!

In any case, the kids now say HELLO instead of Herrro. Progress already!

Google Globalization

What kind of title is this?! I'm reading a blog about SuzyQ's travels in Asia, what's this about Google?!

Yep. It's here in Asia, too. Along with MTVAsia(Gwen Stefani comes to Dubai soon!), Vietnam Idol (think Sanjaya Malakar times a gazillion), KFC (here's the menu, coleslaw and all), Pizza Hut, Pepsi, and Facebook.








One doesn't have to look very far to find Western influence in Saigon. Here you've got Rob and one of our new Vietnamese roommates tackling a puzzle featuring three Asian women reading Vietnamese newspapers as a Communist flag flies overhead.

Today Samson, Kevin and I snagged lunch at a panini bar with espresso, croissants and panini sandwiches. After classes today most of the U.S. students dined at Lotteria, a knock-off McDonald's boasting double cheeseburgers, shrimp balls, Pepsis and the popular Vietnamese strawberry shake.

My watch battery broke today, which is a major point of panic for me. (This morning: Hey Kevin, what time is it? *2 min later* Hey Samson, what's the time? *5 min later* Hey guys, are we late? What time is it?) Unable to find my link to the fourth dimension on the street, I went to Diamond Plaza. In keeping with today's theme of multicultural influences, I was torn between an adorably gaudy Hello Kitty watch, a little pink plaid Casio, and a snazzy blue Baby G. Finally went with the Casio, if you were wondering--the band is thinner, cuter, and easier to keep clean than the Baby G (and possessing a nicer pricetag), and the face has fewer alien cartoon animals than the Hello Kitty. Yep.

Tonight we celebrate Samson's 20th birthday. Not so surprisingly, he's never celebrated a birthday in Saigon, and so tonight we plan to surprise him (DON'T TELL! and Samson, I know you never read my blog) by taking him out for the local popular pastime of karaoke, kem (ice cream), ca phe (coffee) and bia (I think that's fairly obvious). Also happy to find that the Vietnamese employ birthday cakes in their celebrations too!

Anyhow, the similarities between American and Vietnamese popular culture have somewhat surprised me. I'm not just talking about obvious Western influence in the commercial arena; American culture has been plenty infiltrated by Asian cultures (think Toyota, Nokia, Samsung, Pokemon, and yeah, Hello Kitty). Behaviorally we aren't so alien to each other either, as we're finding as we befriend our Vietnamese roommates.

My roommate, an outgoing gal my age studying international business, is named Tram (kinda rhymes with "salaam"). She and I have already shared some pretty terrific laughs. There are a few very noticeable differences in our incipient friendship than one I'd share with a new American gal-pal. For instance, Vietnamese friends hold hands--girl with girl, boy with boy, whatever. Weeeeiiird. I'm not so into that, and I think (thankfully) that she's been prepped as to this peculiar American discomfort. However, we hug frequently and hi-five like it's our job. There is occasionally a break-down in communication, but Tram is one of the top students in her tieng Anh (English) class, and my Vietnamese, while rudimentary, is coming along. I think it helps to listen to Viet TV, translate everything I can, and chat with vendors even when there is a fatal level of awkwardness.

I happen to find religious studies even more interesting than foreign languages; hence, I visited the Nha Thu Duc Ba (Saigon Notre Dame Catholic church) recently. Here's one of the stained glass windows I adore--the BVM (Blessed Virgin Mother/Mary) reaching out to people wearing the traditional Vietnamese rice hats (non lo). Also pictured here are cars festooned with ribbons in honor of a Korean wedding held at the cathedral--kinda familiar to me, kinda not. Our program director, Rylan, tells us that most of the couples who come to the cathedral for wedding photos are not married on-site and aren't particularly religious; instead, the cathedral is just a lovely backdrop which adds an air of special significance. I find that very interesting--no educated opinion beyond that yet.















Just for kicks, here's a photo of a few of my fellow university students (sinh vien) in Vietnamese class--yay!

Fruit, Pho, Coffee Fixes and the Far Under-Priced Fare

I've not spent much time yet telling yall about the Saigon cuisine. Basically, the main menu is as follows.

Breakfast: pho or bun noodles, your choice of adding in beef, chicken, crab and shrimp, mint leaves, and a variety of vegetables. Don't forget the essential morning pick-me-up coffee; need that buzz for the day, of course. (bowl of bun cua tom bo pictured to the right) ~25,000 dong/$1.56 USD

Lunch: pho, nui or bun noodles, occasionally rice or rice paper wraps with a heck of a variety of meat: pork, beef, chicken, fish. Maybe drink Xa Xi Chuong Duong, the Vietnamese Coca-Cola that tastes like sweet root beer. ~35,000 dong/$2.18 USD














Afternoon Coffee Break--heaven forbid your caffeine levels sink ~20,000 dong/$1.25

Dinner: familiar bowl of noodles and rice, meats anywhere from beef and chicken staples to squid and the tasty greenish plant stuff. We finish up, discuss how delicious it all was, and then suggest an after-dinner coffee. This is not sometimes, this is not occasionally, this is not frequently, this is inevitable. ~40,000 dong/$2.50 + coffee ~20,000 dong/$1.25

I frequently feel far too full of pho, but I consistently crave the cloying coffee concoctions.

Everyone drinks their condensed milk with a bit of coffee, as you can see to your right. Ca phe sua da, or ice coffee with milk is served in the silvery contraption in which coffee drips at varying speeds from the top to unite with the ocean of honey and sweet condensed milk. I haven't had any bitter or stale Vietnamese coffee to date, and believe you me, I'm supporting the Vietnamese coffee economy significantly.

Eating with chopsticks, once the ability is mastered, doesn't hinder intake as much as you'd think it would. Especially helpful are the techniques of lifting the bowl to chin-level and tilting one's face to the meal. You can call it shoveling if you'd like, but it's like using the wrong end of the shovel. We're all rapidly becoming experts, even though certain waitresses still kindly and wordlessly place a fork and spoon by our bowls on occasion.

Cautioned ad nauseam by doctors and families and every health department imaginable to beware the chicken/duck (avian flu), the local water and local ice (plethora of bacteria), fish (Lord knows), too much MSG, etc., we've obeyed pretty much none of the rules. The program director informed us our stomachs would be going through a number of "changes," none of which I really want to elaborate on here or anywhere, for that matter.

In any case, it's delicious. Quite a change from the fried chicken/casseroles/breads/hamburgers of home. I'm still excited to try everything (I'm sure dog/eel/snake are to come) and to eat with chopsticks.

Pray for my constitution, eh? :)


Important Tidbit: Fruit in Vietnam is as it should be everywhere: ubiquitous, fresh, cheap, abundant, eaten at any time of the day, and always colorful, whether inside or out or both. <--Freak strawberries? Porcu-pears? Snozzberries? In Vietnamese, they are called "chom chom". Below is a photo of a cut-up dragonfruit--deceptively delicious looking, but rather less than flavorful. Kind of like munching on someone's lawn.












Possibly one of the most exciting things was to try Vietnamese delivery. Here you have a standard dish of chicken something-or-another. The delivery man will bring these heavy-duty plastic trays and metal silverware to whatever location and then return within a reasonable amount of time to pick up the trays!!! WOW!!! They take them back, disinfect (I hope) and wash them, then use them again.

In the States we get our styrofoam or cardboard containers and throw it away upon finishing (or leave it to develop a powerful aroma in the kitchen). There must be a TREMENDOUS amount of trash that could be saved if we used these plastic containers! I'm sure the delivery folks use up more gas to make the second trip to the place, but still...if they chose to only deliver to public locations...maybe this could work...

Next project for me: Susie's Save-the-Environment While Snacking Delivery Service