Home for the holidays

It’s a little late to write about Christmas, but I’m feeling festive so here goes. Mitchell and I went home to America for a couple of weeks for the holidays. By America, I mean Colorado (Mitchell’s “countryside”) and Kansas City (where my sister, aunt and uncle live).  As is my custom, I dreaded it.  It’s not that I don’t like visiting my family (really, mom!), it’s Christmas itself.  Let’s face it: it’s a cheesy, shallow holiday.  Nothing makes my soul recoil like Christmas-related music and movies (Home Alone being an exception). The worst part, though, by far  is the shopping. Our tendency to deplete our bank accounts in some misguided effort to express love through stuff is…is…neurotic, exhausting, bizarre, depressing. I don’t know.  It’s a tired liberal rant, but it’s tired because it’s true. In sum: yes, I’m a Grinch bitch.  But no, this doesn’t mean that I had a bad time.  And no, it doesn’t mean that I donated all of my awesome gifts to charity (blush).  I’m just prone to tired, liberal rants is all.

Even Hanoi has embraced Christmas. No, I'm not amused.

Speaking of rants, my family especially likes the holiday tradition of bickering over politics. We are firmly divided into two camps: 1) thoughtful, concerned, informed lefties and 2) wacky, confused, brainwashed Republicans.  (No bias there; to my astonishment, most of my family members reside in the latter camp).  This means that the dinner table frequently turns from civil and content to frothy and aggressive.  To my surprise, this year the topic that set us off was not Occupy Wall Street as I’d expected. I’d been telling Mitchell for weeks, “If they even mention the word ‘bongos,’ I’m gonna completely lose my shit!”  By this I meant that I’d jump on the table, mimic an enraged ape and throw the turkey across the room, behavior that has been scientifically proven to change hearts and minds. In the jungle at least.  No, the topic was Guantanamo Bay.  My uncle mentioned it to illustrate Obama’s failure to keep promises, my sister and I started pulling our hair out and screaming about Bush being a war criminal, our cousin asserted that Bush saved the Middle East, so on and so forth.  Lovely time.  Anyway, I’m not sure how we can learn to engage in these conversations in a more flattering and sane fashion.  At present, our country is experiencing a time in which the extremes we hear seem to be true. Bush really is a war criminal after all. Our civil rights really are being violated. And Newt Gingrich really is an evil, baby-eating robot troll sent from China to destroy American democracy. God, it’s so obvious. Just look at the guy:

Source: http://www.dangerousminds.net/

However, that was the only maddening thing that happened this Christmas.  Most of it was really great.  Because they are so young, seeing our nieces on visits home is like meeting entirely new people.  Mitchell’s niece Catey Rose (age 16 months) knows sign language and can navigate an iPod. My niece Evelyn Grace (age 2 years, 4 months) can actually form and understand whole sentences and is learning to break dance.  They’re like real humans now!

Catey Rose

Evelyn break dancing

I was inordinately proud of the gifts I had made in Hanoi for my two nieces, Bettye Rose and Eviecakes (hồng = rose; bánh = cake):

Bettye Rose and Eviecakes

In Colorado, we got to go swimming in some nice hot springs.  Mmmm…hot springs.  (Words of wisdom: some friends and I learned the hard way that the hot springs in Kim Boi, Vietnam are not to be confused for actual hot springs. They are lukewarm springs meant for lukewarm weather.)

In Kansas City, I was taught to love my family’s newfound obsession with ping pong and the Wii Just Dance game.  The latter obsession has followed me back to Hanoi. Embarrassing as it is to admit, I’ve found the Wii Just Dance videos on YouTube, which means that yes, I can be found clumsily shaking and jiggling around my house to Gwen Stefani and Daft Punk.  I realize that no self-respecting person should do this after the age of 15.  But I have a problem. And no, I will not post a video of myself, but I might perform one of the dances for you if you are exceptionally charming and get me really drunk, as Huong has discovered.  The new hobby has inspired me to make a New Year’s resolution – learn Michael Jackson’s Thriller dance. Whenever the Thriller song comes on, I inevitably turn to the nearest person and proclaim, “I have to learn that dance before I die.”  Seeing that the world is supposed to end in 2012, it may be my last chance to fulfill this lofty goal.

My parents playing a cut throat game of ping pong.

Just Dance 3 - Wii Game; This guy is totally a burner.

I would write more about the wonders of Christmas, but the man sitting next to me at Joma is talking to himself while emitting an onslaught of coughing, snorting, slurping, sniffing, throat-clearing, and chugging noises.  He’s a symphony of bodily functions and my cue to leave. Happy post-holidays!

Who likes airports??!!

After a two week trip to the US for Christmas, I’m currently on my way back to Hanoi.  If things had gone to plan, I’d be there already, probably sleeping next to Mitchell in our bed.  What a cruel thing to write because nothing, fucking nothing, sounds better than that scenario right now. The reality is that I’m stuck in the Hong Kong airport where I’m battling time, fatigue and the bottomless depths of self-pity, and I’m basically losing on all counts.

I had three flights to catch: Kansas City –> Chicago –> Tokyo –> Hanoi. The first one was late causing me to miss the next two.  These things happen, but I still hate American Airlines. Allow me to painstakingly detail why.  There were 17 people on my flight who needed to catch the Chicago to Tokyo flight.  When we noticed the flight delay, they assured us that they’d hold the plane for us in Chicago, and I thought they actually would because…well, why the fuck else would they say that?  Because if we were guaranteed to miss our flight, then wouldn’t it be better to stay at our original location where we may have family or friends?  No Sarah, that’s not how it works!

When we arrived in Chicago, we frantically scurried over to an American Airlines employee who could help us find the location of our patiently-waiting airplane.  Looking annoyed and overwhelmed by our mob, he shouted “K12!” in response to our gibbering about Tokyo. Collectively, the crowd shouted “K12!” and started running to the gate on the other side of the airport. We arrived only to find it empty.  Rather than a tumbleweed, there was a lone crumpled itinerary slowly being blown across the gate ramp. Which wasn’t even in the international terminal I happened to notice.  It doesn’t take a genius to realize that he just gave us a random gate number to get rid of us.  Rather than being helpful or at least empathetic, the American Airlines agents that I dealt with after those initial betrayals (2 lies! Lies, I say!) were supremely annoyed at my presence and seemed to imply that the flight delay was probably my fault. No, they didn’t say this outright, but I can read eyes!  And tones! Anyway, I’ll admit that at least the lady who booked me on new flights over the phone was nice. In sum:  Dear American Airlines, I understand why you are bankrupt and I look forward to the completion of your financial collapse.

The airport wants you to recycle. It feels bad about its carbon footprint.

In all, my travel time has increased from 24 to 45 hours long.  I’m now at the 36^th hour and feeling rather delirious and zombie-like. I look the part and probably smell the part too. My deodorant stopped working about 5 hours ago and I had not the foresight to pack a toothbrush and FSA-approved mini toothpaste. My eyes and gait are those of a severely stoned person.  I’m in need of glasses anyway, but my eyesight gets worse with fatigue, so I’m squinting at boards I can’t read and wandering/sulking around in circles, bumping into people and desperately asking them if they’ve seen my plane.  My bag is heavy, so I’m dragging it about and digging in it desperately in search of iPods, magazines or anything to entertain my sleep-deprived brain.  I’ve probably been talking to myself and not noticing. I’m the crazy, homeless airport lady. Luckily, no one seems to notice or care. Or I’m at least at the point where I don’t care if they care.  A nice place to be.

My interpretation of my own pouting

Every time I make these lengthy trips, it feels like time travel. And it kind of is.  I don’t know where the hell January 3^rd went.  Something about the journey shuffles my brain so that I begin to lose my sense of time and self.  Where am I? Who am I? What day is it? Who are all these people and why do they occasionally ask to see my visa and passport?  I know logically that I only left Hanoi 14 days ago, but when I think about our taxi ride to the Hanoi airport – one of the nicer taxi rides as our friend Jim brought along some wine – that feels like 5 months ago.  Like I was a completely different person back then.  A less confused and smelly person.  After a couple of days at the destination, everything shifts back to normal real time.

Anyway, I’m clearly bored, so I’ll detail some random highlights of the past 36 hours.  Unless you’re bored too, now’d be the time to find another blog to read. The other 16 passengers who missed the Tokyo flight were from Taipei.  When she discovered I was in the same predicament as they, a sweet middle-aged woman in the group latched onto me as we ran through the Chicago terminals.  She was saying things to me like, “Can you help us?  You’re so nice, you’re our friend!”  I did what I could to help, but there was little I could do. They spoke English and very well at that. Although helpful in some situations, my whitey, English-speaking superpowers are useless against the American Airlines bureaucracy. I was just another angry peon. But I tried anyway because she was sweet, and I at least accomplished getting us free lunch vouchers.  In the middle of the confusion, she told me that they were Christians and that her husband is a pastor. I can’t say for sure, but I think she was telling me this because she thought it’d be a point of camaraderie, rationalizing that as an American, I’m most likely Christian.  She then asked me with wide, expectant eyes, “Do you love Jesus?”  For a moment, I considered lying to her and just saying yes.  But that didn’t seem right, so I mumbled, “Um…sorry, I don’t,” although sorry for what I didn’t know.  I mean, I haven’t even met the guy, so “love” is a little strong of a word. But I don’t like disappointing people I guess.  Her grin didn’t fade at all, though, and she continued to be my airport friend confirming her commitment to following those Christian values we’re always hearing so much about.

Speaking of Jesus, he has actually been a running theme in these travels. I noticed a shelf of inspirational books for sale in the Kansas City airport.  I wrote down some titles because this is what bored people do:

• A Woman’s Guide to Fasting (read: temporarily turning anorexic so she can fit into smaller jeans)
• Food, Fitness and Faith for Women
• Heaven is for Real
• Promises for Women from God’s Word
• When Couples Walk Together: 31 Days to a Closer Connection

What could make me jump off a bridge faster than reading “Food, Fitness and Faith for Women?”  Nothing.  Wait, reading “A Woman’s Guide to Fasting” maybe. There’s a mean joke lurking in my brain along the lines of if God wanted you to be skinny, then… [he wouldn’t have made cinnamon rolls so delicious/he’d make marathons more fun/er…something funnier than that].

The other Jesus-related thing was just a fellow passenger who told me about her daughter’s recent conversion to Christianity and how it hasn’t yet resulted in her respecting her mother more. She’s 15 after all. Isn’t there like a commandment or something about respecting parents?

End bored airport ramble. On to podcasts and the like.  See you soon Hanoi.

đi đi Hà Nội!

Dengue Fever on the Electric Mekong Tour

There is one less thing I’m allowed to complain about in Hanoi these days: music shows.  See, back in my day (i.e., way back in 2008) the only live music that my admittedly-clueless-and-inexperienced self knew of was Minh’s Jazz Club, karaoke bars, the water puppets on Hoan Kiem Lake, and that guy who plays the flute with his nostril on the streets.  Music shows would happen on occasion and would serve as an impromptu expat Mecca for a weekend.

My, things have changed. These days, you can find live music every week at places like Hanoi Rock City, 21º N Club, and Ronaldo’s.  What you hear can be a little hit and miss, but the number of good performers either in or coming to Hanoi seems to be ever-growing.  We were rather spoiled over the last 2 weekends in particular.

First, there was the Electric Mekong Tour with Dengue Fever.  When it comes to music genres, I’m at a pre-elementary level of understanding.  When I hear there’s a music genre called “Crunkcore,” I assume it has something to do with porn featuring Lil’ Jon.  There’s also “cuddlecore” – porn featuring teletubbies and care bears?  “Cybergrind” – enough with the porn already.  “Cowpunk” – cowboys with mohawks?  Ok, point being that I know nothing of the world of music genres and subgenres, but Wikipedia tells me that Dengue Fever combines Cambodian pop music with psychedelic rock.  A combination that works rather well.

Crunkcore, cuddlecore, cowpunk

I had attended a wedding earlier in the day, where the bride and groom somehow convinced me to ingest high volumes of strange alcoholic concoctions. Like I’m going to argue with love. So, by the time I ended up at the American Club, I was miles ahead of much of the crowd, excitement- and inebriation-wise.  And what’s the first thing I saw?  Two enormous condoms – well, people dressed like enormous condoms at least. (I will refrain from making enormous dick jokes).  This strange sighting occurred not due to the correlation between sex and rock and roll, but because the event was sponsored by the American Embassy in Hanoi and PEPFAR – an aid program with a long name that gives money to combat HIV/AIDS around the world.  Of course I drunkenly stumbled up to the condoms and demanded attention from them. (Luckily, I wasn’t quite drunk enough to demand they let me wear their costume.)  To get rid of me, they directed me to a table with free condoms and HIV prevention information, including the materials below, which after a few hard blinks, I shoved into my purse:

By no means do I disapprove of these materials. Quite the opposite. I am, however, amazed at the level of explicitness in them.  For one, Vietnam is pretty conservative when it comes to icky sexy stuff. Also, they were funded by my country, and as an American, I realize how prudish and backward my country can be regarding sex, particularly gay sex. Props to PEPFAR then.

Back to music!  Last weekend was Go!Go!Japan!, a rock concert featuring Japanese and Vietnamese bands.  When I found out it was being held at the National Exhibition Center on Giang Vo St, I knew I had to go. I drive by this place every day and have been repeatedly awed at just how glitzy and hideous a place of this size could be, particularly on event days.  It takes the “bigger, brighter and more rainbowy are always better” approach to decorating.

Of course, the other major lure was the music lineup.  I had seen Okamoto’s at a previous CAMA event and like the rest of the crowd, I fell in love with the band and the Japanese Mick Jagger-like stylings of the lead singer.  They are apparently “psychedelic garage rock,” if that means anything to you.  To say this band is energetic is an understatement.  The vocalist is constantly running and shaking and bobbing and crawling and fainting and swaying and telling you to speak Japanese.  The drummer and guitarist are also enthusiastic.  But the bassist. No, he serves as the counterpoint.  Dressed in nerd chic, he calmly stands in place, practically bored.  Someone must be responsible.

Okamoto's - Charisma

Before Okamoto’s was the Electric Eel Shock, a “garage metal” band.  They were also very entertaining and quite good, even playing some “Brack Sabbath” tunes for us.  My favorite part of this band were their power moves, particularly those of the drummer.  He played with 4 sticks, 2 in each hand.  Occasionally, he would raise his fist, 2 sticks in a V-shape, and slowly move them across his face.  Think Pulp Fiction dance move.  Other times he would dramatically stand up and point at the crowd or the sky. I missed it, but someone told me he was playing the drum cymbals with his shirt at one point. And I heard that he usually plays in the nude.  Yep, he’s awesome.

Electric Eel Shock

Electric Eel Shock - note the power move

This band also instigated a mini-mosh pit of sorts.  The mosh pit was composed primarily of tâys, who tore off their shirts, ran into each other a lot, jumped on one another’s backs and unsuccessfully attempted to crowd surf.  I turned to Huong and said, “The white people are embarrassing us again.”  But that was a joke. The group never got overly obnoxious or rowdy, stayed relatively confined, and was almost as entertaining as the bands.  Another fun spectacle was the young Vietnamese metalheads (?), who with joined arms, were bent over and swaying rhythmically for most of the night.  Not sure if this is what they were going for, but I found them adorable.

Other bands included the Vietnamese “progressive rock” band, Ngũ Cung, also known as Pentatonic.  They were clearly a big draw for many of the young Vietnamese concert goers, many of whom were wearing the band’s t-shirts.  I wish I had more to say about them, but all I can remember is that at one point, they sported a keytar, and they performed a few 80s hair band reminiscent power ballads.

Ngu Cung, and their keytar

Other bands that were there but that we didn’t see were Molice of Japan and Rosewood of Vietnam.  They’re probably worth checking out.  Thanks CAMA and Japan and US Embassy/PEPFAR and music extraordinaires!

Seek and ye shall probably not find

My blog is many things, but useful it is not.  Nothing makes this more clear than visiting that nifty WordPress stats page to figure out how in the hell people came across this little corner of the internet. Mostly by accident apparently, while in search of other, very different things than what Hanoi is doing to Sarah. I’ll present here a quick overview of the wanderers who have gotten caught up in my interweb lately, mostly to be left disappointed by my lack of answers for their internet queries.  When I can, I’ll try to answer some of these questions or to offer useful advice for once.

Vietnam/Hanoi category:  Naturally.

• “finding America girl living in Hanoi” – Try stalking the embassy, the American Club, and/or your friendly neighborhood expat bar/restaurant. We’re not hard to find.
•  “vietnam burning shop cleaning” – Is the shop burning or Vietnam?  Someone should get on that.
• “talktome Vietnamese” – Wish I could.
• “freaky shit in Hanoi” – Hanoi’s so weird, even its shit is freaky.
• “happy pizza hanoi” – Those emotional food items.  This is a reference to pizza with marijuana baked into it.  As far as I know, dear internet searcher, this is a Phnom Penh thing.  Am I wrong?
• “how to say takeaway in Vietnamese” – It took me a long time to figure this one out too. It’s “mang về”.
• “Hanoi my love” –  Awwww….

 

Travel/expat category: I wrote one entry about Vang Vieng, Laos, and wow, it gets a lot of traffic.  Funny that it’s not exactly a glowing review of the place, but I suppose it offers enough details to confirm its awesomeness or abhorrence in the readers’ minds. So, aside from backpacking in Vang Vieng:

• “expats are weird” – And how!
• “Hanoi language barrier” – Is alive and well. Learn this phrase: Không hiểu.
• “where to eat thanksgiving Hanoi” – Oooh ooh, useful advice: dinner at Green Mango (18 Hàng Quạt) and maybe the Press Club (too fancy for my bones). Also, you can get a fully cooked turkey at The Oasis (24 Xuan Dieu).  Side note: “Turkey” in Vietnamese is “gà tây” or “Western chicken.”
• “expat salaries in Hanoi” – Considering the cost of living – pretty pretty pretty good.
• “vang vieng parasites” – Ew.
• “massa massage Vientiane” - Which one do you prefer?

Sex(pat) category:  I must say, this site must be especially disappointing for people of the sexpat variety.   Well, yes ok, I’ve attended happy ending massage places and brothels myself, but always by accident!  Really!

• “massage Hanoi happy ending”
• “massage with prostitution in Hanoi”
• “brothels in dalat Vietnam”
• “girls hanoi full service massage addresses”
• “sex movie for vieng”
• “tall creepy guy in vang vieng” – Miscategorized?
• “thats what she said Vietnamese” – Is there a Vietnamese version of The Office these days?  There most certainly should be.  Rife with fruit snack breaks, computer naps, youtubeathons, overtime and underpayment.

Use a condom, massa seekers

 

Sex subcategory: tied up and gagged: Note to self – Be more careful in how you title your posts.  People in search of the tied up and gagged genre are not interested in your fumbling attempts at teaching children.

• “girls tied up and gagged” – Oh no, what happened?  Scary!
• “angry girls tied up” – Well, I’d think they would be.
• “babysitter tied up and gagged” – Darned kids.
• “advice tied up gagged ask”  – Seems like it might be hard to ask for advice while gagged.
• “americangirlstiedup” – Oh, now it’s getting personal….
•  “gagged Vietnamese” – And I guess a little more relevant to the blog.
• “kid tied up and gagged “- Ummm…creepy to the nth degree. Let’s move on, shall we?

Animal category: Mostly turkeys, with some fish and cats thrown in for good measure.

•  “how to draw a turkey” – Take hand, add pencil.
• “how to draw an angry turkey”- Add furrowed brow.  Getting specific, that’s good.
• “a turkey with a gun to its back and holding a sign drawn colored pictures” – Very specific.
• “angry turkey sounds” – GOBCHCHCIEKDKKDWW!!!
• “fish on bicycle”- Fish can’t ride bicycles, sillypants.
• “i can barely take care of my cat, should i have children” – No.

Kids, harder to take care of than cats.

Perhaps try a mini-dog instead

Sarah category

• “sarah eats Hanoi” – That’s why she is so bloated.
• “sarah’s place Hanoi” – And we’re back to creepy.

Random category

• “iceland hot pools gay cruising” – Yes, please.
• “hangover burf” – What’s a burf?  Let’s hope it wasn’t supposed to say barf.
• “beaten businessman in bar fight” – Well, fights are not fun, but I hope he at least worked on Wall Street.
• “Burning shorts” – For the short-less ancestors.
• “dang zombies shirt” –Who doesn’t like zombie shirts?
• “hedonism irresponsible party” – Is there such a thing as responsible hedonism?
•  “no you run and it’s gone wild” – Haiku?
• “naked sport bicycle” – Sounds itchy.
• “never trust someone who eats at their desk” – Noted.  I will eye my coworkers suspiciously from now on.
• “right. you cant see it for yourself because youre so fat, and because it is curled so tight. i dare say you could play with it, like kitty, when you were a pup, but it must be a long time now since youve” – I’m very confused.

The minefield of blogging in Vietnam

I recently sent the link to this blog to a Vietnamese friend of mine, Huong.  We started hanging out about 6 months ago, and in that time I’ve grown to heart her oh so much. She’s amaaaaazing, and even though we haven’t known each other too long, I consider her to be a close friend, the near and dear kind.  Despite this, I was somewhat reluctant to inform her of this internet alter ego.  The blog is public and everything, it’s no secret.  It’s just that, when I began writing it, I was writing it with the mind that only my friends and my future self would read it. It took a long time before I even told my parents about it, still feeling like a teenager who could get caught doing something naughty.

I took it for granted that my friends and future self know and love me and would most certainly give me the benefit of the doubt if and when I write things that seem naïve, thoughtless, or downright idiotic.  (Although future Sarah is not always so kind to past Sarah, often embarrassed by her).  Also, they already “get” me, so my sense of humor would be easy to interpret, and I wouldn’t have to incessantly write “Just kidding!” to inform them that I was making a hapless attempt at being funny and/or sarcastic, and no, I don’t actually believe the bizarre thing I just wrote.   That seems to be the tactic employed by this South African sign holder, who felt the need to qualify his sign with “sense of humor” in order to prevent his countrymen from rioting against those darn kidnappy American ninjas.

Taken in Johannesburg by Lanette! (http://backinjoyburg.blogspot.com)

This vague set of people also hold most of the same general assumptions as I, and therefore, I do not need to explain myself all that well; I can make half-assed, lazy assertions and they will accurately fill in the blanks to understand what I meant.  Once I began to learn that a few strangers were also reading my blog, I thought it was exciting, and I didn’t immediately adjust my style of writing.  I reasoned that well, ok, they’re not my friends, but the fact that they’re reading my writing at all means that they must be exactly like my friends, so yay!  But of course, that was a silly thing to assume, wasn’t it?  Yes, Sarah, it was.  Perhaps you should be careful about what and how you write and explain yourself for Jebus’ sake. And maybe refrain from writing to yourself. Righto.

This is something to take into consideration any time you write online, particularly when you make no effort to hide your identity.  But writing about living in a foreign country – especially one with a history and culture very unlike your own – can be a recipe for disaster.   When you add a tendency towards flippancy like mine, you significantly increase the odds of writing something that can be interpreted as stupid at best and offensive or racist at worst. I’m a statistician, kind of, I would know. P-value = like, 0.000001. (Nerdy sense of humor)

It has only rarely crossed my mind that Vietnamese people would read my writing. A mixture of language barriers, the blog’s insignificance, and just lack of interest are sufficient enough obstacles by and large. Had I imagined a Vietnamese audience, I would’ve written in quite a different manner, if not consciously, then subconsciously at least. And I know I still would’ve fucked up sometimes.  That said, when I sent the link to Huong, I felt the need to include a long, self-conscious list of caveats and explanations.  I wrote the following in response to her saying that she was excited to see what I think of Vietnam:

One thing I’ve worried about with any reader, but especially Vietnamese readers, is that some of my sense of humor will not get through. At times I’m being sarcastic, so I actually write the opposite of how I feel. For example, I once wrote something like, “Vietnam Women’s Day doesn’t have anything to do with women’s empowerment or any such nonsense.”  It may sound like I think women’s empowerment is “nonsense”, but actually, improving women’s position in society and women’s lives is one of the things I care about the most.  It concerns me that women in Vietnam are still treated/viewed as inferior to men in many ways, although I recognize that this still happens in Western countries as well and that there are many empowered, independent women in Vietnam.  But instead of going into all of that, I chose to write some short, snarky statements and move on.  Basically, I want it to keep it light-hearted, but often these issues come through anyway (somewhat inappropriately).  

I ended the email with a statement like, “Sorry if I’ve written anything stupid about Vietnam,” knowing well that I have.  She was probably thinking to herself, “Sheesh Sarah, chill the fuck out already.”  It was overkill since she does fall firmly into the friend category. Plus, she works and hangs out with a lot of foreigners and therefore knows our clueless ways.  But to her I say, read this story about Tabitha’s experiences writing for a Vietnamese website.  Somehow a seemingly benign column about the travails of being a vegetarian in Hanoi elicited a maelstrom of negative reactions from Vietnamese readers.  While I don’t fully understand what happened in that case, I can easily see how it would happen due to the differences in cultural assumptions, ways of thinking/expressing oneself, etc.  Also there’s the fact that: a) we expats have no fucking idea what’s going on most of the time; b) we still have an opinion about it because we have opinions about everything; and c) too often those opinions run along the lines of, “Vietnam, you are doing it wrong. In my country…huff huff huff.”  And then in a full-circle response, expats turn on each other and assert, “No fellow expat, you’re doing it wrong…huff huff huff.”

No stupid foreigner! It's a mosquito net, not a kitty cat net.

So, it can be quite tricky writing about a culture/country not your own.  It’s only natural that we latch onto and discuss the differences between our homeland and Vietnam. When people back home ask me about Vietnam, they want to know how it’s different, not the same.  If I only wrote about how Vietnam and the US are similar, it’d be rather boring (Did you know that Vietnamese people eat and sleep and go to work?!  They fall in love and get married and have babies!!  They like Michael Jackson, Tom and Jerry, and Mr. Bean, too!)  But to some, simply pointing out differences is interpreted as criticism.  For example, if you point out that most Vietnamese people drive motorbikes whereas most Americans drive cars, people may assume that you’re making fun of how poor Vietnamese people are because most cannot afford cars. Which would be an asshole move, but it’s unlikely that’s what was meant. Acknowledging difference does not necessarily imply that something is better or worse.

I know what you’re thinking, though. “Sarah, sometimes people point out differences, and they really are making a judgment.”  Fair enough.  This is where it gets slippery.  Unless you’re a robot, chances are that you’re going to see or learn things about Vietnam that are unpleasant or that you disagree with or disapprove of.  Should you just chalk it up to cultural differences, shut your mouth, and move on?  Or state your opinion, even if it’s not 100% informed?  To give an example: It’s always very difficult for me when people talk seriously about visiting fortune tellers and planning their lives around superstitions.  Do I just nod my head and say, “Very interesting,” or should I say, “You know that’s a load of bunny poop, right?  You shouldn’t waste your money on these scam artists.” (Albeit in politer terms).  I do not doubt for a second that I would believe differently had I grown up in Vietnam, but that doesn’t change the fact that people cannot see into the future, read your fate, or talk to dead people. They just can’t. I wish they could as it would be a really awesome superpower. But seeing that they can’t, it frustrates the hell out of me that people are taken advantage of in this way, particularly people who don’t have a lot of money to throw around.  Is it disrespectful of me to point this out?  I wouldn’t hesitate to point it out to people doing the exact same thing in America.  (And they do.)

It’s one of those things that I think is always going to be hard to navigate. It goes without saying that we foreigners should take care to try to be respectful in these conversations.  We should attempt to take into account not only what the differences are but why they are that way.  This doesn’t mean that you must agree with the Vietnamese way of thinking or behaving, but perhaps just make a greater effort to understand it.  It’d be nice if that was returned in kind (i.e., efforts were made to be open-minded to our crazy Tay ways).  Few people do this well, and I admit that I’m not one of them.   As alluded to above, this blog isn’t really geared towards that.  This entry is the most earnest I’ve written in a while.  And earnestness is good at times, but not very fun, right?  (Aside from the ninja sign and floating cat, you’ve probably smiled zero times reading this.) I write about serious, often heartbreaking issues for work everyday. HIV, malnutrition, and cancer = buzzkill.  Outside of work, I prefer to use the remaining scraps of my brainpower only to scavenge for food and entertainment.  Which of course leaves me a little stumped on how to continue.  The best I can do is to keep on my clumsy way, trying to be honest without  being an asshole.  Poking fun at both myself and my present surroundings in a way that isn’t mean-spirited. And I know I’ll fail sometimes because that’s what I do, but I hope that at least it’s entertaining to watch me do so!

Political correctness in Vietnam

 

Anti-Nostalgia in the Age of Facebook

The other weekend, I was invited on day trip to Ba Vi National Park, where, after enduring a grueling climb to the top of Vua Peak, you can see this:

But, as the title implies, this post isn’t about lovely Ba Vi and its national treasures. The experience highlighted something that I’ve noticed about young people in Hanoi and at home, perhaps everywhere.  Our short trip was repeatedly punctuated by stops to take heaps and heaps of photos.  I would estimate that between the 8 of us, at least 400 photos were taken in 8 hours. Every bend of the road, patch of flowers, park, body of water, or sidewalk presented an untapped photo opportunity. I often see young Hanoians hopping off their motorbikes for impromptu photo sessions, complete with multiple poses and angles and cameras. A glimpse at most people’s Facebook profiles reveals that they are not alone in this tendency.  People these days appear to have a deep-seated need to document their lives,

from mundane moments….

Look Ma, I'm eating a sandwich!

to celebrations…

Look Ma, it's Nam's birthday!

to rites of passage.

Look Ma, Mitchell’s made an honest woman outta me!

Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Flickr, blogs like mine – We are our own paparazzi.  But why?  Are we all neurotic vanity freaks?  Or clinging to our own fleeting existence?  Or just exceedingly bored?

I heard a thought-provoking On Point show in which Tom Ashbrook (the host) and Jennifer Egan (author of “A Visit from the Goon Squad”) explore this phenomenon.  They link the obsession with self-display with a sort of impulse toward nostalgia or memorialization, often in real time.  Jennifer Egan posited that doing this feels good because seeing our lives through the lens of memory adds depth to the experience.

JE: “I can very well understand the urge to do it because I think that the nature of nostalgia is that it seems to infuse life with a kind of added richness and charge because it’s being processed through memory. And often the nature of nostalgia is that we wish the present day life had that charge. Well, now…through technology we’re able to provide a sense of that charge in present day life or at least present it in such a way so that it looks to others like it has that charge.”

In addition to harnessing the power of memory, our tweets and FB albums are our way of manipulating time to a degree.  The past and present start to blur somewhat when you begin to commemorate events that recently took place (Man, that sandwich was good. I’m still full, but I miss it already) or events that are even still in the process of occurring (This sandwich is delicious, the best sandwich of all time).

JE: “I think our sense of time is purely subjective…we tend to posit the present against the past with a sense that the past is different…One of the things that’s interesting about our relationship to time now is that technology allows us to process our present lives into memory practically as they’re happening.”

“It heightens the experience to memorialize and commemorate it as it’s occurring. It adds a dimension that might not otherwise be there…Nostalgia is about  feeling that that dimension was there in an earlier time but isn’t there now…that kind of memorializing is removing the gap between past and present, maybe in a sense it’s a kind of anti-nostalgia. If you can commemorate this moment and process it through memory as it’s happening, maybe there’s no need to look back longingly on the past.”

There’s also an element of us watching ourselves live our own lives. We can also watch the lives of the other characters in our stories, be they friends, family, colleagues, lovers, frenemies, or that kid who used to pick his nose in 3^rd grade.  As Jennifer put it, “The question is, ‘Does watching ourselves have an experience really add to that experience?’”

What about living in the moment?  Can you really be living in the now if you must take incessant breaks to document the moment and prove that it is in fact happening?  Does stopping every ten minutes to capture your stunning beauty or that of the view detract from appreciating it while you’re actually there?  At times, I think it does.  Your body may be in Ba Vi, but your mind’s on Facebook or if not that, at least it’s on getting the best picture. However, I’m not going to deny the fun and fuzzy feelings we get from looking at our photos online the next day and sharing them with our friends. Plus, unless your Facebook friends are jerks, they tend to write comments along the lines of “Wow, you’re awesome and gorgeous,” so not only do you get to have the experience, but you get an extra helping of self-validation (hello, like button).

You, my Facebook friend, are awesome.

Again, what did Tom and Jennifer have to say about this:

TA: “Can you live in the moment and be a nonstop curator?”

JE: “It depends on how one defines living in the moment. If living in the moment means digging so deeply into the moment that you’re watching yourself live it and displaying it for others to watch as you live it, then yes, the chronic Facebook posters are living extra in the moment.  But if you define living in the moment as an experience that is not about watching yourself but is just about being there…then I think you could almost say that this is just the opposite, that we have one foot out of the moment, even as we’re living it.  In a sense, who cares? There’s no right or wrong here.  The question is what makes life as rich as it can possibly be? And if that’s Facebook, then God bless.”

TA: “Absolutely, it’s not right or wrong, but it is fascinating to think, as malleable and imaginative of a creature as we are, how over generations or ages we may experience time itself differently.”

One thing that they didn’t discuss much is the fact that we are acting not only as our own paparazzi but also as our own PR agents.  What we present online may not be an entirely accurate representation of the reality of our lives.  It can be a sort of double life, and I’m only talking about those profiles where we use our real names and images.  Managing your online identity can be a challenge as you presumably want to express yourself honestly but to do so in a way that shows only your best side.  Online personas can be like our first-date personas. In both situations, we try to show only our especially clever, good looking, creative, and thoughtful selves.  (I mean, how annoying is it when your friend tags you in an unflattering photo? C’mon, I didn’t pre-approve that representation of my face!! Is it really that asymmetrical?)

Shoving this post back into an expat-in-Vietnam context, some of these things seem amplified when one is living abroad, notably the nostalgia factor.  Now that there’s not only distance but a few years separating me from my friends and life back home, viewing their online stories sparks a nostalgic yearning that’s probably more intense than it would be otherwise.  Because these photos and posts lean toward the happier, more fun aspects their lives, viewing my friends’ online activity can make me feel like I’m missing out on a really fabulous, non-stop USA party.*  And perhaps they look at my profile and think, “Ooh, pretty temples and stuff!  I need to travel more.”  Grass is always greener, my Facebook friends.

If you haven’t read Egan’s book, do so.  Soooo good.

Listen to the show. It’s free, yay!

*Sorry if I got the crappy Miley Cyrus song in your head.

Look Ma! I just wrote in my blog!!!

Preparing for the storm

Typhoon Nalgae, from www.wunderground.com

I found the following message in my inbox yesterday:

U.S. Embassy Hanoi

Message to U.S. Citizens

September 30, 2011

THE EMBASSY OF THE UNITED STATES IS TRANSMITTING THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION THROUGH THE EMBASSY WARDEN SYSTEM AS A PUBLIC SERVICE TO AMERICAN CITIZENS IN VIETNAM.  PLEASE DISSEMINATE THIS MESSAGE TO ALL U.S. CITIZENS IN YOUR ORGANIZATION OR NEIGHBORHOOD.  THANK YOU.

 

Tropical Storm Nesat…Typhoon Nalgae…danger danger…blah blah blah.

Thanks for the heads up, Uncle Sam. Like how I’m supposed to warn other US citizens and ignore everyone else?  Hope your embassy sends you an email, Finnish guy down the street. And that the loudspeakers are informative, Vietnamese neighbors.

Ever since the 2008 floods (which I was obviously not prepared for) we’ve had a lot of false alarms about flooding and destruction that are supposed to set upon Hanoi.  Although I’m beginning to disbelieve the dire predictions I’m told every time it rains heavily, we followed the email’s advice to stock up on food.  I believe that in 2008, I had only a jar of peanut butter and packet of soy sauce, and it kind of sucked.  So, we bought the following:

Were it not for the broccoli, bananas and carrot, you’d probably assume that we sent a 4^th grader and a college freshman to the store for reserves.

Me: “Mitchell! We have water but no beer!  Please fix it!”

Mitchell: “Only if you buy me Fruity Pebbles.”

Me: “Deal.”

Now that we finally have groceries in the house, I managed to cook for myself for once this morning and have yet to venture out to see if Hanoi is under water.  Let’s hope not, but if so, we’re ready this time.

Unfortunately, it looks like the storm hasn’t been so kind to others.

 

One year down…

…50ish more to go! (fingers-crossed)  That’s right, we had our one year anniversary last month.  Despite my tireless efforts to remain indifferent to and therefore above Romcom-esque holidays like Valentine’s Day and anniversaries, I was surprisingly excited about this one.  First of all, our anniversary is easy to remember, which saved us from awkward anniversary-date-forgetting moments. This is because instead of sending Save the Date cards, we sent a YouTube video featuring Mitchell’s students last year.  So, whenever I need to remember our wedding date, I just close my eyes and hear a cacophony of screams from Vietnamese children saying, “Mitcho and Sarah – Save the Date – AU-gus 28! – DAAAANNNCCCEEE!”:

 

 

Second, I was super excited to give Mitchell his present, which I will giddily describe for you now. Back story: Over the last couple of years, Mitchell has concocted numerous money-making ventures in his brain, many of them Vietnam-themed.  For example, he and his friend Ben have fantasized about setting up a bia hoi and/or bun cha street food establishment on a sidewalk in their college town.  Health codes be damned!  Another of these schemes has involved a series of expat-or-backpacker-in-Vietnam-themed T-shirts.  He’s been dreaming up T-shirt ideas for a while now.  Knowing that one can easily get customized T-shirts made in Hanoi, for his gift, I decided to make a couple of his ideas a reality.  I’m showing them here at the risk of having his million dong ideas stolen, but we must all take risks in life.

Presenting:

 

Ho is my Bro

Mitchell was a little concerned that this shirt might somehow be misconstrued as disrespectful to Uncle Ho.  I don’t see it.  In a culture where it is customary to call most people you know either “brother” or “sister,” this shirt only seemed appropriate.  (That’s Mitchell’s White Boy Gangsta Face, btw).

 

The Backpacker Menu

Goodbye embarrassing moments of ordering nonsensical items like chamberpots to eat on the street.  Now you can just point to the menu on your shirt.

 

She Likes Zombies

Total inside joke shirt.  Our neighbor’s kid has a toy car that sings a song.  The lyrics are not in English, but they appear to say the above. The shirt that didn’t get made because I had forgotten about it (regrettably) was a T-shirt related to the New Hanoian.  Expats will be very familiar with this website where any and all can review restaurants, cafes, services and basically anything in Hanoi.  As is normal for these types of sites, a lot of the reviews or comments are negative, some understandably so and others to a baffling degree.  Because you must give each review a score (1 to 5 stars), people often dramatically slash stars from their reviews and painstakingly explain why they have done so.   For example, “Minus 2 stars because the staff failed to light my cigarette.”  (I’m paraphrasing but not actually making that one up).   So, the T-shirt would put either real or fake reviews one the front and then “minus one star” on the back.  Actually writing it out makes me realize that it would probably be a stupid shirt to actually make (and may elicit a storm of negative stars on the website itself), but it was fun to think about.

On that note, I encourage you to make your T-shirt dreams a reality.  All you have to do is print out or roughly sketch your genius idea and take it the T-shirt making place on Hang Gai Street.  If you’re facing the lake, it’s on the right.  Sorry I can’t be more specific than that, but it’s not hard to find. Just look for the place with a lot of T-shirts.  Yep.

Plans: Overrated?

Ask an expat in Hanoi, “So, how long are you going to be in Hanoi?” and expect to receive an answer like one of the following:

a) Didn’t I tell you? I leave tomorrow!

b) I’m going home/other country/to Saigon on April 24^th.  My flight out of Noi Bai is at 9:21pm.  I have my 5 year plan on an Excel spreadsheet in my backpack if you fancy a look.

c) Ummm…In a year or two….ish. What was the question again?

d) Leave?!  Psssshhh.

For the last few ummm…years…ish, I’ve basically had answer C.  I can’t quite seem to make a concrete, cohesive plan for the future beyond a few months. Instead, I take the tactic of setting a vague departure date, usually at least a year away.  After that hypothetical date, my plans get a little fuzzier, involving things like going back to school, being Mitchell’s sugar mama as he goes back to school, flitting off to South America to see if my brain is as immune to learning Spanish as it is Vietnamese (which I’m learning is an expat living in Asia cliché – darn I believed I had thought of it first), and seeing if Japan is as weird as it appears to be.  It’s rare when I get the itch to move back to the US for the foreseeable future, but when it happens, it never goes beyond me declaring that we would have to move “somewhere cool.”  Jobs? An afterthought. It’s all about location.

My lack of planning skills doesn’t mean that I’m some sort of free spirit, letting the winds carry me and following my instincts through life or some such nonsense.  No no. If I haven’t at least got the next few months figured out, I’m a ball of anxiety tearing my fingernails to shreds and battling my lungs’ wishes to keep me a nonsmoker.  But my futile attempts at planning beyond that timeframe are usually out of a sense of obligation.  One must at least appear to have plans, right?  Therefore, I dutifully devise a plot for my personal movie (which would be in the awkward comedy genre that I love so much), and although it may be half-hearted or ambiguous, at least I get to have an answer for friends and family that is slightly better than the answer C above.

Given that basic strategy for creating a life timeline, it’s not surprising that when said Grand Departure Date starts nearing, I tend to, well, shift a bit.  People seem surprised and demand answers as I fumble to piece together an acceptable reply to the question, “For Jebus’ sake, why are you still in Hanoi, and what are you doing next?”  I end up with the boring explanation: “Well, I have a good job and a couple pets to feed and a nice house. And have you been to that new restaurant near the Temple of Literature?  How can I leave that?”  Many expats know this story too well. They know better than to take my silly plans seriously and they’re rarely the ones asking me for my timeline to begin with.  Others eye me suspiciously, wondering if I’m about to renounce my American citizenship and pitying me for not being able to get my life together.  It may be in my head, but I feel a (mostly) outside pressure to leave Vietnam.  This pressure seems to come from both back home and, oddly, within Hanoi.   As if after being here past a set date means that everything that was once good suddenly expires. Once you cross that invisible line, you are no longer cool for living in a foreign, exotic land but are instead moving into the category of sad people who lack direction and/or better options.  You’re that cousin who, 15 years later, is still working at the same job he’s had since high school. You’re that woman who got a Master’s degree in biochemistry and is working at a Starbucks 5 years later. You’re that drug dealer who’s still dealing pot out of his car to high schoolers instead of moving up in the drug cartel, riding around in an Escalade and wearing some sweet bling.  Or something.

One thing that is starting to wear on me (and the motivator for this rant) is the fact that I get asked future plan questions so often by strangers, acquaintances, friends and family.  I can’t imagine asking my friends back home what the hell they’re doing with their lives every few months.   It would be weird to do so (Hey, when are you leaving Chicago? You’re not? But why?), yet I receive this mini interrogation all the time. I understand why this happens, I really do.  I recognize how natural and innocent these questions are, and hell, I’ve even found myself asking them of my fellow expats.  As much as Hanoi feels like home, at its core, it’s still not.  Maybe it could be, but for now it’s not. So if a person is not home, it’s understandable to wonder when that person will be heading back.  Expat life is a transitional life for most people. So, perhaps these normal questions feel like an interrogation because I don’t have any good answers.  That admission aside, I still reserve the right to whine about people being all up in my business. Dang, let a girl be.

Isn’t it ok to be relatively planless?  Must we always be straining to see the unknowable future, clawing away at it as we tend to do?  It’s already too easy to ignore the present – that which is right in front of our face.  Besides, I hear that we’re pretty bad at predicting those futures upon which we base these plans.  Science says so.* Plus, isn’t Hanoi a city worth living in, not only in the short term but the long term?  A Vietnamese girl asked me the other day if I am bored with Hanoi yet, and it was hard for me to explain to her that, yes, of course I experience the occasional bouts of ennui, but I think it’s due to living a normal, routinized, 9 to 5 kind of life. It’s not Hanoi.  While not as exciting as the first year being here, it’s still a lively, interesting place to be.  It grows and evolves all the time, at times too fast.

To plan or to jump!? (or to hide in a cylinder block?)

*From Freakonomics radio:

Fact: Human beings love to predict the future.

Fact: Human beings are not very good at predicting the future.

Fact: Because the incentives to predict are quite imperfect — bad predictions are rarely punished — this situation is unlikely to change.

Texas Texas Yeehaw!

“Home” can become a tricky concept for expats.  When I plan to visit my family in the United States, I say, “I’m going home for a few weeks.”  When I’m in the US and call Mitchell in Hanoi via skype, I tell him, “I’ll be home in a few days.” To complicate matters further, US “home” conjures up not one, but two cities – El Paso, home of childhood, and Austin, home of adulthood.  Either way, though, my native homeland is Texas.  When people in Vietnam ask the familiar question, “Where are you from?” I respond with a buoyant: Texas!!!

I rarely feel bouts of pride over my nationality, and when it does happen, it’s usually in response to a non-American being overly critical of the US (deserving though it can be).  Countries can be like family, sometimes it’s only ok for us to complain about our own.  However, I have an irrational sense of pride about being Texan.  I’m not the only Texan like this, most Texans I know are.  I have a t-shirt that reads, “Texas Secede!” and other Texans have repeatedly tried to convince me to trade them for it.  You’ll pry that shirt from my cold, dead body, is what I say.

Reasons for this pride are vague and run along the lines of Texas: a) being big, b) containing oil, cowboys and large-ish animals, c) not taking no shit, d) being good at football, and e) something or other to do with the Alamo.   We were brainwashed – I mean taught – in school to embrace the utter greatness and superiority of our state.  Promotions of various sorts – from truck and barbecue commercials to anti-litter and political campaigns – regularly reinforce this attitude by claiming that what they’re selling is even more awesome because it is either like or from Texas. (How many commercials in say, Nebraska bring up the state at all?)  Country singers provide further flattery and validation by frequently bringing up Texas, and even the nation as a whole gave us a collective high five when they elected our governor, George W, to be president despite his inability at times to string enough words together to form a coherent sentence. Clearly, Texas is awesome and everyone else is either enamored with it or very jealous.

Horse ranch next to my parents' house in El Paso, TX

That being said, when I gleefully announce that I’m from Texas, expats in Hanoi – whether American (not of the Texan variety), Canadian, European, Australian, South American, or otherwise – almost uniformly respond with a cringe. Even Mitchell responds to my Texas Secede shirt by smirking, “Please do.” Some try to cover up their revulsion with politeness. “Oh…er…that’s interesting,” they strain while avoiding eye contact. Others come right out and openly guffaw or raise a disapproving eyebrow.  I much prefer the normal Vietnamese response, which is an excited, “Ohhh, Texa!  Cowboy! Ha ha!”  (I nearly crapped my pants with joy when one of my teenage students wore a “Don’t Mess with Texas” t-shirt to class. She did not understand my giddiness.)

The funny thing about this is the fact that I was somehow initially surprised by these responses.  You mean, you don’t agree that Texas is the coolest place ever? Granted, it is only the second biggest state, although Texans will be quick to remind you that it’s the biggest of the contiguous United States (because really, no one counts Alaska as a real state anyway…it’s barely above Hawaii). And mind you, most Texans are more likely to see a Chili’s chain restaurant outside their window than a ranch, oil is creating a mess, and we actually lost the Battle of the Alamo.  Hmmm…but no, those aren’t the real reasons, are they?  What could it be?  Oh, right.

Could it be:

• The textbook debacle – Texas lawmakers who question Darwin’s theory of evolution and the notion of the separation of  church and state putting historically inaccurate nonsense into the kiddos’ textbooks?
• That time when Texas broke international law, in defiance of pleas from the Obama administration, so they could kill a Mexican?
• All the other executions that happen in Texas?
• Its aversion to things like women’s health, abortion rights, and comprehensive sex education?
• Silly things like Texas lawmaker Betty Brown’s suggestion that Asian-American voters should consider adopting names that are “easier for Americans” in order to avoid problems at the polls?
• Crazy antics like Governor Rick Perry’s recent “Prayer Rally”?
• Texas GOP’s distaste for gay people and the straight people who support them?
• George Bush, in general?
• The vampires?

Ok, ok…sheesh.  I get it.  Texas sort of epitomizes what a lot of people loathe about conservative America.  And a large proportion of Texans are damn proud of this.  But that’s not my Texas. My Texas is filled with sweet, interesting weirdo types who also cringe at all of the above.  Or they’re just regular, down-to-earth people like you’d find anywhere else.  Maybe it’s ridiculous to have pride about one’s accidental birthplace.  But as silly as it sounds, one thing I do love about being from Texas is that people have at least heard of it.  It’s fun to play with it and to break people’s stereotypes about what Texans must be like:  I don’t have a Texas twangy accent; I think football is boring; I’m an atheist; conservative Republicans frighten me and I don’t think Democrats are liberal enough; I embrace feminism; I sympathize with illegal immigrants; I feel guilty about eating meat; and I do not deny the existence of global warming.  Yet, I own two guns, grew up riding horses, and have a soft spot for country music and beer.  I do fulfill plenty of other stereotypes, but not the Texas one (completely). Yeehaw!

Showing our true colors at an "around the world" theme party.

What a good sport Mitchell is, allowing me to humiliate him on the interweb like I do.