Champ au Champ! (or something)

September 14, 2008

I finished my first week of school. It’s been interesting.  I have 9 classmates from various places– the US, Wales, Australia, the Philippines, Bangladesh, and Holland. They’re a nice group and it was a relief being around people I could have an actual conversation with. No one’s given me a confused look for hours – awesome. We have two teachers, Ellen and Bonnie, and they seem really good.  They teach the class using the same techniques that we’re expected to use when we teach our students.  A lot of hand gestures, activities, and instruction checking questions – What are you going to do first?  Are you going to do it alone or with a group?  Quickly or slowly?  It’s helpful, although somewhat patronizing in the same language.  The first day Ellen gave us a Vietnamese lesson without speaking any English so we could get the idea of how it works.  We learned how to say, “My name is ______. What’s your name?  I’m from ___________. Where are you from?”  It took about 30 minutes.  Yeah, it’s a tedious process with a ton of repetition or “drilling”.  The course sort of just throws you in the mix, so we were teaching Vietnamese adults the first day.  That was intimidating, but our students are so sweet and patient with us.  We really couldn’t ask for a better class – they always seem engaged, and they try really hard.  Our class is mostly young adults in their early twenties, but they seem younger because a) we kinda have to talk to them like we talk to children so they can understand us and b) they’re simply smaller than us in general.   We’re starting with “elementary” level students. That means that they’re above beginners, but their vocabulary is still limited, and they have a hard time with pronunciation and grammar.  Teaching is very new to me, and it doesn’t really come naturally.  It’s not really meant for introverts, so I had a hard time loosening up and building rapport with the students the first day I taught them on my own.  I relaxed by the 2^nd lesson and did much better, but I still have a long way to go.  Lesson planning is an absolute nightmare – you have to figure out what to teach, think about their language level, get the timing right so they don’t get bored or overwhelmed, grade your own language so you don’t get blank stares, and then on top of it all, try to make it entertaining.  Christ.  Between lesson planning, assignments, and class, I’ve had very little free time to do anything.  It’s not too bad given that I expect to spend a lot of time here after the course is done.  I have a classmate who has taught in Ho Chi Minh City for the last 3 years and likes it down there a lot more than Hanoi.  She thinks the people are friendlier, it’s more modern, the jobs are better, among other things.  I started questioning my choice a bit – did I pick the wrong city!?  Am I going to be unemployed amongst hostile natives walking through sewage!?   I think you’re either a Hanoi type of person or HCMC type of person.   I chose Hanoi initially because I read it was the cultural capital of Vietnam whereas HCMC is the business capital.  Hanoi has more of an old school feel, and HCMC has a lot more of a commercial feel and more tourists.  The people are thought to be more open in HCMC and more conservative in Hanoi.   I spoke with a few others about the Hanoi vs HCMC debate, and it appears to be a matter of preference more than anything.  Someone told me it’s like the difference between LA and San Francisco.  Hanoi is to HCMC what San Francisco is to LA. Whew… I chose the right place.

The weekend was a relief.  After work work work, we finally got to go out and play!  I was able to finally slow down and exhale and enjoy myself.  Instead of just trying to get by, I actually started liking it here.  That exhilarating feeling I had the previous year replaced the nerves.   I met up with a classmate, Mitchell, and had some beer at a local bia hoi place (I think that means “beer of the day” or something – kind of like a bar but more laid back).  We met up with his Vietnamese friend, Nam, who is the cutest boy I’ve ever met – seriously.  (Although thinking about it further, he might be tied with Herbert). Fucking adorable.

Nam!

I need to take video of him dancing, and you’ll understand. He was Mitchell’s tour guide a few years ago when he came to Vietnam.  We then went bar hopping with the other classmates in the Old Quarter.  The Old Quarter is the oldest part of the city (I think), and although I thought it impossible, it’s more packed than the other neighborhoods I had been in.  It’s crawling with tourists, but the vast majority of people there are locals.  Somehow we ended up at a bar called the Dragonfly, and it kind of reminded me of 6^th St.  It was just kind of weird.  Like the other bars we went to, they play a lot of old American music that makes me reminisce about middle school.  Did they seriously just play Vanilla Ice?  The thong song? Why is this happening? There was also some newer pop music, but it was pretty much all American stuff.  My classmates started dancing, while I was decidedly stuck to the wall.  It was half snobbery (No really, I like dancing and all but do you actually expect me to dance to the Black Eyed Peas?) and half self-consciousness (How the fuck do I dance to the Black Eyed Peas?).  My classmates thought me overly shy if not lame I’m sure.  I took a cab back to the hotel to find it locked with the security gate shut.  Um, fuck.  Did I have the hotel phone number?  Of course not.  I just kind of stood there staring at it, wondering if I should stash more money in my bra or maybe try the socks this time, when one of the kids working at the hotel opened it for me. He was like my Vietnamese Jesus that night.   I felt like an asshole because there was another boy sleeping on a mattress in the lobby.  Stupid me making these poor guys wake up in the middle of the night to let my drunk ass in.  Hanoi seems to die at about 11pm.  The insanity of the day just disappears, and only a few places stay open late at night.  Apparently the late night scene is somewhat sleazy because of this.

I spent the next day at a beautiful park that I couldn’t enjoy because I was running to and from the public bathroom.  Yes, I got Ho Chi Minh’s revenge.  Nothing like having the shits when the only restroom in sight is basically a little hole in the ground.   I stumbled back to my hotel room to drink Pepto Bismol and splay myself on my bed wondering about all the cool things I could be doing.  Poor Sarah.  After spending what felt like an adequate amount of time feeling sorry for myself, I went to the above-mentioned bia hoi place because I wanted food, and I wanted to exert minimal effort in finding this food.  That place was close, and it had English translations on the menu.  Perfect right?  Well…I got there and ordered fish.  I waited 10 minutes.  They had no fish.  I ordered chicken.  No chicken.  Please put something noodley in front of me.  I don’t care what’s in it (I say this now, this will change I’m sure).  Some older men were sitting near me and had taken notice of me – not in a hubba hubba kind of way, but more like “Look!  A unicorn just walked in!”  (Children react like that to me here.  I get lotsa “hellos!”  One said hello to me, I said hello back.  He then said hi!  I said hi! Then he yelled “Loser!” Hey kid, stop gloating…that was years ago.)  The men beckoned me over to their table.  They wanted me to join them.  Oh, but I just wanted to get something noodley and go back to my hotel room where I can finish feeling sorry for myself depending on how my stomach feels. They were a bit insistent (I was picturing my father having a heart attack at the sight of this all – he would think it a trap). Well, ok.  I went over and they proceeded to order me a beer.  And then another beer. And then another.  Were they trying to get me drunk?  I’ll show you, I thought. I was quite the alcoholic back in Texas, I’ll have you know.  We made unsuccessful attempts at communicating, but the only thing I got across was that I’m from Texas, and then we did the Vietnamese version of “Cheers!” about a hundred times.  One toast sounds like “champ au champ,” and that means you must chug the whole beer.  I tried and failed to avoid this game.  A guy from Rhode Island came by with his Vietnamese friend and asked where I was from.  The waitress said I was from Russia.  I was inexplicably flattered by this. The Rhode Island dude is Matt, and he and his friend joined us.  It was nice because his friend served as translator.  After hearing a few warnings about aggressive Vietnamese men, it was actually Matt who was the creepy one in the bunch. He kept talking about how his friend had the hots for me and I should give him a kiss on the cheek, make his day.  Um yeah, because that’ll definitely give him the right impression.  He then proceeded to try to make the others kiss my hand and kept talking about all the lusting after me men here were going to be doing.  Sheesh.  Creepy Matt aside, it was a lot of fun.  The men were really sweet and respectful, and they paid for my beer and my food.  I heart them.