Innocents Abroad

Need to take a vacation...

2009-06-13T08:15:00.000-07:00

Preya's snaps of the famed Chatuchak market in Bangkok made me realize I need to go back again...SOON.

http://preyanka.com/2009/05/the-heat-and-the-dust-shopping-at-chatuchak-weekend-market.html

Pocket Explosions

2009-05-20T06:35:00.000-07:00

I'm walking around the corner for my mid-morning sandwich, and order my usual, an omelet with scallions, which the sandwich lady normally cooks on a portable gas grill smaller than a 45rpm.

This morning, she cracked an egg into her skillet, but the flames sputtered for only a few seconds, leaving my egg...still an egg, and not an omelet. I went for the cha and pork floss sandwich instead, and walk a few feet to the coffee lady. Co-worker is there, ordering a coffee for himself and looking over the cigarette cartons.

I moan about no omelets while ordering a coffee, prompting him to go, "Oh, Sandwich Lady's butane ran out? Oh, that reminds me...tell Coffee Lady that her lighters (points at rows of yellow lighters with Hot Wheels stickers) explode when they're dropped!"

"What?!"

"Yeah, one even exploded in my pocket once!"

I spend a moment imagining Co-worker reacting to his pockets spontaneously combusting, but I figured I better alert Coffee Lady that her lighters were prone to...well, exploding.

But, it is old news.

"Oh, oh yeah. That happens. Sometimes when it gets too hot, they explode right in the display case."

Later I realized I never saw what Sandwich Lady did with my uncooked egg.

Pardon me.

2009-05-12T07:51:00.000-07:00

This is just to say

I have not posted here

for over 365 days; neurotically

I begin counting

the months backward

from May (14).

Forgive me, 2008

was so crazy, but then again

aren't they all.

Old School

2008-03-11T12:05:00.001-07:00

When I went in to have my eyes checked, I hated the part where they would dilate your pupils because then I had to walk around with paper frames with tinted plastic sheets for lenses. I wish I could have told my nine-year-old self to get over it, because imagine walking around with these babies:

For the record, my dad's prescription is something near the upper bound of not-blind. Thanks for the genes, Dad!

This blog is 80% cat.

2008-03-11T08:44:00.001-07:00

Favorite Fried Rice Joint

2008-03-11T04:46:00.001-07:00

Three course meals consisting of French food are all very well and good (see Au Delice, post with the photogenic tomatoes), but sometimes you just have a yen for quick and filling fried rice, topped with slices of stirfried beef with cucumbers on the side, you know?

Rata-ewwwww

2008-03-11T03:23:00.000-07:00

Lately, someone's been really putting away the shrimp paste for lunch. The hallway I pass through almost everyday at the studio reeks. I figure maybe one of the pregnant techs has just suddenly been on the mother of all pregnant binges, and I suppose shrimp paste ranks right up there with pickles and ice cream.

I'm griping about the smell to my co-worker as we walk up the stairs and are freshly assaulted again by the smell. Now, I've had shrimp paste before, but honestly, someone must have had a tub squirreled away for it to be so pungent and spread so thoroughly in that part of the building.

Co-worker: *wrinkles nose* Oh, that's so terrible.

Me: Yeah, I know. I mean, I have no problem with shrimp paste, but this is ridiculous.

*silence*

Co-worker: Um, Vi...a rat DIED somewhere in the walls and we have no idea where it is. You're confusing the smell of a rotting rat with shrimp paste? You've EATEN shrimp paste!

Me: >_<;

Faux pas part eleventytwo

2008-03-11T03:04:00.000-07:00

A coworker and I are watching TV in the office, making catty remarks about the guests on the show. It's some sort of panel made up of women experts talking about the latest social evils to plague Vietnamese society.

Co-worker: She's not cute. Permanent bitchface.

Me: Yup, not cute.

Co-worker: Oh, look at her face, that one got plastic surgery.

Me: Freaky, her nose is like Michael Jackson's.

And so it goes, and I'm feeling good because we're just chatting like normal workbuddies stuck on the late shift.

Me: Oh, she is definitely not cute. Uggggg-ly!

Co-worker: *deadpan*...she's my sister.

Me: Waaaa?!? Really?

Co-worker: No, no, haha!

Me: Oh, haha, phew! You made me so scared!

Co-worker: By marriage. She's my...*switches to English* ...sister in law?

Me: Oh...um, yeah, that's right. That would be a sister-in-law.

Francesco and the Cat Horde

2008-03-10T06:41:00.000-07:00

Francesco, Nicholas' cousin, flew over from Rome to visit for two weeks. We all liked him very much.

The kittens took a bit longer to warm up to him.

But they soon expressed their approval.

Spring Cleaning

2008-02-12T02:02:00.000-08:00

Chuc mung nam moi everyone! Best of all, it's nam Mau Ty, the year of the rat, and in honor of the occasion, I bring you pictures of rat poop. Here, my coworker is all gloved up (I personally would have preferred a HAZMAT suit) and she gallantly enema'd the bookshelves, emerging triumphantly with the results:

Trust me, you do not want to take a closer look at the contents of that box.

At work, we take our cleaning seriously.

Dedication

2008-02-07T06:38:00.001-08:00

Seen by Nicholas on a theater playbill: "Ho Nguyet was a fox who acquired the power to turn into a human after knocking herself up for a thousand years."

Au Delice

2008-02-07T06:11:00.001-08:00

Sometimes all you need to perk up the gray skies are some tomatoes. With feta and some zippy olive oil with lemon!

Not that I'm leaning in any way...

2008-02-07T05:18:00.000-08:00

but this is a particularly amazing un-shopped photo, no?

Courtesy of the NYTtimes.

Banking Benefits

2008-02-05T22:41:00.000-08:00

Managing your banking affairs when you're 14 time zones away can be a real pain. Even though all my meager assets are socked away online, and I can make customer service calls through Skype, not having an actual functioning bank branch here in Hanoi has put many a crick into my neck. Plus, there's the added complication of getting paid in Vietnamese dong (VND), which can only be used in Vietnam. I can't make direct wire transfers to my American accounts without first withdrawing my VND, exchanging that, and then sending it through Western Union, all the while getting nipped in the liver by usurious vultures along the way. It burns my miserly heart.

On the other hand, how many of you have banks that come with your very own personal Kitchen God, huh?!

A Total Invasion of Privacy

2008-01-15T01:17:00.001-08:00

As mentioned in the last post (so long ago!), a cat of mine had kittens. Two. A high-pitched mew coming from the top shelf of my closet alerted me to the fact that Boots, the orange cat, had not only been in the family way, but had given birth to a single, scrunchy-faced kitten. Later, at 2 a.m., out dropped the second one. Naturally, in light of such excitement, I was all up my cat's uterus with my camera.

Here she is, Emmy on the left shooting a "Do you mind?!" in my direction.

P.S. Let me clarify that our previous landlady was convinced that Emmy was pregnant, due to her...well, she's definitely a meo beo. No Vietnamese kitty is so spoiled as Emmy, even though we constantly dangle things in front of her, hoping to get her to move. Mostly she just flops over, like it's not even worth the effort to mock us. Anyways, Emmy's been to the vet and back, and for a while we thought Boots was infertile, since the whole "in heat" phase kind of passed under our radar.

P.P.S. Isn't it peculiarly awesome that "fat cat" and "meo beo" both rhyme?

Things of Note

2007-12-16T08:00:00.000-08:00

Some things need to be elaborated on:

1. I woke up yesterday and everyone was wearing helmets.
2. I went off on a motorbike trip with Hannah for 3 days to Cao Bang and back.
3. Said trip was very fun and exciting, and full of interaction, although Cao Bang itself was rather disappointingly bland.
4. I am contemplating tentative job offers.
5. My cat gave birth to two kittens in my suitcase. I'm sure they will be very cute.

Well, Haven't You?

2007-11-08T05:55:00.000-08:00

Just Call Me Oliver

2007-11-08T04:54:00.001-08:00

This week is unusual in that I'm eating a buffet lunch everyday at the swanky Nikko Hotel, for free.

Why? And how? By scamming my way into a television production workshop run by the Reuters Foundation. One of the advantages of being pathetic-looking is that you can play on people's sympathy with an exhibition of courageous pluck, such as when you're begging to be let into a class that only runs in Hanoi every six years (yes, it does help your presentation to be thinking "Please, sir, can I have some more?").

That photo sequence is a story on the theme of "Lost and Found". Our sequence was the best, mostly because a closeup meant to emphasize the loss of a scarf actually turned out to emphasize a group member's generous bust size. That particular photo went missing later.

That's Lloyd Watson. He looks like Daniel Craig, and is very used to working with translators. This means he speaks with a lot of pauses. When I first introduced myself, he thought I was the translator. Unfortunately, I am no where near qualified to be a translator. Lloyd was explaining that a series of photos were actually stills taken from footage, which I identified as screencaps.

Lloyd: "Yes, exactly. Can you say that in Vietnamese for them?"

Vi: *dies on the inside*

There actually was a misunderstanding about translators; the people in my department were given to understand, based on the information handed out to us, that the class was open to people who had enough command of English to make translators unnecessary. Some other people in the class didn't get the memo and consequently a colleague spent her first day of class as an impromptu simultaneous translator, which is ball-breaking work, eye-twisting work for which you normally get paid loads of money.

I gave her some some coma-inducing dessert instead:

50,000 Words

2007-10-12T05:20:00.000-07:00

For the past few weeks I've been hanging out in the teachers' room at Nathan's school, mostly because I happened to have a lot of free time. That was spent mostly dinking around with some new programs, or maybe subtitling. What I was really doing, though, was putting off what I always imagined I'd do when I found myself with substantial blocks of free time; obviously, that'd be producing a staggering work of genuis, or napping.

I do think I should take more naps, by the way.

What's about nice about wanting to be continually motivated and inspired is that I'm pretty much surrounded by people who pretty much amaze me everyday. For Friday's Example of Amazingness, my housemate, Hannah, cobbled together a band she insists is "jazz funk" and two months later they played a gig at an annual charity fundraiser, overcoming truly ridiculous obstacles (bassist broke his ankle 48 hours before, and another drummer had to go back Australia on short notice). It didn't matter; at the end people were dancing and generally having a great time and begging for encores until Jess, the lead singer, simply said "We have no more."

It also helped that, in their moment of need, Dan, an unassuming Canadian, mentioned that he was a classically trained guitarist. Those Canadians and their modest ways...

Despite being surrounded, I still yet have written anything like I used to in college. (This, of course, is maybe a good thing.) More accurately, I've not yet sat down and seriously tried to do anything creative. Good thing Hannah has roped us all in to National Novel Writing Month then.

As the name suggests, we're taking on the insane task of producing a novel in a month. The guidelines require that the finished products (ha!) need to be at least 50,000 words long (ha!).

I think that it is likely that I will be napping less.

Jelly Belly

2007-10-09T12:55:00.000-07:00

The bloom is off the rose and changes are afoot. Or is that in the air? I can never keep my figures of speech straight.

Speaking of change and figures, one of the kindly techs pinched some of my belly flab the other day and pegged my weight gain to the kilo. She said I'd been looking a little too skinny, which I found confusing, because most Vietnamese girls make beanpoles look like Sophia Loren. However, I could definitely do without the added roundness; luckily, Thu, while rubbing my tummy at a book signing (as one does) noted that it was very soft, which meant it would be easier to get rid of.

She's a yoga instructor. Have you ever seen a fat yoga instructor?

A Rip in the Space-Time Continuum...

2007-10-09T11:23:00.000-07:00

must have been where August and September disappeared to, because I blinked in July while on a plane and opened my eyes to find that I'm more than a quarter of the way through October. The other day I caught myself absently wondering when the weather changed, for the rainier, the muggier, the Seattler.

It's kind of nice.

I've taken to liberally drinking coffee mixed with condensed milk. Less you wonder how this is any different from my normal routine, let me explain; it's Vietnamese coffee. I used to steal my father's mug of coffee as he read the newspaper and I read the Sunday comics. In college, on the Ave, I ordered a Vietnamese-style coffee at a specialty tea and coffee cafe because I had never before seen Vietnamese coffee advertised as being Vietnamese, like it was something unusual or hand-roasted by Colombian priestesses. The barista hesitated before warning me that a cup of the Vietnamese coffee was equivalent to six shots of expresso.

I had always wondered why Starbucks coffee never really seemed to induce a caffeine high.

At any rate, despite (or perhaps because of) this longstanding history with strong coffee, I don't remember drinking an awful lot of it in college. Mostly I preferred sports drinks and banana-flavored steamed milk. Unfortunately banana milk isn't packed full of stimulants, and lately I've been leaping before looking and running before walking, so this fall is looking pretty crazy. Crazy dangerous.

I'll have you know that I've become considerably less clumsy.

No standards

2007-07-11T00:31:00.000-07:00

Today I had a break between the morning and afternoon shifts, and completely forgot about filling up my tank on the way home. Part of me is worried about making it back to work with my gas gauge firmly on "E", since I only have the vaguest notion of a gas station near the house.

It's very hot and I'm very tired. I made a resolution a few days ago to blog once everyday, regardless of how long the entry was. It could be "I learned I don't like potato sandwiches" or "My roommates eat sesame paste, which looks like chalky death" or whatever; there would be no standards because the point was to kickstart the mind into doing something that wasn't related to work. The standards are out the door.

Our cat was spayed several months ago but chi Yen, our maid/landlady is convinced she's pregnant.

I wish I was a Ninja.

2007-07-05T03:27:00.001-07:00

Wow. No sooner do I express contentment than Life hits me with...many things. It's like Life laid out a slick assortment of weaponry and selected "dingy pants", "whining cats", "spoiling lychees", "nothing in the fridge except beer", "suspicious Russian cheese", "rude security guards", "brazen cockroaches" and "unfortunate tanlines".

Okay, so Life hasn't exactly been a Greek tragedy.

What it has been is a lot of work, and work outside of work. One of the times when I do not work is when I'm riding my motorbike. One of my favourite times of day is when I'm pulling onto a particular stretch of road near my house and gun the engine as fast I dare. (Not that fast at all, mom and dad.) I can't even begin to imagine how it would feel if I had a proper motorcycle and say, Montana to tool around in. My brain can only come up with approximations like "Joan Didion called to say good job" or "Bumping in Hugh Laurie in the self-help section".

All I need to do is paint flames on my helmet so it looks like I'm going fast.

2007-07-02T06:48:00.000-07:00

I just realized today that I'm pretty content with how things are in my life. Sure, I don't want to live in Vietnam forever, but life right now is really great. I get to speed around Hanoi on my silver motorbike, wear scuffy boots and pretend I'm Indiana Jones, eat lychees all day (at 25 cents a kilo, who wouldn't?) , live with interesting and unpredictable roommates, my Vietnamese is noticeably better and my job is something I look forward to everyday.

It figures that Vietnam is one of the only places where I can get by as a writer without also being a waiter.

Secretly Related to Stephen Fry.

2007-06-23T21:52:00.000-07:00

"Hannah! You will NOT believe what I just saw on Pho Hue!"

Hannah is not easily ruffled.

"I was on my bike, and I saw these two guys, and the one sitting behind stood UP, and it looked like he was fighting the other guy on the bike! I was afraid they were drunk and going to splat in front of me and--"

"Vietnamese Fire Drill, right?"

"--huh?"

"When two people on a bike switch places, from passenger to driver. Like a Chinese Fire Drill, where people get out of a car, then crowd back inside so they're sitting in different places when they drive off."

"Um...yeah."

I don't even bother asking how she knows, because Hannah knows everything. If if she really doesn't, her cut-glass English accent makes it seem like she does. The trouble living with smart and worldly people is that most of our conversations go like that.

Details

2007-06-20T05:01:00.000-07:00

It was an ordeal, and at times I thought, "Oh, you've jumped in way over your head" but it was worth it.

Details to Follow

2007-06-06T22:02:00.000-07:00

I am going to Thai Binh next Thursday, for something that sounds a lot more impressive than it actually is. What I will actually be doing is swabbing the inside of a woman's cheek. A woman who initially was described as "weak-minded" and homeless. I hope that this is not a polite way of saying "schizophrenic" and "possibly violent".

Nothing to See Here

2007-05-26T09:00:00.000-07:00

There was a copy of Playboy and a bar of 74% French chocolate on the table at work today. It was like the proverbial elephant in the room, with a Brazilian.

Actually, I was the only one seeing the elephant; the girls flipped through the magazine before dismissing it as boring, considering the notorious reputation. No one was sure exactly why the Playboy is there, except that it came from H, from the French room, who had just returned from a business trip to...well, France.

A risque practical joke? Anthropological evidence about those horndog Westerners? A few hours go by and I find the articles to be well-written. In the afternoon, M comes in and shrieks,"Oh, my Playboy!"

I gathered she had made a special request.

M, explaining: It's a magazine about beauty queens!

Vi: I don't know if they're beauty queens. Um, I think it's actually just... (The word for "strippers" had not yet come up in Vietnamese class) um, women who aren't wearing clothing.

Meanwhile, I can hear my co-workers discussing the magazine: He bought it in France! But it's an American magazine! What's the difference?

So, of course:

Q: Vi, what's the difference between the American and French version of Playboy?

*beat*

Vi: Um...I think maybe they have different pictures?

M, clutching the magazine: I'm going to take it home to my husband for him to see!

First Professional Feedback

2007-05-20T03:39:00.000-07:00

''Yeeeek!''

I run downstairs to scream at Nicholas.

''News! News! A very small bit of news!''

Nicholas does his customary wide-eyed expression.

''Remember that article I was writing? Where you suggested I write about the grass-ski resort? Well, it turned into writing about the Vietnamese community in Seattle! Which was mostly about food!''

Nicholas maintains the goggle-eyes.

''The editor called me back! I mean, she texted me! She wants me to pitch more stuff!''

I whip out my phone to quote the text message.

''Er, actually, it's ''liked yr copy. Good writing. Keep a pitching.'' ''

The Uselessness of Rain Ponchos

2007-05-20T02:56:00.000-07:00

This was taken on a night where each member of our house straggled in through the door, each progressively wetter and wetter. What you see is the flooded alleyway, one of many on the way to my house.

My xe om driver had kindly offered me the back flap of his rain poncho, but that was proven useless as I simply got splashed from below, since Hanoi's streets have terrible drains and several areas were submerged by at least a foot and a half. When I got home, I was expecting to be the one with the best story, seeing as I'm usually the one who gets home last. Unfortunately, Nathan had driven across a fallen power line hidden underneath the water. The wire snaked up to wrap around the head of his motorbike and whipped him backwards into the flooded street. He made it out with just a scratch and a stiffened wrist. As you can see, the water can make it impossible to see any potholes or other dangerous things lurking underneath. The alleyway looks nothing so much as a small canal. Someone could make a killing selling inflatable dinghys on nights like these.

In Which I Clarify the Former Digs.

2007-05-20T02:10:00.000-07:00

I had my misgivings when walking up six flights of unlit stairs down to the very last door at the corner, a door that groaned ominously when I nudged it open. It really looked strange, a door set into the shadowy recesses of a frame of bricks at least a foot deep. It made one imagine a dark Italian dungeon with lots of bats and maroon velvet. But in actuality, the apartment looked incredibly gorgeous when I first opened the door: hardwood floors, windows, the exposed brick, and the crazy lime-green walls; it's like someone was so excited about designing an apartment that they smashed together a European sensibility with the Jetsons. (Actually, this might have some validity to it; the landlord is an architecture professor, and I suspect he designs interiors on the side). The previous places I had looked at were no contest; to top it off, this place was going for 250 USD, at least 50 dollars cheaper than anything I had looked at so far.

But...the water pressure was awful, and most days there wasn't enough water to wash the dishes, let alone take a shower. Through some system I could never understand, the water was mysteriously ''pumped'' by the old people guarding the gate and would take anywhere from days to hours to appear from the faucet. Also, the bathroom, situated in the CENTER of the apartment, was very smelly. Horribly, awfully dank and smelly, even though it had cheery blue tiles. Some days I'd walk in and be hit with an overpowering wave of mildewy fumes. Finally, the gates to the building were locked at 10 p.m. To enter afterwards meant a lot of timid clanging at the gate, only to escalate into full out yelling to wake up the sleeping security guard. Or more accurately, the sleeping old person who you felt horrible for waking at this ungodly hour because they're quite old, and they look like they shouldn't be doing anything but sleeping in their blue and white striped pajamas and you promise them many, many times that this will be the last time you wake them up.

Needless to say, there were many times when I felt guilty about disturbing the sleep of someone who looks like my grandfather, especially when they wear matching pajamas.

Now the house I live in is no where near as nicely appointed; slight grungy and with disturbing surprises in laquered cabinets, and not a single piece of furniture that yields to the touch (besides beds). But there's freely available water and only one smelly bathroom, and it's far away in the tv room and we keep that door closed all the time.

Former Digs

2007-05-10T07:43:00.000-07:00

A Jackfruit Tree of My Very Own

2007-05-10T06:38:00.000-07:00

This is a jackfruit tree. Prepare yourself for tremendous excitement.

I can't really articulate how excited I am that we have such a tree in our courtyard. Jackfruit are only available canned, as chips or frozen in the U.S., and I've long been curious about the taste of jackfruit without it being steeped in preservative sugar syrup or the yummy but ultimately unsatisfying experience of a jackfruit chip.

I'm only a little obsessed with jackfruit. But I come from a family where we take our tropical fruit seriously. We'd think nothing of driving 3 hours to Canada to buy bags of longans, rambutans, mangosteens and custard apples to eat in Queen Elizabeth park. Whenever relatives were visiting, we'd take them to Canada. There's only so many times before flying salmon loses a certain excitement.

Only a few more weeks...oh, the anticipation.

My introduction to this sesame wafer-bean paste concoction was not thrilling. I came into the office one day to see an unopened white bag, and my coworker invited me to help myself. Upon untying the bag, I saw a stack of sesame crackers, the kind that I knew tasted mostly like nothing. Not wanting to be rude, I took one and retied the bag, and went back to reading with the sensation of dissolving styrofoam on my tongue. Luckily my coworker came back and then laughed at me politely trying to eat cardboard, and showed me the little tub of beanpaste under the crackers and then made me a little cracker sandwich. It was a far more satisfactory experience.

This is the rice cake I was raving about a few posts back. Not that specific one, of course, but this has rapidly become a fixture on the shopping list. Coconut/bean center with sticky young rice paste on the outside. Mmmm.

Cute.

2007-05-10T06:35:00.000-07:00

Chivalry

2007-05-06T00:54:00.000-07:00

Vietnam, or rather the men of Vietnam, can sometimes be pretty infuriating. I was looking at a secondhand Honda Dream the other day, priced at 9 million VND. The guy selling the bike jerked a finger at the wire basket attached at the front and said,''It's a great bike for girls like you. You can go to the grocery market and back.''
.........................
The other day I was moving out a corner sofa that I had just bought from a friend. I carried one end and an Australian guy was holding the other. We loaded them into the back of a rental truck and I rode alongside the truck until we arrived at my house. I hop off my bike and head around to the back of the truck, but to my confusion the driver hadn't gotten out of the cab, so I walk up and ask if we can start unloading the sofas.

Driver: I'm waiting for the man of the house.

Vi: There is no man of the house. There's just me.

Driver: You? You can't carry this sofa.
..................................

It's a fine line between chivalry and vomit-inducing sexism. My xe om driver asks why I never wear makeup or skirts. Another driver said he'd never want to move to the U.S. because he considered the men to be pussy whipped. Being expected to wash dishes and take care of the children? They're just like women!

One xe om driver, upon learning I was 22 and unmarried, urged me to get married as soon as possible, since I'd find it impossible to find a man willing to marry an old maid of 23. (Two months till my prime childbearing years are forever lost!)

To be fair, it's possible I just ran into a bunch of insecure jerks. Most Vietnamese women I know married around 25-27, which is about par with the U.S. And in some ways, Vietnam could be considered progressive; it celebrates International Women's Day, Vietnamese Women's Day, and Valentine's Day, so that's three times the opportunity for free food.

Post-Laptopocalypse

2007-05-03T07:34:00.000-07:00

After the repair shop told me that they couldn't fix my laptop because it simply was too old, I fell into a black depression.

That perhaps is too strong a description. But seriously? When Vietnam is telling you that your machine is outdated and please get up to speed with the rest of the developing countries? I found myself with too much nervous energy and began toting books with me every where. I raided the shelf of abandoned novels at Nathan's work, and begin borrowing from the various pubs and backpacker cafes. J.M. Coetzee's Disgrace, Flowers for Algernon, Pigs in Heaven, the April 2007 issue of Lucky Magazine. Now I'm getting along by commandeering Hannah's plucky Thinkpad. I bribed her with a skirt from the Limited, in an American size 10, from my brilliant friend Christine, who is leaving to pursue a Master's in Public Health at Columbia. I already got Emmy from Christine, so I figured the skirt was undue largesse. Plus I would have had to had the skirt taken in and I can be disgustingly lazy sometimes.

In truth, a few weeks without constant access in the internet was probably good for me. However, I only feel safe admitting this as I am safely typing on a keyboard. Sweet, sweet useless information flowing in my veins!

Woes

2007-04-28T23:39:00.000-07:00

So, my laptop is dead. Nathan's laptop has also kicked the bucket. So far, the problem appears to be beyond the skill of the two repair shops I have taken it to, but I'm still holding out some hope that the data may be retrieveable when I take it back with me to the states. I didn't lose anything more serious than some half-hearted writing, since everything important was backed up on disk. I am, however, quite sore that I don't have a computer at hand, which cuts out a signficant portion of my income. Also, I just downloaded the entire Season 2 of House. Imagine all that fascinating entertainment locked dormant inside the hard drive! The gigs of unwatched curmudgeonly doctors and maybe a few dedicated to Blue Crush. It was horrible, horrible timing. Now Nathan's getting tired of my requests for him to sing ''Billie Jean'' or ''Hey Jude'' because I can't stand writing in silence. I honestly don't see what his problem is; he has a great voice. Not to mention that now I have to deal with writing with an actual writing instrument. On actual paper. Who even does that anymore?

Perhaps I wouldn't be so irritated if one of my favorite pants didn't have a sticky splotch of red ink from a leaking pen in the wash. It was my favorite pair because it made me feel like a bad ass athletic type, with little zippered cargo pockets that were perfect for whipping out pocket knives or antidotes. The only upside to the whole affair is that I can blame it on the maid. Because, did I mention? We have a maid to do our laundry. Apparently she came with the house we're sharing with three other roommates. I woke up and began panicking because my laundry basket was empty before I realized that no one would want to steal my clothes. But when you only have two pairs of pants, they become VERY PRECIOUS.

Since I'm rarely in the house, I rarely see our maid, chi Yen, so the only times when I'm reminded that we have someone doing our laundry is when I find boxers in my clothes. This happens...pretty much all the time. I don't think chi Yen is confused about my gender, but I feel embarassed about bringing it up anyway, since I still feel vaguely guilty about having a maid. The woman does our laundry, so who cares if Colin ends up with my towels and I end up with his boxers? I guess, except Colin, of course. Or possibly Nicholas.

Most Unpleasant, De La Thanh

2007-04-09T04:14:00.000-07:00

De La Thanh is almost certainly the most unpleasant street in Hanoi. It's a long, long street populated with furniture shops; shops that are in businesses involving welding, power tools, and lots of sawdust. There are people sending blinding sparks into the road, operating very heavy machinery, and trucks pulling in and out with furniture deliveries. I went looking for a table the other day and almost passed out.

That said, it's also the quickest way to work, barring some illegal traffic manuevers. I snapped this photos on the back of a xe om, a motorbike taxi. Some days De La Thanh will be so crowded that xe om drivers will refuse to take the route, opting to drive the wrong way up another a major arterial road instead.

P.S. yes, I have a helmet. Sometimes I like to pretend that I am a space cowboy.

Omai

2007-04-07T22:49:00.000-07:00

A while back in January, when it was numbingly cold and I had taken up regularly wearing a green-brown scarf that Nathan dubbed “the vomit scarf”, I developed a prolonged cough. This was nothing new, as I’ve always been prone to coughing ever since a quarter spent on an island researching crabs. For whatever reason, I developed severe allergies, sneezing so violently and frequently that it became impossible to type or dissect, or really, anything activity involving basic motor skills. People became convinced that I was suffering from a malignant sneezing virus. At the end of the quarter, we discovered that the protective wax paper covering the countertops had also been covering up enormous growths of mold, which 1) was extremely disgusting and 2) convinced everyone that I was not going to die of sneezing.

Instead, I was left with a persistent cough, and now it only flares up whenever I’m feeling even mildly under the weather. And I was feeling under the weather. To compound things were Vietnamese people soberly muttering that I wasn’t adjusting to the rain and cold. As much as I wanted to point out that, ahem, actually, Seattle is actually not known for being sunny or mild, my vocabulary would have only permitted something like, “My city is also cold and wet like this.” Well, that would have gotten my point across, but I don’t think they would have believed me anyway.

My xe om driver, Kien, certainly didn’t believe me. Hanoi is so cold, he said, that it chills your bones. You’re freezing on the inside. He tsked at my fleece jacket and vomit scarf, and began lecturing me on proper outerwear, all the while weaving in and out of traffic. Mid-lecture on the importance of hats, he took a sharp turn into Hanoi’s Old Quarter, saying that he knew just the thing to make me stop coughing.

Omai refers to fruit that has been preserved in a variety of ways: pickled, dried, steeped in syrup. Usually sour and sometimes sweet, I used to eat sour ones by touching one to the tip of my tongue until the sour coating had been licked away. Only then could I stand popping the whole thing in my mouth. Kien bought me two types of gingered apricots: dry and sour, and sweet and sticky. He said they were from the best omai shop in Hanoi and he promised that the omai would make my cough go away.

It didn’t really help the cough, but it didn’t matter because the omai were so damn delicious. Nathan and I gobbled up the sweet sticky kind in a few days, and I managed to take a picture of the dry and sour kind before that disappeared too.

Will Speak for Snacks

2007-04-07T22:06:00.000-07:00

One of the difficulties of being just barely fluent enough to comprehend simple commands but not actually express yourself is that people tend to treat you like a pet. Conversational interaction consists of the following: calling your name for lunch, smiles and pats, and there’s a lot of miming and gestures involved. Case in point: a while back, two of my coworkers were waiting on motorbikes for another guy to show up so we could all go to lunch. I’m perched on the back on a bike, and out of the corner of my eye I see co-worker #3 on a corner ahead of us.

I tap the guy in front of me, pointing with my arm and begin stammering out, “He’s waiting over there.”

The co-worker looks at my outstretched arm: “Hm? He’s up there? Yeah? Oh yeah, he is! Good girl!” And then he gave me a Scooby snack.

There is another one.

2007-04-06T04:07:00.000-07:00

I have cute kitties.

I have two cute kitties.

The kitten is Boots. I tend to call her Boo. Occasionally, she will respond to Booze.

Long Overdue

2007-03-25T02:51:00.000-07:00

After telling everyone and anyone about the achievement of one of my lifelong dreams, here is photographic proof that I have a cat, who currently making it very difficult to post these pictures.

Look! She even gets grumpy like me when we lose our internet connection! SOULMATES.

But we fear tempermental internet connections not, for we are easily distracted; is that a platter of food over yonder?

(Yes, there was actually a plate of mango on the bed. Yes, I'm a slob and do in fact, eat whole meals in bed. )

Double Take

2007-03-25T02:48:00.000-07:00

Spoils

2007-03-14T21:50:00.000-07:00

One of the best parts of working at a Vietnamese company is that I get more free food than my expat friends. One of the best parts of working for two Vietnamese companies is that I get twice as much free food.

This morning a co-worker passed out young rice cakes for her sister’s marriage. I would have taken a picture of my cake to post but I’ve already eaten it.

Despite having received these wedding cakes many, many times, people always assume that this is my first encounter and feel obliged to explain, in English, that the little glutinous rice square I’m stuffing down my mouth is a Vietnamese wedding cake. These cakes are delicious. They're worth doing some matchmaking around the office to guarantee another little square of savory stickyness. Or I could just spend the 3000 VND (18.75 cents) to buy one.

I once made the mistake of saving one for Nathan to try. When my back was turned he was rooting through my pack for more. Only a heroic tackle on my part saved my secret stash. Nathan will just have to make his own Vietnamese friends.

Payday!

2007-03-08T22:54:00.000-08:00

I have sixty more

2007-03-08T20:20:00.000-08:00

My cousin Ken is horrible at improvisation. I think this is because his gigantic brain comes up with so many plausible ways in which a story could go that he chokes because even he can't handle how brilliant he is. For example, last August I received a phone call that went something like this:

Ken: Hey Vi! Did you , erm, did you happen to see, ah...well, there was this amazing thing! I mean, I was...this strange, kind of...on the internet, and I can't quite figure out what it is, but..it's really crazy, and...

Vi: Ken. Are you okay?

Ken: ...Okay. I wanted to be all surprising but just go to this website and check out this crop circle I did.

At this juncture I didn't screech, "Since when do you know how to make crop circles?" because every so often Ken will casually bring up his latest project, which would either be knitting, cycling across the country, screenprinting his own t-shirts, or baking bread in a rice cooker. I only know about the last part because he was in town once for a translator's conference and staying at my place. The only food in the place was some ramen, milk, a tiny sack of flour and maybe some dried cranberries. I came home to see him gnawing on a loaf of cranberry bread, and then he took me to the local Safeway and introduced me to food that didn't come in the shape of a cup.

Below is the crop circle. Apparently it was a happy accident that Ken was along for the trip; he was in the Mozilla offices for some translation work and saw some plans for creating a crop circle. Then he pointed out that the pi coordinates were totally wrong, they said, "You know how to make crop circles?" and here's where I imagine Ken replying, "Darn tootin'! Have you seen the fields next to UC Santa Cruz?"

Caution: Badass Geek ahead.

Because I'm still four.

2007-03-06T02:20:00.000-08:00

Bap-pylicious

2007-03-02T05:15:00.000-08:00

I'm on a snack-fueled posting blitz tonight. Vietnam is a haven in terms of delicious snackfoods, and I'm been gorging myself silly on fruits that required a three hour trip to Canada back home. I'm not a particularly discriminatory consumer either, as any of my former roommates will readily attest to my ability to inhale tons of food at a sitting while reading or studying, and then suddenly realize that I've eaten three king-size bags of potato chips. This isn't to say that I have no compunctions about food; I've balked at adding whole scorpion to my soup. Another food that I've been wary of is the corn-flavored sweet. There is a bewilderingly wide array of corn-flavored items available at the supermarket; corn is recast from a savory staple to...ice cream! popsicles! Corn-shaped lollipops! Little cream-filled cakelets shaped like ears of corn!

Obviously, Nathan approves:

Gummy Yummies

2007-03-02T04:09:00.000-08:00

Sesame coated peanut brittle--delicious. The hotdog with removeable gummy bun? Generically sweet, but we all know I bought it more for looks.

Edible study aids! You can totally make out the all the major muscle groups!

Verdict: "Strangely creamy." I was personally hoping for a Willy Wonka effect.

"It is Satisfactory to use in hair treatment."

2007-03-02T03:53:00.000-08:00

Daimler Wrap: Unpredictably preserves freshness, but oh boy, is it multifunctional!

Mai Chau

2007-02-27T05:15:00.000-08:00

A few weeks after I first came to Hanoi, one of my co-workers, Phuong, invited me to go on a camping trip. A weekend thing with a bunch of her pals, to a place called Mai Chau. "Sure!" I said, and only afterwards did I realize that I had no clue what or where Mai Chau was. Querying the security guards at my apartment complex was difficult, but I gathered via my crap Vietnamese that a) Mai Chau was very big, b) it was close to Hanoi, and c) many people go there to buy many things.

I was very perplexed then, about this supposed camping trip. Did chi Phuong mean "camping" as in the kind of camping where there are electrical facilities? And was it possible I had just misunderstood the shopping bit? I resolved to pack both my mosquito net and debit card.

As it turns out, Mai Chau is a) tiny b) three hours north of Hanoi and c) breathtaking.

Our intrepid crew:

The split bamboo flooring of our guest stilt house:

Tiny tabby guest:

The pile of greenery being chopped is sugar cane. We bought a bag each to snack on later. As for the bit about Mai Chau being a place where "many people go to buy many things", it turns out I half understood. Many tourists go to Mai Chau to buy things, like handwoven scarves and other ethnic souvenirs. Mai Chau is one of those ethnic minority villages in the mountains, and it's a popular stop for the ubiquitous pink tourist buses I see around Hanoi. What it's really ideal for is to take a long, quiet nap. It's the anithesis of Hanoi, and I was glad to get away, if only for one weekend. The fact that the journey had some gorgeous scenery and that Mai Chau is amazing doesn't hurt either.

Sucky Romance Novelists

2007-02-26T22:21:00.000-08:00

Back in my salad days, a well-meaning family friend gave me two romance novels for my birthday. I think that this must have been because she assumed that that I was much more mature than I actually was. That or she just wanted to be rid of them, because I'm sure my life ambition at the time was to become Batman. Or a writer. The romance novels didn't sit too well with my parents. They forbade me to open a box set of "Anne of Green Gables", because, gasp, the blurb on the back indicated quite clearly that Rilla Blythe, Anne's plucky youngest daughter, experiences her first kiss. Horrors! I needed to be shielded from such scandalous matters for my own good.

Just look at that lusty little tramp.

Needless to say the romance novels vanished down the same hole as Anne. I forgot all about them until a few years later, when I received my first rejection slip from a magazine. I'd submitted a story titled, "The Best Present", about two hedgehogs named Prickle and Spike. The editor critiqued my story and suggested that, "depending on [my] age, [I] might want to read some Harlequin novels to get an ear for dialogue." By this time I was smart enough to head directly to the kitchen and climb up on the cabinets next to the refrigerator. I started feeling around the top of the fridge, and presently withdrew a dusty copy of:

written by Ms. Charlotte Maclay:

Thus, I was introduced to such literary stylings as, "creamy white flesh that cried out for a man's touch."

A professor of mine once mentioned in class that he knew a friend who made a great living on the side churning out romance novels. As a poor graduate student studying literature, he decided it would be a no-brainer. He was studying creative writing, after all! Throw in some ripped bodices and straining manhoods and he'd be able to stop eating ramen!

Wrong. He kept on getting sidetracked by having his characters expound on Blakeian mythology and never got around to the heaving bosoms.

And as more proof that I and my fellow writer friends are still horrible at romantic narrative:

Friend: Hey
Vi: Hey
Vi : What's up?
Friend : I got kissed!!
Vi : WHOA
Vi : DETAILS, please.
Friend : hahaha
Friend : so it was Saturday night
Friend : and we went to go see "The Last King of Scotland".
Vi : glad it was a good experience.
Vi : oh, fun romantic movie.
Friend : yeah its an awesome movie
Friend : we've both never seen it before
Friend : besides, we cuddled in the really scary scenes where I covered my eyes
Vi : awww.
Friend: So, after the movie
Friend : we were driving around in his car
Friend: and we parked by the playground next to my apartment
Vi : uh huh
Friend : we were talking in the car
Friend: for about half an hour
Friend : and then he leaned over and put his arm around me
Friend : and he started kissing all over my face

*beat*

Friend : Ok, it sounds less romantic than it really is.

*beat*

Vi : yeah. I'm picturing slobbery dogs.
Friend : okay, okay
Friend : he kissed along the line of my jaw
Friend : and he started from the back going towards my mouth
Vi : eek, eek, got it! Not too much!
Friend : Oh.
Friend : Well, I'm trying to make it sound like it wasn't a dog.

Kitten News

2007-02-22T00:38:00.000-08:00

There used to be kittens in that cage.

Good to Know

2007-02-22T00:36:00.000-08:00

Welcoming Committee at Hai Phong

2007-02-22T00:30:00.000-08:00

Nathan and I spent the Tet holiday down in Hai Phong, a city that is supposedly by the sea. We never did see any sea, but chi Trang (the one wielding the knife) said that it was pretty digusting anyway. I give occasional English lessons to one of my boss' tennis partners, Anh Thai. He and his sister Trang invited me and Nathan down to Hai Phong to spend the holidays with their family. Since much of Hanoi closes down during Tet, and anh Thai and chi Trang are awesome, we of course decided to go.

Still, I don't think Nathan bargained for three straight days of people asking if his hair was real.

And then asking to feel it.

Masala Massacre

2007-02-04T23:55:00.000-08:00

Working at two companies is getting to me; my weekdays taken up til 7 and I work split shifts on the weekends. My neighbors have been clucking at me for getting home at 9, and I just smile and explain that it's work.

At that time of day, the traditional open air markets are usually closed, or it's extremely slim pickings. A modern supermarket generally has a pathetic produce section the size of my office desk, and is several times more expensive than a market. Either way, I'd have to walk at least 15-20 minutes there and back, and the anticipation is working me into a foul mood. On the bright side, Nathan's waiting for me, but I notice his lips look pretty chapped.

"Hey, hey, you have some blood on your lip."

"Huh?"

Frustrated at his typical clueless boyness, I've errupted into full-blown Nagging Shrew mode.

"There's blood in the corner of your lip, you doof." I toss some chapstick at him and stalk away into the kitchen, where I know there's no food in the fridge, but I hope that if I look hard enough, genuis will strike me with a brillant way to combine shallots, condensed milk, and pineapple juice.

"Oh, that's not blood."

"Um, it's that red crusty stuff in the corner of your mouth."

"No, that's..." And then it dawns on me.

"YOU WENT TO TANDOOR WITHOUT ME?" I'm so hungry I momentarily considered attacking his face to get at the masala sauce, (which was utterly an gross and digusting impulse but I was actually considering it, and am ashamed).

Nathan pauses. "I ordered out." Egads, decadence upon unimaginable decadence! Our relationship was on the line! The monstruous betrayal of it all! The starving waif trudging home after a day at the mines to find a shameless boyfriend licking his masala-smeared chops!

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and pointed at the table. "I got you some."

Kitten chow

2007-02-04T23:24:00.000-08:00

There are kittens on the third floor of my apartment building, and I'm not entirely sure that the owners aren't eating them.

A few weeks ago cats were yowling all over Hanoi, and every cat that crossed my path seemed to be pregnant. Then I discovered a cageful of kittens as I walked downstairs on my way to work, and now I reserve an extra ten minutes of my day cooing over their cuteness.

That is, when I'm not chased away by their hissing demoncat mother. Of course, there's no way she can know that I'm just a sucker for kitties, and that I'm not out to chow down on her babies. Her owners, on the other hand...are very nice people and I'm a terrible person for thinking that they might eat kittens. The other day, I had just gotten back from an evening shift at VTV, and was debating whether to eat instant noodles, or make the extra effort to class up the ramen with a poached egg. Enter the kindly cat owner who whisked me off into her apartment, served me dinner and scolded me over not dressing warmly enough. Then she shooed me out the door with a bag of oranges, ramen, and some menthol salve for my cough.

I really like her and her adorable son, who's eighteen but looks twelve. It's just that a few days ago there were six kittens, and then there were less, and today there were two. Definitely just two. The family could just be giving the kittens away, but as far as I can tell, the kittens have yet to be weaned. Early adoption, or domestic livestock? Maybe here it's not so different from keeping chickens for their eggs. I have seen signs advertising cat meat, though it's much rarer than dog meat.

I hope there are still two kittens when I get back tonight.

I tripped.

2007-01-03T11:39:00.000-08:00

"No."

2006-12-29T01:55:00.000-08:00

It's a only a few hours before the premiere and I've just struggled into my pink, flowered ao dai in the office kitchen. I'm about to be whisked off to the salon to have my hair straightened and my face powdered so the stage lights don't wash me out, and chi Tam, my co-worker/team leader, rushes up to me with the newest copy of the master of ceremonies script that I translated and will be reading in English.

cTam: "Vi! Here's the script. Now, make sure you memorize it."

Vi: *Whaaaa? It's five or six pages! This is the first time we've mentioned anything about memorization!*

"Um, chi Tam, I won't have much time. When I get to the theater I'll just have an hour."

"Vi, this is very important that you memorize this script!"

"Well, I'll try my best, but I don't know if-"

"Read it as you sit in the chair and they do your hair! Read it as many times as you can!"

"Ok, ok, I'll try really hard, but I don't feel comfortable-"

"Vi! There is no try! There is only do!"

Vi: *...........Did...that just happen?*

"Ok, ok, I'll do it. And, um...have you ever seen Star Wars?"

Holiday Spirit

2006-12-23T06:42:00.000-08:00

It's nearly New Years, and that means I've got to a) stockpile a week's worth of food or b) befriend a week's worth of friends in order to wrangle an invite to their family parties. The city becomes a veritable ghost town as people seize their chance to vacation over in Thailand or head back to the countryside to visit family. Hope everyone is having as much fun as the fellow down below:

Actually, almost every mannequin has the same horrific expression plastered on, regardless of whether they be male/female or child. The creepiest have been a phalanx of little demon mannequin children that had been carelessly transported; one had half the face missing. They instantly put me in mind of a movie from the eighties, where mannequins with realistic faces came to life at night and were in danger of being phased out by slick, silver mannequins with abstract geometric faces.

This picture was taken while waiting for a group photo setup at a VTV friend's Christmas party, where we dined like kings on turkey, ham, and cranberry relish. There was also a white elephant gift exchange and I scored a completely adorable pair of Snoopy slippers. For a while I considered regifting a bottle of ginseng and scorpion I happened to have in my possession, but completely forgot about it and my friend had thoughtfully brought two gifts, obviously anticipating that I wouldn't have many white-elephant worthy knickknacks lying around the apartment after living in it for two months.

One of Nathan's friends from Language Link, Jim, volunteers regularly at an orphanage, and we've gotten into the habit of going once or twice a week. The kids are really cute and absolutely fearless in terms of demanding attention. As soon as I walked in the door we were descended upon by moppets and dragged over to color or to read a book to them. The one clinging to Nathan is named Phuc, or David, as he helpfully penned on to Nathan's hand.

Santa also managed to make a few appearances in Vietnam, with a little bit of help.

Have a merry Christmas/New Years everyone! And remember, the magic of Christmas is brought to you by Heneiken!

Office Spaz

2006-12-07T23:58:00.001-08:00

[2:51:41 PM] Vi says: Eeeek!

[2:51:47 PM] Vi says: I just ate my boss's papaya!

[2:51:54 PM] Juli says: oooohhhh

[2:52:01 PM] Juli says: you're in deep crap!

[2:52:04 PM] Vi says: I was just absent-mindedly eating and I ate the last piece!

[2:52:06 PM] Vi says: AUGH!

[2:52:17 PM] Juli says: go buy him one, quick!

[2:52:25 PM] Vi says: I mean, no, I stopped myself but I ate half of the last piece.

[2:52:29 PM] Vi says: shut up!

[2:52:31 PM] Vi says: OMG!

[2:52:32 PM] Vi says: wait.

[2:52:36 PM] Vi says: Is this a big deal?

[2:52:46 PM] Vi says: He's already had more than half.

[2:52:46 PM] Juli says: ウｍｍ、

[2:52:51 PM] Vi says: But he's my bossss!

[2:53:03 PM] Vi says: and he'll come back to this half-eaten piece of papaya!

[2:53:05 PM] Juli says: well, go tell him that you were out of your mind and ate it without noticing it

[2:53:15 PM] Juli says: and apologize

[2:53:16 PM] Vi says: right, better finish the papaya.

[2:53:26 PM] Vi says: yuuuum.

When it rains...

2006-11-21T01:17:00.000-08:00

It's been a rough couple of weeks. I've emailing up and down the internet looking for a) a second job b) a Vietnamese tutor/conversational partner and 3) a roomie. Alas, not a word, not a drop, not even the smallest bit of something. (For context, I've been on my own here for three weeks).

Yesterday I was moping about the lack of replies and moped on home, looking forward to some solace in a cup of tea, cabbage soup and whatever was on HBO. Last time I checked, they were showing Selena with Thai subtitles. Bidibidibombom. I came home, found out the gas stove had run out of gas, and decided that going for the moping was a more attractive prospect. As soon as I laid my scolio-ed self on the bed, the neighbor starts blasting the hugely popular instrumentals of My Heart Will Go On. The only discernible rival I've encountered so far is Tell Laura I Love Her, all of which has been etched into my head since I was an impressionable six.

A few minutes later Nathan called and convinced me to head out for some actual dinner. Lightning was striking pretty frequently, albeit silently (odd, no?) and I decided that hanging out in a bed next to the window with metal bars on the top floor of a building was just too depressing. We were walking for two minutes when the monsoon hit and ran the rest of the way to the closest restuarant, where the staff literally mopped up after us and we were literally flooded in. I didn't have my camera so I can't show off how the water began to lap at the top step to the restuarant, or the people wading knee-deep in the street. It was pretty spectacular until when we realized that this rain wasn't of the flash-and-dash variety, and the water rushing along outside certainly was carrying assorted street filth within it.

Did I mention that it's completely normal to see cockroaches, rats and assorted piss on the streets? And that people throw out their trash onto the street? And that I was wearing sandals?

Marooned as we were, it took quite a while before we could find a taxi to ferry us back. The flooding was mostly in small streets with fewer drainage points, so the main streets were clear. On the street corner by my apartment were three or four stalled motorbikes and their be-ponchoed owners attempting to fix them.

Did I mention that I received an email that pertains to a) today?

p.s. Nathan stole all of my good material (see Hanoian ads, engagement ceremony and well-dressed crafty man) so I'm posting a sample menu of what I get to eat on a daily basis.

These fruit shakes are indeed sinfully frosty and delicious, but they don't normally come with a Satan stir-stick.

To Date

2006-11-19T05:00:00.000-08:00

After nearly being killed and scammed in my first week here, I've settled down into life in Hanoi. Vi and I have been so busy getting adjusted to our new life here that we've barely had time to write or take pictures of anything. Even so, we've had time enough to

A) Appear in Hanoian advertising:

B) Attend an engagement-party:

C) Spend hours watching a Vietnamese man in a suit create handmade wedding invitations on TV: