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Published: October 9th 2008
on the rex
vera, bina, joe As you may have gathered, last week’s blog detailed my voyage into the main tourist hotspots of HCMC. Along with being unwitting victim to numerous scams , I also witnessed various laws of physics (mainly gravity) being broken by xeom riders. I was gawped at, laughed at, pointed at, shouted at, smiled at and clapped at, sometimes all on just one street! I was rained on frequently (there’s a thunderstorm as I write), mostly when I got lost which happens to be a twice daily occurrence. It’s difficult to walk here - the city is designed for/reigned by motorbikes. My catchphrase is ‘Khong, cam urn’ (‘No, thank you) and on average I say this every 30 seconds or 10 metres - whichever comes first. However, having talked to some other wannabe-Vietnamese speakers this morning, apparently Vietnamese language books are usually filled with extremely formal and long-winded sayings, phrases that a normal Vietnamese person wouldn’t think of saying. So instead of simply declining an offer of a xeom ride I could potentially be answering:
“As my ancestors once said before me, after the reign of the Hung Dynasty:
‘At this time, in the present moment of war and famine, I do not find it necessary to accept accommodation on your animal, so I must decline your generous offer of assistance. You see, I was born in a heroic country that can actually use their feet for long periods without feeling the urge to drive recklessly and loudly through the metallic carnage of your fine streets. Although my demeanour implies I am sweaty, hungry and lost, I come from a long tradition of warriors who traversed the ho chi minh trail before you were walking yourself, so I graciously thank you from the depth of my soul…etc.etc…Yours sincerely…”
For the sake of everyone’s sanity here and because I’m meant to be at work in 30 minutes, I’m going to keep this blog short. Basically, my days here are of two kinds of extremes, ranging from chaos and destruction to tranquillity and decadence.
CHAOS AND DESTRUCTION: These are the days I’m working. During the week, every second evening, I teach adults from about 5pm-10pm. On weekends, I teach kids for about 8 hours. This means I arrive by xeom to my school (see pictures) about two hours before
that to actually do some planning. Which usually descends 20 minutes later into gossiping with the other teachers at the water-cooler and arranging where to go on Sunday night (teacher’s big night of madness). I’ve met loads of other teachers (who are the source of infinite wisdom) through my new guesthouse I’m staying in, Miss Loi’s. I also have a pet gecko (baby lizard) in my room which I sometimes chase with my rough guide book but I’m getting quite attached to him and I admire his survival instinct when I throw shoes and magazines at him. (Miss Loi is actually a person and she resembles a queen - she just sits here all day looking pretty and ordering her slaves around.)
Anyway, the students I have are unreal. I think it’s a cultural characteristic to be respectful but my students (both kids and adults) are so polite, its crazy when I think about the torture Irish teachers were put through. Here they bow and clap at the end of my class, they ask permission to leave, they look terrified when they’re late. Their so enthusiastic that if it doesn’t infect you within 30 seconds of walking into the
classroom you are officially dead inside. Yesterday, I said ‘good bye’ and the whole class were behind me lined up at the door awaiting the next command to go home. I sort of had already forgotten about them…. So when I saw this inside I was screaming …THE POWER…I CAN’T HANDLE THE POWER….WORLD DOMINATION WILL BE MINE but I disguised my excitement with an elaborate bow.
Teaching the kids is more fun but equally most tiring. I wasn’t sure if I would be one of those happy- singing-songs-I’m-on-heroin types of teacher but its hard to resist when I see the kids having so much god-damned fun with giant dice, plastic toys and doing the run-around-like-a-mad-little person games. (oh and by the way I am taller than most of my students.) I spent most of last weekend pretending to be a cat, monkey, shark, jellyfish and oh yes, a teacher. The younger ones cry when their team is losing, the older ones cheat whenever they get an opportunity. Then they pretend they don’t know what the verb ‘to cheat’ means, just so that they can continue cheating. In fact, a Vietnamese teacher friend told me cheating is a national pastime.
If the students are playing a game or doing a test, if they see someone else struggle, they will try to help regardless that some silly western teacher wants them to stop - it’s all about achieving a common goal. I survived my first weekend teaching by generally panicking next to the photocopying machine, drinking ridiculous quantities of iced coffee and asking silly questions to the other teachers.
If it’s a good ol’ Sunday night and we have survived chaos and destruction of the week we’ll celebrate in style. This revelry marks the changeover to tranquillity and decadence.
After all my hard work I needed some R n R so on Sunday had the best night out since I arrived. And of course I didn’t have my camera (convenient or what)! Started out at a jazz place called JaxnArt on Le Loi Street which was classy! After a few cocktails headed to Lush (things close early here except for a few clubs and late bars). I wish I had pictures of Lush - it reminded me of teenage discos at holiday resorts (or the Gaelic on a Friday night. Ouch) Eurotrash music, loads of fake tropical plants, teenage boys
street stall
do good spicy chicken! and girls (I swear I was teaching some of them earlier), gay couples, backpackers, teachers - even the bloody singer from JaxnArt got there before us! Anyway after making a complete tit out of myself claiming some sailor hats (oh everyone seemed to be dressed as a sailor…)from the bar (Gaelacians - you’ll be proud to know I used the classic line - “oh hi…you know I worked in a bar before…Can I have one of those?” I‘m disgusted at myself) we met the owner who bought us more cocktails (yes!) and posed for some photos that if anyone wishes to inspect are at www.nakedwesternwomendrunkinvietnam.com. The last step in the changeover to peace and serenity was a late bar called T n R tavern near Bui Vien Street. This was jammed with ILA teacher, being one of the few places that stays open late.
TRANQUILITY AND DECADENCE: There are many things to do with my wages in between lesson planning; all of which make actually working rather pointless. It’s fascinating because as I’m starting to get used to the traffic, the daily thunderstorms with their warm rain and the monopoly money, I am noticing how different things
are here. Every country has its inequalities but here the difference between rich an poor is right there at the edge of the big plaza’s and expensive hotels (not Irish expensive though, not yet anyway…). If you own a business here in HCMC you are probably one of the wealthiest. All the other people really work hard for their money and seem to receive very little for their personal slavery. I heard a story about a waiter at the top of the Caravelle hotel, in its famous Saigon Saigon bar, who apon seeing his menial 3$ tip had fallen over the edge of the building, climbed over the balustrade and reached out over the sheer drop to retrieve it. The Caravelle’s bar is at least 20 floors up!
Being one of the rich people here has its rewards and I’m trying not to feel guilty by reminding myself that this is once in a lifetime luxury. Chances are when I come home I’ll be horrified at the prices of cocktails and pampering spas and never have a social life again. So I’m going to bloody live it up here in places like L’Apothocaire - a spa I went to
men play game
still trying to work out this one - they play it everywhere with Hilary and Amy (two teachers at my school). We started with cocktails and lunch and it felt just like I had walked onto a set of the new Sex and the City movie. Caught a taxi to District 3 and as soon as you see the gates to this place you feel like the chaos and destruction is all just a dream. The house is a remnant of the French days here, set far away from the major roads and is surrounded by trees and water. As you approach a Vietnamese woman greets you by the gate in French and from that moment on you are surrounded by servants effectively. Us girls got facials/massages that were amazing, all for a ¼ of what they would be at home. After we headed to Au Parc restaurant near the palace just to finish off the day in style. Starting a Yoga class at l’Apothocaire today after work. With thoughts of this on my mind work becomes a little less destructive and chaotic!!
Oh and everyone you’ll be glad to know I finally found the Irish bar Sheridan’s and it’s a classic. I could possibly be the one irish person there
huong vuong plaza
plaza where my school is in cholon which is a good sign! Run by a guy called Mike who has combined Vietnamese local music with traditional Irish music. This may sound impossible but when you see what a Vietnamese man can do with a fiddle you’ll be converted too. Somebody tell the old man (Niall) who sits near the Sahara nuts machine in the Gaelic that I have a pint waiting for him at Sheridan’s…
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Jill
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gecko
keep the gecko, he'll eat all the mosquitos! Sorry I missed you on facebook the other day but I was doing that thing...you know...working!