Back from Dalat

Xin chào blog fans! I’m back!

In the interests of not sowing expectations to reap disappointments I heeded the words of a culture shocked colleague’s experience of Dalat: “It’s nice, but it’s still Vietnam”, and went on my merry way with few preconceived ideas about what awaited me in the central highlands.  The early start and 7 hour bus journey was made more bearable when I moved to the back of the vehicle to secure a double seat and reclined to my lanky legs’ delight.

On arrival, after checking in to my guesthouse – a comfortable little place in backpacker-ville – I went for a wander and soon became the latest target of the Easy Rider brigade.  I’d heard of this crew, and indeed had already decided to do one of their day tours of the Dalat countryside before leaving Saigon.  They’re essentially a bunch of middle aged bikers (real bikes that is, not the little scooters you find in the rest of ‘Nam) who offer anything from day tours of Dalat to 21 day tours up to Hanoi and Sapa in the far north.  As with everything in ‘Nam, fakes flourish everywhere and I wanted to make sure I got the real deal.  After shaking off 3 of these clowns I was directed to their office and after checking price, itinerary and official ID cards I arranged to meet Mr Quân the following morning.

Something dawned on me that evening – it was a bit nippy. At around 24°C this was by far the coldest temperature I’d been exposed to since leaving the UK.  I had Goosebumps!  This does not bode well for my return to the UK in December.

The next day was amazing – starting with a visit to the Dragon pagoda, followed by coffee and tea plantations, a flower farm, silk spinning factory, Elephant waterfall, old railway station and Linh Phuoc pagoda – which is decorated with old beer bottles and ceramics.  Getting to know each other a little over the course of the day, I learned Mr Quân had been making a living this way for the past 20 years or so.  I contemplated asking what he did pre 1975, but thought this may be shaky ground, especially as we had the rest of the day with only each other for company.  Mr Quân was, however, audibly shocked to learn my age, after estimating me to be a youthful 22: I knew my gut instinct was right to choose this guy as my guide! 

Coffee beans

Elephant waterfall

Not long after, we stopped off at a vantage point to take photos of the valley below, Mr Quân offered to take my photograph sitting on his bike – no sooner had he taken a few snapshots on my camera, than he did the same with his own handheld Lumix.  Apparently, it might end up on the website.  Now I don’t have a problem with plugging the Easy Rider company – indeed Mr Quân had done a sterling job as my guide, and word of mouth is a powerful thing, but being the new face of the Easy Riders was not on my agenda, particularly as I wasn’t feeling my most glamorous after being led through coffee plantations and vegetable patches, not to mention the helmet that had well, quite frankly ruined my straightened hair.  Let’s just hope the picture comes out blurry and never sees the light of the Easy Rider's webpage!

After Mr Quân had completed his tour, he dropped me off at Hang Nga’s Crazy House.  Something of an eyesore as far as the fine folk of Dalat are concerned, it is designed and owned by the daughter of a former president.  The photos of her family enjoying the company of Uncle Ho only serve as a reminder that the town folks’ objections to these new constructions will fall on deaf ears.  A fine example of how money and power reign in this country.  The house (which really consists of 4 separate buildings – some still very much under construction) is uniquely decorated.  With only 12 or so rooms few tourists actually choose to stay here, although many pop in during their time in Dalat to satisfy their curiosity.

The following days were filled with visits to the Flower gardens, lake, Lam Ty Ni pagoda and Bao Dai’s Summer Palace.  Lam Ty Ni doesn’t look like much from the outside – a fairly small, unimpressive and rundown pagoda surrounded by large metal gates.  But inside lives a strange and intriguing individual – the mad monk.  Vien Thuc lives here with his dog and 100,000 self-portraits! I was itching to meet him, but alas, the gates were locked on my arrival and Mr Thuc didn’t appear to want to let me in (if indeed he was even resident at the time).

In contrast, Bao Dai’s Summer Palace with its exquisitely manicured grounds was warm and welcoming.  After taking a tour around the building, wearing slip on socks to protect the floor (and unknowingly helping to polish the floorboards) I headed out to explore the gardens.  To my surprise I was met with the sound of Blue’s greatest hits (for those of you who are not aware of his ‘pop phenomenon’ they were a mediocre boy band from the early noughties who are now has-beens).  I wasn’t aware that Emporer Bao Dai had been a fan of such British boy bands, but you learn something new every day!

Bao Dai’s Summer Palace

So all in all a very relaxing and enjoyable change of scene, refreshingly different from the cities and beaches I’ve already experienced here.  Open spaces, clean air and friendly locals who are wiser than to try and rip you off when you mention you live in Saigon!  But a friend was right when he told me the wine was crap – even if some of it is 16% proof!

A xx

Dalat-s all folks!

With a weekend of National Holidays at my disposal, what better way to honour Liberation Day than by making the most of the time off and booking a short break to Dalat?  Home to not a lot apart from pine forests, coffee plantations, open spaces and misty mornings, I feel a trip to the central highlands is just what I need after seeing what the cities and beaches of ‘Nam have to offer.  So I’ve packed my jeans and jumper (yes, you only require one in your wardrobe around this neck of the woods) and am departing until next week.

More tall travel tales to come…

Much love, your wannabe Bill Bryson.

A xx

Keeping your cool

Today is a warm 32°C, full sun and no cloud cover.  I like many other westerners in the city find wearing as little as possible the easiest option in such clammy climates.  A vest top and short shorts is usually the order of the day, when I’m not teaching.  To be honest, it’s a wonder I haven’t become a naturist since moving to ‘Nam.  In stark contrast, however, the Vietnamese women choose to cover up to protect themselves from the sun. After all, paler skin is very desirable here, the paler the better in the eyes of many Asian people. 

I’m used to seeing women wearing traditional áo dài (the elegant tight-fitting silk tunics worn over pantaloons) and many others wear thin, long sleeved cotton gloves to protect their arms from the sun whilst riding their bikes.  So, imagine my surprised when I exited school one lunch time, working my way through the maze of proud parents on bikes waiting patiently for their little darlings, only to be distracted by – well, a walking wardrobe.  This lady was wearing the following: closed toed court shoes, socks, full length jeans, a long sleeved tracksuit top, woollen gloves, a scarf, face mask and sunglasses; a large brimmed sunhat under her helmet finished off the outfit.  There wasn’t a peep of visible flesh and she reminded me of the scene when ET is dressed up in the movie of the same name.  A little extreme in my opinion, but each to their own.  I contemplated suggesting – “try some sun cream love; it might prevent the heat exhaustion”!

A xx

You know you’re an expat in Vietnam when…

1. Anything less than 25°C is considered cold.
2. Letting traffic dodge you is perfectly normal.
3. Riding on the back of a xe-om is no longer a white-knuckle ride.
4. 'Cảm ơn' is a more natural response than 'thank you'.
5. You're content with your pale complexion - after all, it's prestigious here.
6. Using chopsticks is quicker and more convenient than cutlery.
7. You now love fish sauce, having previously detested the stuff.
8. Paying more than £3 for a meal in a restaurant is expensive.
9. Paying more than £6 a night for an en-suite room in a guesthouse is expensive.
10. You place bets with your friends about how many rats, ‘roaches and urinating men you will see on your walk home of an evening.

A xx

Fingers crossed – or maybe not!

Gestures – some are universally understood, others can be totally misconstrued when used in different countries.  This was never more apparent than when one of my colleagues stood in front of her class, hoping the temperamental CD player would work and crossed her fingers for good luck.  She was totally dumbfounded when the room erupted in a cacophony of gasps, laughter and screams.  Little did she know that crossing your fingers in Vietnam symbolises the female genitalia and is the ultimate obscene gesture! Now there’s a mistake she won’t make again.

A xx

Culture shock

This is a term loosely bandied around and often joked about by British northerners travelling south of Birmingham, but it really does exist and is a natural process all expats experience in varying degrees.  Differences in language, food, climate, customs and social roles are all aspects that contribute to culture shock.  After a tip off from a friend a few months back, I read a very interesting blog written by two expats living in Beijing.  Their account outlines the different stages of culture shock and ways in which people deal with it.

These stages are as follows:

1.    The ‘honeymoon period’ –

All is new and exciting; the world’s your lobster and its fun to embrace all this new ‘stuff’ you’re encountering.

2.    The ‘distress’ stage –

Cultural differences become apparent and it’s all gone a bit Pete Tong.

3.    ‘Re-integration’ stage –

Frustration and rejection of your new culture, i.e. you value your own culture and identity with it in a way you never have before.

4.    ‘Acceptance’ stage –

Familiarity with the new culture puts you at ease: “bring it on; I can do this after all”.

5.    ‘Independence’ stage –

Similarities and differences are identified and appreciated. “It’s all good, we’re not all the same and I’m fine with that”.

I wouldn’t like you to think that all expats suddenly feel the compulsion to jump off the nearest bridge – the stages sound extreme, but can in fact just be small, frustrating, isolated experiences, such as my encounter with the local washer woman (see ‘losing face’ post/rant - Monday, 4 April 2011).

If you fail to spot it in yourself, it’s crystal clear when looking at friends and colleagues.  People you previously saw as being mild mannered, majestic members of society can be somewhat possessed by their tired, frustrated inner expat monster.  On arrival at our hotel during the Tet holiday, my friend was tired and just wanted to go to sleep in the room we had booked 2 weeks earlier.  After taking a copy of the email booking confirmation (in anticipation of communication difficulties) I was surprised when she suddenly started shouting and swearing at the hotel owner who was having difficulty locating our booking.  While my friend sharply inhaled on her cigarette outside, I calmly gestured toward the calendar, seeing my name written on that days date. All was well, situation diffused and a good night’s sleep had by all.

Interestingly, I find many of my colleagues have learnt to deal with culture shock by turning to alcohol. They immerse themselves in nights out with fellow teachers in a bid to con themselves in to thinking they’re back in any sticky-floored, dark and dingy club in their hometown.  I somehow feel this could only make matters worse and lead to heated exchanges with street sellers whilst drunk or nursing hangovers from hell, not to mention putting a fair old dent in their bank accounts, but hey ho, each to their own.

For me, routine is key.  As someone who has often been likened to Monica from ‘Friends’ and nicknamed ‘OCD’ due to her obsession with all things being ‘just so’, I like to run a tight ship. This helps greatly and having a regular teaching timetable as well as weekly orphanage visits and Vietnamese lessons helps to keep me on track.

Amy-lou 1-0 culture shock

…until I return to UK and experience reverse culture shock at wearing jumpers and eating with a knife and fork!

A xx

Gio to Hung Vuong Day

Today is a ‘traditional’ holiday adopted by the government on 28 March 2007 commemorating the mythical Hùng Kings.  In case you’re wondering why we didn’t celebrate it on 28 March this year, the date varies due to the lunar calendar.  Anyway, work thought it was appropriate to celebrate by throwing an all expenses paid barbecue and pool party for all the staff at a very exclusive local tourist village. 

Long live the mythical Hùng Kings is all I have to say – ooh, wait a minute, that doesn’t work…

A xx

Genius 'Jumpies'

The proudest moment to date in my teaching career came a week or so ago when my class of Jumpstarts took their mid-course speaking test. At the ages of 4-6 years, my little ones aren’t burdened with the usual written assessments that other levels have the pleasure of enduring.  Instead, they each take turns to answer some questions from the course book whilst sitting with me ‘on blue’ (the blue gym mats we use instead of desks). Thankfully my two teaching assistants were on hand to entertain the others with a variety of storybooks and colouring worksheets.

Two of the eighteen answered all questions correctly and the weakest student only got 8 questions wrong.  Needless to say, Miss Amy was very pleased with her kiddies – Oh dear, referring to myself in the third person: that must stop.  I envy their linguistic capabilities more than any other level I teach. They have a clear advantage over many language learners and will probably be fluent English speakers by their teenage years if they persevere with the classes.

I sometimes wish I was pre-programmed to understand all the world’s languages, but if we all had that quality I suppose I’d be out of a job!

A xx

Lingo and love

I’m struggling through with the Vietnamese lessons, trying my best to humour our teacher and learn the vast number of totally useless vocab items she expects us to retain throughout our ‘survival course’.  I mean, when in Buddha’s name am I going to have to say (or indeed listen to anyone uttering) the following in Vietnamese: ‘I am from Russia/China/Japan/Holland/USA/South Africa’. As far as I’m aware I’m not becoming Dutch any time soon and anyone who isn’t Vietnamese is likely to address me in English, wouldn’t you think?! Anyhow, that aside, I’m being selective and filtering the info – taking the 3 or so useful phrases from each lesson and writing them phonetically to aid pronunciation and my failing memory.

Orphanage visits are the new highlight of my week – feeding the babies twice in the morning as well as playing games with the toddlers and providing much needed love and hugs all round. The worst part is leaving and seeing them crying when you put them back in their cots.  Swimming with the guys and girls from the blind shelter is also on my schedule. It’s always fun, especially when we take the girls who have better English skills and are more socially interactive.  It’s nice to help people, with them in turn helping me feel I’m doing something more worthwhile with my time than watching ‘How I Met Your Mother’ on Starworld.

A xx 

‘Losing face’

So, the latest learning curve: losing face – this is not an account of serious health consequences resulting from faulty facelifts, but a big thing in Asia and something hard to fully understand unless you have experienced it yourself.  I'll do my best to explain with the help of a recent encounter. Once a week I go to the local laundrette around the corner, deposit my clothes with the grumpy, overweight, middle-aged Vietnamese proprietor, take my ticket and return the next day to collect it all.  At a cost of less than 50p for the lot you would think you couldn’t go far wrong.  However, one week I return to my digs, empty the laundry bag and find 3 garments missing, not to mention a pair of someone else's pants as replacement! Returning to the shop (with the manager of my guesthouse to act as interpreter) I enter the ‘face’ farce.

Basically, a Vietnamese person will never admit they are wrong for fear of losing reputation or respect: i.e. they will swear blind the sky is pink even when all around know it’s blue (or a shade of ‘greenhouse gas grey’ here most days). Put simply – it’s a whole heap of male bovine do-do.

Returning to our scenario – overweight, grumpy washer woman will not concede to losing my clothes (even though she itemises the garments on the ticket), she ignores the fact she has already made 1 error (that of giving me someone else’s fake Chanel ‘diamante’ nylon smalls – which incidentally were not so small and clearly wouldn’t have belonged to my pert posterior). Suggesting she pay me if she could not replace them, she looked at me as if my clothes were made of spun gold and/or I’d been sniffing crack when I told her how much they would cost to replace (by UK standards of course).  This should have worked in my favour as it indicated I have higher prestige than Mrs Washer woman – alas, it didn’t: after requesting she look for them, or pay me for the missing items I cut my losses and left.  I should have known my request would go unanswered – even if she had bothered to look for them and found them, she’d never return them as that would also ‘lose face’ as she’d be admitting her error.

So, what lessons can we take from this?  Well, I have now come to learn (if I didn’t know already) I am always right in every way, shape and form!  I will never apologise or admit to anything ever again, because I am an expat in Asia. One word - pants!

A xx

Vienetta-namese: possible pronunciation problems

So, Saigon life rolls on, my Vietnamese lessons are in full flow – I should be fairly fluent by 2025!  18 English teachers in a class, our teacher is one of our school’s Vietnamese teaching assistants. The other ‘students’ in the class are good craic and we're helping each other as best we can. I find mimicking is the best way to go, as well as making crude comparisons to concepts and noises from English - makes it all the more memorable.

Now then, the minefield that is learning a tonal language; I grasped the concept easily enough and during my mandarin lessons could both hear and produce the four tones used in mandarin.  Here there are six.  To make matters worse, all words are mono-syllabic and addressing native speakers who have little experience of the troubles facing second language learners can lead to only one thing – frustration on both parts. 

It is near impossible to even attempt to pronounce a Vietnamese name without hearing it a minimum of 3 times. As such, I’ve given the students in three out of my five classes English names.  I felt it unfair and potentially confusing to ask my younger students to remember English names, so I write their names phonetically on the registers and as such have things like ‘my’, ‘fat’, ‘he’, ‘nee – as in oniony’ printed in black and white for all to see.  I often think if I sneezed or coughed in class a child would answer to it.

Similarly, this applies with adults. Myself and the motley crew of fellow professional gypsies known as my colleagues have taken to christening people depending upon their profession.  Hence forth we have noodle man, massage man, wonton woman, smoothie man, book lady, cake man and squid man (we all agreed cephalopod bloke was a little too challenging to pronounce after a few rums!).  I concede, this is not ideal (nor particularly imaginative on our collective linguistic parts), but it is necessary to ‘save face’.  Six tones can likely lead to total confusion and the risk of causing great offence if pronounced slightly incorrectly.  Therefore, in a bid to avoid scenes of addressing someone’s mother as a horse (or God forbid worse) I’ll stick with the formula: profession + gender.

So, new experiences recently include eating jellyfish and goat - I can recommend both. I've also mastered the art of riding side-saddle on a xe-om: it's a difficult thing to do in dense traffic whilst wearing a mini skirt and trying not to get burnt legs from the exhausts of neighbouring bikes.  I've been volunteering at the Blind Shelter, taking the guys and girls swimming at a local pool with some of the other teachers.

I read an interesting article the other week about the women of Saigon who don polyester matching twin sets - top and trousers sets resembling sweaty pyjamas - I could have a rant about that, but let's not go there. If any of you ladies do want some garish poly mix fabric though I'm sure I can pick out a little number and have it sent home for those warm summer nights! Vietnamese fancy dress in Liverpool girls? - Consider it!

A xx