Decline to recline

As I sit on the bus from Sihanoukville to Phnom Penh I pen this post.  I feel there should be a new international law implemented.  Having travelled much of Australia, New Zealand, Vietnam and Cambodia by coach, this is something I’ve experienced on numerous occasions over the years.  Indeed, not only on coaches: in cars, planes and even ferries.

 

What is she rambling on about I hear you say: Reclining a seat when someone’s pert posterior is perched on the place behind.  Being 5’10” has its advantages, but also a fair few down sides: meeting men tall enough to consider dating, finding trousers that aren’t hoisted at half mast up your calves as if you’re mourning the death of their designer; and cramped leg room in public spaces.

 

So here’s the deal.  I pay for my ticket, jump onboard, get comfy and the clown in front (who is usually 5' f*** all) decides they’re now incapable of normal homosapian posture, instead choosing to adopt a horizontal position and attempt to amputate my lush long legs from the knees down.  If said comedian speaks English you can at least explain your situation, which 99% of the time will be resolved quickly and painlessly for all parties.

 

If, however, you are faced with confronting a non-English speaker: good luck.  During our previous bus ride, Mr Amy found himself sitting behind a middle-aged Cambodian woman, who attempted to recline her chair, only to be met by his knees and 2’ framed oil painting.  After getting her attention and making the appropriate gestures towards long legs and oversized souvenirs, she still wasn’t budging.

 

As a scenario I find particularly frustrating, inconsiderate and unnecessary, Amy rage ensued.  It doesn’t happen that often, especially here as Asia teaches you to let a lot of things slide; but when it does rear its head, you’d better watch out.  Pounding my fist on the back of her headrest repeatedly soon sorted her out.

 

A xx

Then it was on to Phnom

From Siem Reap we headed down to the country’s capital, Phnom Penh.  Having heard mixed reviews about the place I arrived with fairly low expectations of somewhere I envisaged to be a smaller version of Saigon.  Thankfully, my theory was disproved: a smaller, cleaner, quieter and slower paced city it was far from being ‘Nam-like.

 

With a couple of days at our disposal we first head up to Wat Phnom, a temple at the highest point of the city, it marks the sight of the first pagoda (which no longer stands here).  Taking time to visit the Independence monument, markets and river front promenade, we enjoyed the relaxed pace and virtually hassle-free environment.

Chanchhaya pavillion

The National Museum

The National museum was next on our to-do list.  Housing hundreds of ‘finds’ from the Angkor period: everything from imposing statues of Kymer Kings to tiny artefacts, jewellery and pottery.  Other city sights included the Independence monument, Chanchhaya pavilion and waterfront.  By night the capital comes alive with restaurants, bars and locals enjoying views of the waterfront and attending aerobics classes on the promenade.  Whilst wandering back to our hotel through Wat Botum park (yes, really) we stumble upon a small crowd, gathered to watch the musical fountain and light show: that wouldn’t have looked out of place in New York or Barcelona.

 Statue of Heng, the sacred golden bird

It has to be said though that the highlight of our stay was Mr Amy’s fantastic find - Cadbury chocolate!  A friend had tipped me off that it is sold over the border and after keeping my eyes open I had almost given up hope of finding it: after 10 months of tasteless treats I was elated when my taste buds rediscovered Cadbury crunchie and marble!

Something I have so far failed to mention is that English Language is prevalent everywhere in Cambodia.  All signs appear in Cambodian and English, some even in Chinese and Korean.  Most are accurate, but this one did raise a smile.

Nearly everyone we came across seemed to have a fairly good command of spoken English.  It is rare to have good banter with Vietnamese people.  Things get lost in translation or taken literally, if understood at all.  Here, however, I find myself having a good giggle with two young lads, each attempting to sell books to tourists.  I tell the first, “no thanks, I can’t read”, as I peruse my copy of The Lonely Planet.  Needless to say, he fully understood the satirical nature of my response.  With the second, I tell him I am currently reading two books and can buy them cheaper in Vietnam.  He asks how much I pay in dong and accurately converts the same price to US dollars.  When I enquire if the photograph of an attractive young girl on the side of his book stand is his girlfriend, I receive the reply, “No money, no honey!”

 

After seeing the sights of the city we head down to the south coast and Sihanoukville, home of the country’s finest beaches: or so they say.  Having seen a fair few amazing beaches during my travels, I found Serendipity beach rather disappointing.  Maybe I’m a beach snob, but this was not the paradise many make it out to be.  After spending a couple of days doing a whole lot of nothing, we found ourselves heading back over the border to the land of ‘Nam.

 

Big thumbs up for Cambodia, and another country ticked off my list.

A xx

Campuchia!

 

With Mr Amy and I back on the same continent for a few weeks (and with a fortnight of my five weeks paid annual leave remaining), we decided to venture out of ‘Nam and see what lay over the border in Cambodia.  I have to admit, this is the last place I had ever envisaged visiting.  The mere mention of this country often holds with it very negative connotations from recent history.  However, numerous colleagues and backpacker associates (Yes that means you Mr Dignan – I hope you’re satisfied now, I promised you’d get a mention at some point!) have nothing but good things to say about the place, so we wanted to see it for ourselves.

 

Our ten day trip would take us to Siem Reap and the indescribably beautiful Temples of Angkor Wat, then on to Phnom Penh, before some quiet beach time in Sihanoukville.  We decide to get the worse part over first – the 12 hour journey from HCMC to Siem Reap.  Crossing the border I was immediately struck by the difference between Cambodian and Vietnamese people: Cambodians appear taller, with darker skin tone, fuller features, better dental care and happier demeanour.

 

Having taken a friends advice, we’d booked a hotel out of town.  Upon our arrival, I spot a smiley local holding a sign bearing my name.  Bowing his head and holding his hands together in a prayer position he welcomes us and introduces himself: this is Rhoun, our tuk tuk driver.  I feel a little like the Sex and the City girls during their trip to Abu Dhabi in the second film of the same name, only minus the killer heels and Dior petticoat.

 

The following morning, Rhoun greets us at breakfast and suggests an itinerary for the day.  First stop – the old market.  After successfully bartering, we walk away with paintings, wooden carvings, jewellery and a few other keepsakes.  Unlike ‘Nam, the stuff here is tasteful, well made and reflects Kymer culture and history.

 

After a trip out of town to see traditional stilt houses, we head for the war museum.  Having decided not to visit the Killing Fields or S21 Genocide museum in Phnom Penh, we feel a short visit here is only right.  Our guide is a 40-something who started fighting aged 14.  As he walks around, demonstrating how each weapon was used, he reveals his amputated limb, shrapnel from land mines and scars from bullets he wasn’t lucky enough to dodge.  Now a widower, after his wife and eldest daughter were fatally injured by land mines a mere 5 years ago, he is a reminder of how the people of this country are still suffering, with little help from a government who don’t fully understand the medical conditions and mental torture suffered as a result of selfless bravery.

 

From the sensitive to the celebrated: As a proud nation, Angkor is everywhere - on the National flag, banknotes and local beer; architecture from the temples of Angkor Wat influences modern constructions and interior design.  Having seen photographs and maps of the site, it was the most keenly anticipated part of our trip.  The overcast day was a blessing as even Lara Croft would have broken a sweat during 6 hours of temple trekking in full South East Asian sunshine.

 

First up was East Mebon, with 3 impressive towers on top of a raised plateau. Next, Ta Prohm; famously featured in the Tomb Raider film and iconic due to the giant writhing ancient trees entwined around the temple.  Bayon followed, where 216 gargantuan faces of Avalokiteshvara watch your every move.   After your second or third temple you become a little blasé about it all – it’s more of the same… until you reach Angkor Wat.  I am incapable of adequately describing this, which for a linguist is kind of a big deal.  To attempt to, would be doing it an injustice.  I doubt any photographer in the world could do this place justice, these photos offer a vague glimpse.

 Ta Prohm

 Bayon

 Angkor Wat

 Angkor Wat

 Stone carvings at Angkor Wat

North Gate of Angkor Thom

 

Having watched a documentary about the design and building techniques supposedly employed during the creation of the temples, it is even more impressive.  No form of mortar was used, stone carvings were overlaid with gold and moats constructed by skilled stoneworkers working alongside carpenters who build the surrounding houses and communal buildings.  It’s a place that both impresses and dumbfounds you.

 

Overnight, torrential rain added to already high water levels in the river which runs through Siem Reap, causing extensive flooding throughout the town centre.  Luckily, our hotel was on higher ground and remained unaffected, but we headed into town the following day to see it for ourselves, only to be met by soap actor Tom Oliver aka Lou Carpenter from ‘Neighbours’ wading in shin deep water!

 

Speaking to the staff at our hotel the morning of our departure, I was amazed by their carefree attitude towards the recent flooding.  One told us how his rented property was now completely flooded, all he could do was raise his bed up on bricks and come to work to earn money for the repairs.  Apparently, the same thing happened in 2002 and 2010.  I have a feeling it may be an annual occurrence.

 

A xx

Super-drugs!

Working in such a large school with so many children around, it’s no surprise that germs spread like wild fire.  Add to this the fact that Vietnamese adults also seem incapable of covering their mouths when they cough or sneeze and it’s little wonder that the teachers are constantly battling bugs.  Between the kids in the class with their 10 dinky digits thrust up their nostrils at every opportune moment (usually just before they try to hold you hand) and parents waiting outside in the corridors, you’d need a force field to fend off all the little nasties (germs that is, not children!)

 

Having suffered from a fair few bouts of the common cold upon my arrival here in November, my body seems to have accepted and dare I say it embraced the change in climate; high levels of polluted, humid air and basic hygiene standards that the city throws at you.  Between the street food and young learners my immune system should be impenetrable now: I’m convinced when I return to the UK I’ll be invincible!

 

Or so I thought… until last week.  The first sign came when a couple of my colleagues sat at their desks armed with enough tablets and potions to turn Merlin himself green with envy.  When this happens, you can be fairly sure the air conditioning (inadequate as it is at times) will work well enough to evenly distribute these germs all around the staff room.  And yes, there we have it – you have a small epidemic on your hands: literally!  If you happen to escape the germs, you’ll probably be asked to cover lessons for teachers who have called in sick, which then leads to exhaustion and subsequent sick days for yourself: it’s a catch 22.  Anyway, I digress: a sleepless night later, having woken up on the hour every hour and being seemingly incapable of inhaling through my nostrils, it was going to be a very long weekend.

 

Getting back to the title of this post; I’m not referring to the well known British health and beauty retailer, but the powerful substances available over the counter in all of ‘Nam’s chemists.  And so it was to be a shorter weekend than I had first thought.  After going to two different chemists (whose staff spoke adequate English), I walk away with some super strength stuff – which I first ‘Google’ before swallowing!

 

Not content with my own research skills, I hand the packet to a colleague in work the next day.  As far as prescription (and trippy) ‘medicines’ go, he knows more than most and is seen as something of a walking medical dictionary.  He confirms they’re safe to take and informs me I can also double up the dose or pick ’n’ mix with some other tablets a friend has kindly donated.  What the hell, it’s a weekend, I’m teaching for 8 hours today alone – let’s try a cocktail of them!  Teamed with a strong frappuccino, large mars bar for a hit of glucose and my herbal nasal inhaler the rest of the weekend flew by!

 

So what other delights can you buy over the counter here, I hear you ask.  The short answer – anything you have the nerve to ask for.  Valium is a common one: given out on an ‘ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies’ basis.  They want your money after all, not your life story.

 

A xx

Points mean prizes... and power!

School of a weekend is fairly manic.  With over 80 classrooms, 90 teachers, equal numbers of teaching assistants and approximately 18 students per class, it’s not the place to spend a relaxing weekend.  Hundreds of students and parents obstruct doors, corridors and try to set new world records for the number of Asian people you can fit in an ‘11 person’ passenger lift.

Vietnamese parents don’t seem to discipline their children for the small annoying things, such as running down corridors, blocking staircases and shouting incessantly; instead choosing to ignore them until such time as they escalate and the parents finally crack, dragging their children by any available limb and seemingly wanting to knock seven shades of s**t out of their little darlings.  Why not just nip it in the bud initially rather than letting it get out of hand?  Use some logic people! Give them an inch…

We are all encouraged to employ classroom management strategies with our classes.  These vary depending upon the age and ability of the group, but generally involve individual or team points and stickers/prizes.  Students are deterred from speaking languages other than English and are encouraged to work together, be patient, share and help one another.  Some would call it bribery: I call it ingenious!  Add to this the concept of ‘losing face’ (see Losing Face post Monday, 4 April 2011) and students are keen not to be seen in a negative light.  The power of the points system is a mighty thing.  It’s amazing what kids will refrain from doing when there’s a sticker at stake!  Without putting these simple measures in place your ‘controlled fun’ can soon resemble the London looters and you have some 6 year old rioters on your hands, minus the flat screen TVs.

I took over a class of 6-10 year olds a couple of weeks ago.  Their former teacher was a bit of a ‘wide boy’ and had a reputation amongst the staff as a jack the lad.  I can imagine it was quite a shock for the kids when in I walked armed with English speaking games and an actual lesson plan!  The troublesome twin boys I had been warned about have since been tamed and race to stand next to me during games.  My teaching assistant now loves the class, commenting on how much nicer they have been since I took over.

Take note ‘Nam – no need for Super Nanny here: just watch me in action!

A xx

Big game hunter

Ok, so the title of this post is a tad sarcastic and misleading, but I’m sure you’ve come to expect that from me by now.  It actually refers to the ‘gentleman’ I recently observed whilst I ate dinner at a local street food place.  Armed with a cane and a small box, he prowled the streets looking for… geckos!

Attached to the end of the cane there appeared to be a piece of cotton, which he placed in close proximity to the little fellas, shaking it and slowly luring the wee beasties toward him, lowering the cane as he went.  Smack! Rapidly lowering his hand over the helpless reptiles, he tosses them in his box and repeats the process until the alley is seemingly gecko free.  I can only imagine what he was going to do with them, you just never know in these parts.

Since then, I’m always happy and relieved to see Gecky (the house gecko who resides in my room).  Having never seen a bug in my room, I’m convinced it’s all because of him.  Long live Gecky, it’s a cruel world out there for little geckos!

A xx

“Freedommmmm!”

Today is the National Day of Vietnam, marking the day in 1945 when Uncle Ho officially declared independence from colonial France.  As you would expect, it’s an official holiday here and, as we learned at this week’s teachers’ meeting, the day when over 10,000 prisoners are freed as a part of the country’s annual amnesty.

 

The Communist big wigs here aren’t overly keen on public dissent; as such I will refrain from voicing my opinions about this matter, for fear of being thrown in with the remaining 99,000 prisoners.

 

We have all been told to be extra vigilant with our money and possessions, as petty street crime rises around this time each year (I can’t think why!)  Well good luck to them if they have the courage to seek out my money and mobile phone… from inside my bra!

 

A xx

You buy?

A friend's recent Facebook post posed the question: "Doo you liiiiie Veenameeeee cofeeeeee?" This is a fairly accurate representation of the average Vietnamese person's pronunciation of the English language.  You get the gist and politely answer in as slow and standard of a response as you can muster.

 

Whilst eating at my favourite vegetarian restaurant a couple of weeks ago, I was approached by a small boy carrying a tray of ‘goodies’, who uttered the words “You buy from me”.  It was unclear from his facial expression or intonation if this was a question or statement.  Not wanting to be rude, I replied “No, thank you” and looked back at my meal.  “Why you no buy from me?” he pressed on.  Oh, so now I have to justify my answer to a small Vietnamese child who I am 90% sure will not understand my response.  I decide to resort to ‘Vietnamese sign language’ I shake both of my hands, mimicking the ‘I don’t know’ gesture I see all too often.  Success – he leaves to pester another unsuspecting westerner.

 

On a day off, whilst taking a trip to the cash machine, a local cyclo driver in the backpacker area heckles at me “Ah, you!  Remember me?  You want ride?”  Who does this chancer think he is?  I don’t know him, never in the time I have been here have I used a cyclo and I definitely wouldn’t choose this joker if the mood did take me.  I politely utter a few words of my 'best’ Vietnamese, indicating I work at a local school – a polite way of saving face and making him feel like a fool in front of his friend.  Don’t mess with Lou Lou!

 

It’s surprising how much English some of the street kids know.  They walk around the backpacker area in all hours, selling anything from tissues, chewing gum and handmade jewellery to cigarettes and novelty lighters.  As they go, they pick up useful, commonly used phrases to aid their cause.  Super streetwise, or as Jack Sparrow would say ‘savvy’, they can spot a naïve backpacker at 20 yards.  Prodding expats’ breasts in search of hidden money and mobile phones, they perch on the laps of innocent drinkers outside bars and play ‘snake’ or whatever other games lurk inside the handheld devices.

 

I suppose they’re only doing what they know though, after all – if you don’t ask, you don’t get.  And the people of this country certainly didn't get where they are today by taking a back seat and waiting for others to help them.  Buddha loves a trier.

 

A xx

There are certain things you just come to accept…

1. I will never look attractive wearing a bike helmet.

2. I will never look attractive wearing my purple and pink plastic poncho.

3. I will never look less attractive than when wearing the bike helmet and

    plastic poncho ensemble.

4. I will never truly feel clean or attractive in a tropical country.

5. You will be heckled by every xe-om driver and his dog during dry weather when you

    want to walk, but there's just never anyone around when you need a ride in the rain.

6. One student in every class will always have a personal hygiene issue.

7. No matter how much you practice pronunciation of consonant clusters prior to an

    observation, your 5 year old students will still pronounce 'clock' as 'cock'.

And that's just how it is... but I'm fine with it! 

A xx

Rubbed up the right way

For the majority of folk in the Western world, spas are places you visit to use the gift voucher your second Aunt twice removed sent you in the post last Christmas.  Here, however, they work their way in to most expats’ routines.  The range of treatments available is like no other and from as little as £3 for an hour you can’t go too far wrong.

For anyone who hasn’t had the pleasure of a massage in Asia, let me tell you they are a little different from those offered back home.  People here aren’t prudish or shy.  They have a job to do and are willing to put their hands on places some people don’t have places!  My male friends are always very careful about the establishments they choose, as ‘happy endings’ are often assumed to come as part of the ‘package’!

During my time here I’ve had Vietnamese women prod and push me in ways and places one would never think to prod and push!  Having a small lady walk on your buttocks, kneading them with her toes whilst steadying herself on a metal handrail suspended from the ceiling isn’t the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had, but I suppose extreme measures are required to sort out my tight ass!

Having tried a few different spas since my arrival in ‘Nam, I’ve recently stumbled upon one which is head and shoulders above its competitors.  After particularly busy days and recent high workloads with summer school, a friend and I decided to treat ourselves and arranged to meet for full body massages, followed by dinner.  We tootled in, stripped off and lay down on the beds (having remembered to wear our big Bridget Jones-esque granny pants especially for the occasion in order to maintain some modesty!)

Our hour long Thai style aromatherapy massage was amazing and ten minutes in and I’m already impressed by my masseuse’s skills.  Unlike the other masseuses in ‘Nam, she positions me in such a way to not aggravate my dodgy dislocation prone shoulders.  As for the Bridget Jones pants, forget the modesty – she pings those over my buttocks –thong stylie- and down a little to pay particular attention to my lower back and chubbier pair of cheeks.  It did nothing for me, but if she got a kick out of it – fair play!

 

Approximately thirty minutes in, whilst listening to an instrumental version of Lionel Richie’s ‘Hello’, I conclude – this woman will be coming home with me to work as my personal pain prodder.  Forty minutes in, she prods me harder, this time on my arm – I quickly realise she wants me to turn over: super relaxed I’d almost dozed off.  Walking like Mr Soft from the Trebor mint adverts, we float out of the spa; thoroughly satisfied and a mere £3 lighter.

Having previously referring to him (see Vienetta-namese: possible pronunciation problems post Friday, 1 April 2011) it seems only fair to give my friend massage man another mention.  A friendly 30-something from Hanoi, this guy cycles the streets of Saigon offering head, neck and shoulder massages for £1.50 a go.  He knows his stuff and has the ability to crack peoples’ ears: which sounds odd, but feels amazing.  Working in Saigon, he sends money back to his wife and children in Hanoi.  One of the more personable street sellers, he’s always a big hit with teachers frequenting road side bars.

Having taught 34 hours of classes over the past 8 consecutive days (which might I add is a crazy amount in TEFL terms), I’ve treated myself to a facial and hot stone massage on my day off.  In fact, this post is scheduled to appear while I’m in the spa – as I know full well I’ll be far too relaxed and sleepy to even think about logging on later this evening!

Ahhh, this is the life.

A xx

Road kill

Saigon is well-known for many things: amongst them is the reputation the city has for traffic chaos.  Upon my arrival here it all seemed incomprehensible: scooters densely packed everywhere, driving on the pavement and generally dodging anything that dare stand between them and their destination.  This is certainly how it appeared to an old university friend, recently in the city, who wrote in his own blog "I've come to the conclusion that all Vietnamese people are either depressed or insane... because they drive like they don't want to live anymore".  Now in my ninth month in 'Nam - this all seems perfectly normal.  As a system it does work... most of the time.

The one thing you have to remember is to give way to anything bigger than you… unless you can dodge past it unscathed of course, in which case - just go for it!  I dodge bicycles and scooters on a daily basis.  Normally, they dodge me.  The sea of scooters doesn’t move particularly quickly so drivers can generally judge where in the road you will be by the time they reach you, and adjust their line accordingly.

 

Traffic here rarely stops, there are traffic lights - but these are seen by many as advisory, rather than compulsorily.  Green to amber generally means 'give it some gas and you'll pass the junction before the other street's light turns green - so give it a go!'  Another consideration when crossing the road is that there will always be someone turning right onto or from the lane you are attempting to cross.  Unlike most western countries there is not a specified time during which pedestrians can safely cross the road.  There are however, an abundance of zebra crossings.  I think there must have been an extreme excess of white paint knocking about that the government decided would be best used decorating the tarmac: for that is the only purpose it seems to serve.  One set of crossroads in the backpacker area has four of them – one at each junction!  Alas, they are ignored by pedestrians and drivers alike.

Traffic at a stand still - a rarity in these parts

It therefore seems quite ironic that days after reading an article in a Vietnamese newspaper, which bragged about the recent statistics showing a distinct decrease in fatalities since helmet wearing laws were introduced; two of my colleagues have separate bike accidents.  A combination of torrential rain, dense traffic, swerving taxis and erratic driving (by locals, not my colleagues I hasten to add) led to a whole host of bruises, cuts, scuffed elbows, a broken thumb and severed pinky finger.

After being directed to five different hospitals between them, both are doing ok and are nicely bandaged and dosed up to numb the pain and aid the healing process.  The metal pin and hook protruding from the pinky finger is enough to turn your stomach, but is luckily covered and out of sight of children in school.

It only takes one person to forget the ‘mirror, signal, manoeuvre’ drill and all hell breaks loose here.  There was little either of my colleagues could have done to avoid these situations – they were just cases of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Hearing the news, a friend of mine later told his own story of being cut up by a youth on a bicycle.  Travelling at a steady 20kph, my friend jumped off his scooter, pulling back on the handles and lifting up the front of it – in order to avoid squashing the cyclist.  The cyclist said a cheeky ‘sorry’ (in English no less) to my friend and the other traffic on the road managed to avoid them both: life carried on as normal.  It does make you wonder though.

The xe-om drivers outside my school are particularly erratic in their quest to deliver as many teachers as possible from work to their homes.  They have their regular customers and are on to a good thing.  Weather permitting I walk home, but on the odd occasion that I do require their services, I cling on to the back and turn a blind eye to the abundance of red lights they run.  One of them has a small piece of paper reading something along the lines of:

 

“ILA teachers give me more money”.

 

I’d heard about this clown from a friend and when I eventually had the ‘pleasure’ of meeting him and his note I laughed aloud, flung 15,000d in his hand and uttered something about knowing the going rate.  Cheeky sod: if you’re going to attempt to milk people dry – don’t be so blatant!

Anyway, the fact remains – now rainy season is upon us the roads are more dangerous than ever.  I like the fact that my xe-om driver Hom drives like a geriatric – I know I can always jump off if needs be and come away relatively unscathed. *She says, touching something wooden very quickly*

 

A xx

Sweltering in a swamp!

Vietnamese school holidays can mean only one thing – summer school strikes again!  This time last year I was newly qualified and teaching at a summer school in Shropshire, UK as a residential teacher and activity leader: twelve months on, it’s summer school again, this time on top of my regular teaching schedule here in the city.  It’s an intense course, consisting of five three-hour classes each week over two months, which leaves little time for the students to forget what they have learnt during the previous lesson, but can also leave weaker members frustrated and dumbfounded at the pace of teaching!  My students are a good bunch of vivacious teens who are far more willing and capable than my regular class of the same ability.

We’re now nearing the end of the course and it’s been a busy couple of months (which accounts for the lack of blog posts lately).  As well as their lessons, students participate in movie days and a 'summer getaway': a day at a ‘craft village’ in Cu Chi (home of the famous tunnels).  This trip was by no means compulsory for teachers, but I figured it would be good fun, a chance to spend some time with members of staff I don’t see that often and could only be good for class morale.  The 6.30am start was a slight deterrent, but the offer of free breakfast, lunch and company branded summer school t-shirt and cap swung it for me! *cough*

Tootling down the road towards head office on the day of the trip, I was met by hundreds of students and a cacophony of Vietnamese voices: in situations such as this your iPod is your best friend!  So, all present and correct - donning our company clothing, we were on our way.  All students and teaching assistants appeared to have ID badges – I guessed my face and complexion alone were enough to indicate I was in the ‘right’ place.  The two hour bus journey was relatively painless and I made a new friend, in the form of Khang, a 12 year old beginner who had only been studying at the school for three days.  I only wish his enthusiasm to learn and interact with native English speakers was infectious.

Upon our arrival, we stepped off the coaches only to be hit by the horrendous heat and humidity.  It’s hot in the city most days, but this was something else.  Crossing swamps on flimsy foot bridges and arriving in a large opening, we found the pottery classes had been cancelled and we were now spending all of our time outside, with little shade or seating.  The students (accompanied by their teacher and teaching assistant) were to complete the challenges, obstacle courses and traditional Vietnamese games all in the baking heat.  Needless to say, this was not what I had signed up for – as a Guider I’m all for team building and problem solving; just not in such a harsh, unforgiving climate with more than 200 pupils ranging from ages 6 to 16.

After a few hours of trying Vietnamese style Girlguiding activities, which included separating different coloured pulses and seeds into containers, throwing a ball through a high hoop (Quidditch style) and hitting a drum whilst blindfolded; we retreated to the relatively ‘cool’ canopied eating area for a basic meal of soup, boiled rice, nondescript unidentifiable meat, soggy veggies, iced green tea and ice cream – pretty standard as far as catered lunches go here.  Feeling distinctly wobbly I slept for the majority of the bus ride home and drank my body weight in water.

The heat stroke I suffered meant I was unable to teach my class of teenagers that same evening: all that only to be credited with an extra 60 minutes in my ‘bank of hours’: not the best day.  The kids, however, seemed to love it – which is the main thing after all.  One more week of summer school to go, then I’ll have my mornings back and can spend them catching up on some much needed time in the land of nod.

 

A xx