I haven't had as much time as I would like to blog about my experiences. Currently, I am in Ha Noi as of yesterday and will head to Sapa in the evening on an overnight train. Sapa has Vietnam's highest mountain. I may also get a chance to interact with local ethnic minorities.
So far, Ha Noi seems vastly different from Saigon. For one, the weather: 60 degrees, a nice departure from perpetual heat. I'm sure my overworked sweat glands are thanking me. More later.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Arriving in Vietnam
I’m finally in Vietnam again. It feels like I never left.
The logistics worked out so well, it’s as though I was meant to be here. The Rice project gave me ample financial security and ability to pursue and enjoy; my friend Gia is graciously allowing me a free place to stay and go as I please; brothers Tony and Dan will manage the family bills after I return and get a job; I used 50,000 miles to get a free Continental plane ticket; American cousin Mikey has been living here for five months and will help get me situated with volunteering options, Vietnamese classes, and traveling; the list goes on and on. I am grateful.
In Vietnam, there is no need for an alarm clock. The sounds of the mopeds, the hammering and drilling inside and outside the building, the honking, clamoring, cacophony, an inescapable urban cadence. Admittedly, I hate it, but in a third-world country, hearing such liveliness is oddly comforting.
My first lunch yesterday none other than homemade Vietnamese food: tom thien (shrimp), ca loc (fish), canh salad song (soup). As it is polite and expected in Vietnamese culture, Gia’s aunt kept adding more food into my bowl and instructing me to eat more, “Rice is over there,” she repeats in between bites, without eye contact, in a matter-of-fact one-sentence grunt. One of my favorite Vietnamese questions that people ask, out of consideration I suppose, is, “Do you know how to eat that?” My natural response is one of befuddlement and sarcasm, yeah… put it in my mouth and chew; I quickly dismiss this and say charmingly in Vietnamese (to the best of my abilities), “I can eat it all!” Although I hardly speak Vietnamese, which is severely frowned upon, I almost redeem myself through sheer gluttony; Vietnamese people love a person, especially a girl, who can eat a lot.
I missed my flight to Hong Kong from Newark, because I presumed my Blackberry phone would update the time when I changed the time zone – but it doesn’t – an irrelevant feature to say the least. As a punishment to myself, I decided to sleep at the airport. A self-proclaimed master of contingency plans, I didn’t see this one coming. All day long, between enjoying all the amenities an airport has to offer – walking (at least two miles!), food, people watching, a meditation room, catnapping – I mentally prepared for the impending camp out. When night finally came, I realized the worst thing about sleeping in an airport isn’t the noise, strangers, theft, lack of privacy, or discomfort. The worst thing is the arctic temperature! After tossing and turning a couple of hours, I had a brilliant idea. I put my undergarments into my allergenic pillow case and used it as a blanket. I used a shirt to keep my hands warm and a pair of pants as a scarf and face cover. My carry-on luggage and backpack took shape as a fortress, a mighty wall that shut the world out (sort of.)
During a brief layover in Narita, Japan, I received an invitation to “the lounge.” It was a dream to be able to shower. The Shiseido products were a plus – I love this country. So clean, respectful, and orderly. Now onward to a country that is the complete opposite. When I finally arrived in Vietnam, as expected, my checked-in luggage was nowhere to be found. My two suitcases, each weighing a hair under 50 lbs, was carefully packed to contain an equal amount of clothes and shoes I planned to donate, toiletries, etc – in the event one was lost, I’d still have enough to get by. If both were lost, fear not; I packed all my important stuff and good clothes I plan to keep in my carry on bags. Lucky? No. Neurotic? No doubt. This morning, the airport sent my luggage to my doorstep. So far, so good.
Staying at my friend Gia's business, a clothing manufacturing facility that doubles as a living space for her and the family members, many who work for her.
The design room of her brand, T.A.G., which is sold in high-end boutiques in cities including Houston, Dallas, and L.A.
Sewing stations after a long day of work.
A dress sample.
My extremely comfortable bedroom, located at the second floor of her business with four other rooms, is arranged like a hotel. I'd like to point out that her business is exceptionally nice and aptly located in Saigon's District 7, from what I've been told, is one of the nicest districts.
The logistics worked out so well, it’s as though I was meant to be here. The Rice project gave me ample financial security and ability to pursue and enjoy; my friend Gia is graciously allowing me a free place to stay and go as I please; brothers Tony and Dan will manage the family bills after I return and get a job; I used 50,000 miles to get a free Continental plane ticket; American cousin Mikey has been living here for five months and will help get me situated with volunteering options, Vietnamese classes, and traveling; the list goes on and on. I am grateful.
In Vietnam, there is no need for an alarm clock. The sounds of the mopeds, the hammering and drilling inside and outside the building, the honking, clamoring, cacophony, an inescapable urban cadence. Admittedly, I hate it, but in a third-world country, hearing such liveliness is oddly comforting.
My first lunch yesterday none other than homemade Vietnamese food: tom thien (shrimp), ca loc (fish), canh salad song (soup). As it is polite and expected in Vietnamese culture, Gia’s aunt kept adding more food into my bowl and instructing me to eat more, “Rice is over there,” she repeats in between bites, without eye contact, in a matter-of-fact one-sentence grunt. One of my favorite Vietnamese questions that people ask, out of consideration I suppose, is, “Do you know how to eat that?” My natural response is one of befuddlement and sarcasm, yeah… put it in my mouth and chew; I quickly dismiss this and say charmingly in Vietnamese (to the best of my abilities), “I can eat it all!” Although I hardly speak Vietnamese, which is severely frowned upon, I almost redeem myself through sheer gluttony; Vietnamese people love a person, especially a girl, who can eat a lot.
I missed my flight to Hong Kong from Newark, because I presumed my Blackberry phone would update the time when I changed the time zone – but it doesn’t – an irrelevant feature to say the least. As a punishment to myself, I decided to sleep at the airport. A self-proclaimed master of contingency plans, I didn’t see this one coming. All day long, between enjoying all the amenities an airport has to offer – walking (at least two miles!), food, people watching, a meditation room, catnapping – I mentally prepared for the impending camp out. When night finally came, I realized the worst thing about sleeping in an airport isn’t the noise, strangers, theft, lack of privacy, or discomfort. The worst thing is the arctic temperature! After tossing and turning a couple of hours, I had a brilliant idea. I put my undergarments into my allergenic pillow case and used it as a blanket. I used a shirt to keep my hands warm and a pair of pants as a scarf and face cover. My carry-on luggage and backpack took shape as a fortress, a mighty wall that shut the world out (sort of.)
During a brief layover in Narita, Japan, I received an invitation to “the lounge.” It was a dream to be able to shower. The Shiseido products were a plus – I love this country. So clean, respectful, and orderly. Now onward to a country that is the complete opposite. When I finally arrived in Vietnam, as expected, my checked-in luggage was nowhere to be found. My two suitcases, each weighing a hair under 50 lbs, was carefully packed to contain an equal amount of clothes and shoes I planned to donate, toiletries, etc – in the event one was lost, I’d still have enough to get by. If both were lost, fear not; I packed all my important stuff and good clothes I plan to keep in my carry on bags. Lucky? No. Neurotic? No doubt. This morning, the airport sent my luggage to my doorstep. So far, so good.
Staying at my friend Gia's business, a clothing manufacturing facility that doubles as a living space for her and the family members, many who work for her.
The design room of her brand, T.A.G., which is sold in high-end boutiques in cities including Houston, Dallas, and L.A.
Sewing stations after a long day of work.
A dress sample.
My extremely comfortable bedroom, located at the second floor of her business with four other rooms, is arranged like a hotel. I'd like to point out that her business is exceptionally nice and aptly located in Saigon's District 7, from what I've been told, is one of the nicest districts.
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