Viet Nam: Sweet Sour Salty Spicy Crunchy

Moments

2018-07-25T23:18:00.001-07:00

It's hard to believe it's been ten years since I landed on the motorbike-army streets of Ho Chi Minh City - an experience that introduced me to a world of international friends, a new Vietnamese family, and changed the trajectory of my life.

Sitting in a folding chair on the floor of T and T's 300 square foot home is one of my favorite places to be on this earth; if I'm not there, it's a place I can go in my mind when I need it. In that place, time doesn't exist - there is nowhere pressing to go other than to the rice cake stand, and no pressure to do or be anything other than what you are doing or being at the moment.

With that in mind, here are a few highlights about being in my favorite place in July of 2018:

- Going with Thanh to the temple where their father's tray of ashes lie (he passed six months ago). She invited me into the "inner" part where we lit incense and identified ourselves to him (it's "Maggie" I said, because that's what he called me) and then spoke out loud what we wished for ourselves, our family, and the world. Thanh pointed out her brother - the one who has Asperger's and who sets up their fabric stand every morning at 5:30 am - he was sitting outside his father's resting place, just staring inside. Before their father's death he used to just walk around Ho Chi Minh City all day until it was time to come back and put the fabric back in the house. But Thanh says he just comes here now and sits, all day long, instead of walking. He misses his father so much.

- Seeing the vendors. I've heard stories that city officials want to put an end to the street food scene and "upgrade" the city - I saw a lot of "Bellevue-like" evidence of that - high rises, wide, clean sidewalks, and not a vendor in sight in a few newer districts. Also, many markets are being shut down because of claims that food handler's permits are not valid. But for the most part, my market is unchanged...the garlic lady still sells garlic, and the banana lady still sells bananas. When Thanh and I did our first "red carpet" circle around the market, I asked about the Garlic Lady, one of my favorites back in the day. "She has a baby now, and no husband. It's very sad," she told me. But every morning, she and those surrounding her still race to be the first to greet me with "hello!" and are all smiles. I have no idea where they live or their struggles, all I know is that they live with constant joy regardless of their situation in life. One day the Banana Lady - one of the few vendors who lives within the market - invited me into her home. It was maybe 250 square feet and half of it stored her bananas. "I bought this house," she told me in very broken English. "Fifteen thousand," she said, proudly. I didn't know what that meant, exactly, but she was so proud of owning that house. I know the main thing T and T have going for them financially is that their parents own that house, right there in the middle of the market. And I knew it was significant that she invited me in and shared that with me.

- Visit to Nam's family. If you followed my blog from '08 to '10, you were a big fan of my motorbike driver, Nam. He was cool, he was infuriating, he was bossy, he was kind. I called him my "mother." He drove me crazy because he told me what to do all the time. But I loved him. He showed me around the city and taught me to eat certain foods. Well, he died ten days before my last visit in 2012, and I was very, very sad. I had been invited into the family when he drove for me, so his nephew, who lived in the neighborhood with Nam's sister, drove me to Nam's family's house while they were in the midst of a lot of grief. On my last night of this trip, I "dropped by" Nam's sister's house on my way to T and T's. There was a house full of people, and fortunately, Nam's nephew was there, this time with a wife and two babies. He speaks really good English and they all invited me in to sit down and have some iced tea. Nam's sister videoed our whole visit, smiling so widely, saying she couldn't wait to show the video to Nam's daughters (that was translated). Everywhere I went, I felt like royalty.

- Reading to Quang in the mornings. I got up every day at 6, went to the stand, and read to Thuy's son, Quang, out of the English books my mom sent. We would sit on top of the fabric and he would repeat the story after me, pronouncing consonants over and over..."Pig. Puh Puh Puh Puh...Pig". If you have ever heard a Vietnamese child speak a strange language that sounds a lot like English, that's because they are speaking English without consonants. Quang, even though he's only six, can write English sentences in perfect cursive. He goes to English school in the neighborhood twice a week. but he can't speak it at all. I fell completely in love with this kid. Thuy said many times, "I want him to go to America for school when he's fifteen. I want him to have a future." I told her I would look into it, but I don't have the first idea where to start. I told her to get a bank account (they've never had one) and think "scholarships" - but I wasn't sure what else to say at this point. I want him to have a future, too...but, of course it's loaded. The beauty I see in that community, well...what will he find here? Anyway, I digress. I love this kid...

- Teaching Thanh and Truc to swim. It was Thanh's second time on a plane and Truc's first, but submerging in ocean water was a first for both of them. Shea and I taught them to float, and to swim, just a little. It was awesome, truly. Seeing them laugh and splash in the water and Thanh saying, "I have no worries," -- that was definitely one of the best moments. And the fact that that moment was next to moments where we were brought squid, clams, crab and fish right to our lounge chairs...well, what could be better than that?

I'm grateful I am still connected, and that this neighborhood remains untouched. I can still leave my country and, like Thanh when she's in the ocean, forget my worries about where things are heading. I can be there, just existing, eating, as a part of a community. This place is changing rapidly, but still maintains its purity.

Coming home is always hard, a jolt to my system. My needs seem to increase, everything moves faster, and I get caught right back up in the wheel of assaults from the news.

It's hard to believe they want to be like us, when all I can see is that we need to be more like them.

Shea and Truc

2018-07-14T00:22:00.002-07:00

Another unexpected highlight that was destined to be a part of our trip: Truc, who was ten last time I spent time with her, is now 17 and in her last year of high school. Even though Thuy and Thanh practically raised her and her brother, it never occurred to me that she had grown up.

On the first day she and Shea became best friends and spent the next ten days together. In fact, the night before we left for Central Vietnam, Truc texted me how much she was going to miss 'us.' "I want to come with you," she texted me. When I read it out loud, Shea said, "Why not?"

Buying an airline ticket of any kind is out of the question for T and T's family, so the last two times she has traveled with me, her tickets have been purchased for her: once as a gift from my parents, and this time by me. So I said to Shea, "Do you want to split the cost with me?" (around $200), and in Shea style, she answered "yes" before I finished asking the question. That's the kind of person Shea is - she was given a huge gift in this trip, and she did not hesitate to share it. So we went straight over to their house - at 8:00 the night before the flight - and asked Truc to go. Truc was thrilled to say the least - and Thanh was a bit hesitant because Truc would have to fly on a different airline. Truc wasn't scared, though. She even upgraded herself to first class for an extra $5. So she and Shea were able to continue their BFF status and were motorbike partners, swimming partners, jammie partners (bought by Thanh), milk-tea partners, and para-sailing partners. I am a ton of fun, for sure, but I think Shea would have gotten tired of me eventually. I mean, maybe. And Truc is lovely (as is Shea), and I know they will stay in touch. Shea really wants to bring Truc to the states, so we will see where that goes!

And one more word about Shea. Yes, she was a phenomenal traveler. We had our hot, tired and cranky moments (she more than me, haha), but overall, she was a pleasure to have along. Everyone loved her. Thuy and Thanh have adopted her. My former students thought she was cool. Truc would step in front of a train for her.

But here's the thing: yesterday, when I asked her what some of her highlights were, in second place was "food."

Now, I know everyone is not "me" when it comes to passion and palate. But Shea showed very little interest in food, other than pho. Shea could eat pho every meal for the rest of her life and be happy. She was non-plussed by the market for the most part, and while I got up at 6 each morning to explore, taste and hang out with T and T and read to Monkey Boy #2, Shea slept. She did not find every taste fascinating. Now, this doesn't exactly bother me. I can eat on my own for sure. I guess it's more like "pity" for those who don't really "get it." You know? I mean, I like pho and all, but it's just ONE of the tastes here, and it is readily available at home, yes...I know it's not as good. But hey, anyway...I found "food" to be an extremely strange answer!

I will give her credit for this: she is mostly vegetarian, and she did eat a lot of seafood. And she ate chicken a few times, and a little beef. She was sick after each time, but she did it. And that deserves credit!

Shea is going to write about the trip when she gets home, so I will be sure to share it here.

Taste is not really something you can learn. I think you're either born with it or not.

My Other Job

2018-07-13T23:56:00.000-07:00

One of my goals in coming to HCMC this time was to fine-tune the Street Food Tour Thanh and I started five years ago. At that time, we drew an old-school map and I hand-wrote descriptions of the food on the back, including pictures. Between Pam and me, we have given this map out to about fifty people who have found the fabric stand and eaten their way through the market with Thanh. It has been a great source of income for her family - she paid for her mother's cataract surgery as well as her father's hospital bills. "I didn't have to borrow," she told me. That's big here.

While Old School is great, we needed to update. So I wanted to make Thanh a website, and was happy to have the mission to take pictures of every single thing we ate. I really should have been a food photographer/writer, as you will see. Thanh researched the food of central Vietnam for our trip to Hoi An and Danang - even though that is not part of the food tour, I was in food picture-taking mode, and had a lot of fun capturing all of it:

Market food (standard tour):

Seafood Feast on the Street of Nguyen Canh Chan (a new offering for Thanh's business):

Hoi An/Da Nang (Central Vietnam):

Thanh's list of things to eat in Central Vietnam:

Food tour anyone?

"You Inspired Me to Eat"

2018-07-13T23:55:00.002-07:00

I'm writing from the Seoul airport because we chose a 23-hour layover here. I should say "we" chose it; Shea is crazy about Korea, and when her eyes lit up over the thought of spending even a day here, I couldn't resist it. I'm not allowed to tell you the details of her craze for this country, but I'm pretty sure this day will be the highlight of ten days of highlights for her. I thought that maybe, even though I have never chosen this always-available option, I would be in the mood to explore after ten days of exploring and gorging myself in Vietnam. But I'm not. Why doesn't Korea interest me? I mean it does in the way that anything interests me - like I should know a little bit about everything. But no. Indonesia, fascinating. The Philippines, Cambodia, Malaysia, Japan, yes. All of Europe and Africa. Antarctica, But not here, and not really Thailand.

What is it that makes you fall in love with a place? And why am I so head over heels for Vietnam? Those can only be rhetorical questions.

So since I explored a little bit around our hotel area last night and this morning (I ate two Korean meals during these two outings), I came to the airport two hours earlier than the two-hour early check-in. Because even though I don't love Korea, I do love the Incheon airport - one of the nicest I've ever seen. And here I will write some posts about my own highlights over the past ten days.

To begin - the most surprising highlight: bar hopping with my grown-up sixth grade students. Yes, the sweetest eleven year-olds on earth in 2008 are now scattered all over the US, Canada, Australia and the UK in pretty impressive colleges, pursuing the high-level educations all of their parents dreamed of, although not one of them is going to Harvard (seemingly the gold standard when I taught here).

Because I was posting on Facebook instead of here, some of my former students who were home for break saw my posts and suggested meeting for coffee (or beer) during the week. I met some students five years ago, too, but I was expecting it that time since they were still attending the American International School as juniors and seniors.

This time, our first meeting was at a coffee shop and I brought Shea, of course, because, weirdly, she is pretty much their age. It was beyond fun to hear stories of what they have been up to these past ten years.

From left: Terry, who is going to college at Amherst and who is passionate about coaching boys' soccer. He's getting a degree in Sports Management. Then there is Lan, who just majored in Psychology at the University of London. She's just excited not to write any more papers. Then there's David, going to the University of Melbourne and studying Real Estate Development. And next to him, the one that looks so different I didn't even recognize his Facebook picture, is Truong.

While we were talking, David and Truong reminded me that they were in my International Club. When you teach at an American International School, you are required to run an after-school club that meets once per week. "You really inspired me," Truong said at one point. In English? I wondered. Maybe I inspired him with how I taught ancient history, by making all of them into gods and goddesses? But no. "You inspired me to eat," he said.

You see, at first my International Club studied all things culture-related: food, traditions, festivals, dance. But at the end of the first quarter, we had a club discussion and they were honest with me...the only thing they wanted to do from there on was to eat. So our Eating Club was born. Each student paid $20 and we ordered in and ate out. We made quesadillas and salsa, we ordered in Mediterranean, and went out to Mexican. I even wrote a post about it, and you can read it here. It features Truong. So even though Truong is going to complete a triple major at John Hopkins University next year and despite the fact that his father is the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court in Vietnam, when I asked him what his dream job was, he answered, "All I really want to do is eat." Currently he writes for Eater - an online food site for Washington DC. And he knows chefs. Famous ones, like David Chang and Blaine Wetzel of the Willows Inn. "I really want to go to Lummi Island," says Truong, which is where his friend, Blaine, is famous.

That meeting was so enjoyable that we decided to do it again so a few others who heard about the reunion could join us. Truong chose one of his favorite bars, and I really regret not getting a picture because now you all can't see Emily or Maria. Emily is going to Irvine, and Maria is finishing up in North Carolina and spending a semester in Madrid in the fall.

After the first bar, Terry was anxious for us to try his favorite bar, so we went there and ordered the spiciest chicken and a flight of beer. Both times Truong picked up the bill. After the second bar, we walked on "walking street," and I mostly talked to Truong about food and his grandmother's cooking, and where he always takes guests to eat traditional Vietnamese food in HCMC. "I would like to take you and Shea," he said, but at that point we only had one day left and that day was reserved for Thuy and Thanh. But oh man, you bet the next time I come, I am using the former student who claims I inspired to EAT as a reference.

The teaching profession is pretty darn cool sometimes.

And here is the new American International School, of which I was not allowed to take a picture, even though I told the guard I knew Bill Gates. It's a soul-less school (those of us who met decided) and it's out in the middle of nowhere and kids have to be bused from all over the city. I wouldn't work here for a million dollars. Well, maybe. But I loved our converted business building and our ad-hoc faculty. I'm not sure how we made it work, but it sure was fun. And the kids made it despite the aesthetics.

Apologies

2018-07-08T02:37:00.002-07:00

Apologies to anyone who is trying to follow our trip on this blog...we have had too many issues with internet and my old school computer to waste precious time messing with it. I will post some entries when I return! For now, everything is on Facebook :)

Reunion Day Highlights

2018-07-04T14:56:00.002-07:00

1) T and T

Our flight was delayed, making our arrival 1 am instead of 10 pm, which meant I had to wait one more day to see T and T. Shea and I walked around the dark neighborhood while my heart was practically bursting to see them. We took sleeping pills, then I got up at 6:30 to make my way to the stand -- again, with my heart beating so fast. Their sister-in-law saw me first, and she gasped - she sells shoes next to the fabric - and Thanh was standing with her back to me. "Maggie!" she said when I hugged her from behind. Thuy was sitting on top of her fabric, still putting the finishing touches on the display. We all laughed and hugged for a long time, then I made my way around to say hi to the surrounding vendors and their mother. After about twenty minutes of reunion, Thanh says, "We go get pho, then rice cakes at 9 am." We went back to get Shea, then headed to a new pho stand. What a lucky person I am to have this family across the world.

And Thuy's son - what a character. So full of personality.

2) The Vendors

Thanh came with me for my red-carpet walk through the alleys - red carpet is the only way I can describe the feeling I get when eyes light up with recognition and heartfelt welcomes are exchanged after so long (which is actually quite different from the red carpet, I realize). I brought chocolate bars for some of my favorites:

Garlic Lady, Towel Lady, Pig Feet Lady (the three who always fought to say "hello" to me first when I walked down the market each morning). Chicken Soup Couple is still there, Banana Lady is gone. Pomelo Guy now sells durian. For the most part, the market is unchanged. The sounds and the smells brought me right back. And actually the air was kind of cool -- comparatively. Again, how lucky am I to have this neighborhood all the way across the world?

2a) Rice Cakes!
Just as good, maybe better, as the ones in the alley. This vendor only makes cakes about three days per week, according to Thanh. But yesterday she requested that rice cakes would be on the menu for me, and of course they were. The shrimp were bigger, and Thanh peeled them for me as Shea and I sat in the home of the vendor next to her two kids on the floor. They truly are the best taste in this world.

4) Tran

After rice cakes Thanh took me to see Tran, Katherine and my favorite masseuse. She gasped..."Marjie!" (She's one of the only people here who pronounces my name correctly). I thought we were just saying "hi" but I ended up getting a massage directly following rice cakes, which is what fantasies are made of. And after that, a mani-pedi.

Tran now owns this business with her cousin, and she is very proud of that...they were both Bum Bum employees, but...the Bum Bum is gone!! It's OK, though, because this salon is just like the Bum Bum - the people are what made that place. Tran is one of the most generous, warm people on earth. As I sat for my mani-pedi, she had pineapple juice delivered by motorbike. Again, fantasy times one hundred.

5) Ms. Hao

I went to see Ms. Hao, our former seamstress neighbor, but they indicated that she had moved. Later, Shea and I were making our way through the neighborhood and we just accidentally passed her house. She was standing in the doorway and we both did a double take, then hugged and greeted each other. That was awesome.

6) Shea

Sharing all of this with this cool human being who just goes with the flow and appreciates everything made the day all that much more special. Later, after a quick tour of Ben Thanh market, the church and the Continental Hotel, we had just gotten to our fourth floor hotel room when the rain came. And it RAINED. Shea went out on the deck to get soaked in it.

7) Thuy and Thanh's meals.

Of course they showed us the royal treatment. "You come here for lunch and dinner," Thuy demanded. And so we obeyed. Lunch made by Thanh - seafood rolls and seafood stir-fry. Dinner made by Thuy - my favorite soup: thick noodles, shrimp, squid and eggplant. Fantasy times a thousand.

Return to Rice Cakes, 2018

2018-07-02T12:59:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I will be sitting on a tiny blue plastic chair eating rice cakes in the best market in Ho Chi Minh City with my two sisters, Thuy and Thanh, and Thuy's little boy, who is now six, and the person in the picture with me above (more on that in a minute). Thuy's son was one when I last saw him -- but it really doesn't seem like five years have passed. My sisters and I have kept in close touch... between my friend Pam and me, we have sent them approximately 50 visitors for deluxe food tours through the market and the outer city (although in my opinion (Katherine shares this), paradise is within the market grid and there is no need to go anywhere else, ever.)

T and T's father passed a few months ago, so in that way I will certainly feel the movement of time.

My sixth grade students are all studying in universities in either the States or Canada - they are all doing amazing things and I keep up with many of them on Facebook. Two of my teacher friends still live in the city, but they are now home for summer break. From what I hear, the buildings are taller and the development over the past five years has been crazy. Thanh even sent a video showing how to get to the alley hotel because the street looks so different.

And the original rice cake stand is gone - the laughing women who peeled my shrimp when they saw me coming have moved on. Thanh was afraid to give me that news, but I bought a ticket anyway. And you know what? Two nights ago I got a picture message from her - there is a NEW rice cake stand in the market. Reports to come in approximately one day :)

The person in the picture -- that's a story. Shea is coming with me, I guess you could say, as a testament to the power of stories. Shea wrote a story about their history with psychosis and depression in Scriber's book two years ago, and then helped me edit last year's book in a way that not many teenagers could. Shea was a star, never saying "no" to a speaking event - in fact the word "yes" was always stated before I even gave the opportunity. Anne Kutay of Wildland Adventures was in the audience at one of those events. Anne had wanted to give the gift of travel to someone for years, and when she heard Shea speak, she asked if Shea would be a good candidate. I answered "yes" before Anne finished asking the question. One of the first things Shea said to me when we met was about their desire to travel. And here we are, in the airport about to board a plane to Seoul, then Ho Chi Minh. Shea is deserving, completely. And a ton of fun.

I'm excited to be back. I can't wait to see my sisters and eat my way through the market every morning. I will love swimming in the ocean for a few days when we go to a beach hut near Hoi An. But being able to show this place to this person adds such a special element to the trip.

Because I was (and still consider myself to be) Shea's teacher, I assigned airport homework. Requirements: memorize all of the names and all of the food descriptions of the market map Thanh and I drew for her business. This is what we're doing during our time here with a flight delay. But that just means more time to dream about those rice cakes...

Hen Gap Lai Feast

2013-01-08T08:27:00.001-08:00

"Hen Gap Lai" means "See you again." Thuy and Thanh want to have my See You Again Feast at the new barbecue place right on Nguyen Canh Chan - about a block from where the stupid sushi restaurant opened and closed two years ago. So we stake out a spot and call Ms. Hao and Ut to see if they can join us. They can. Thuy's husband, Dung, is on his way too.

Vietnamese celebrations include lots of "Mot, hai, ba, YO!" (One, two three, YO!"). At the end of each toast, I add "Hen gap lai!" and this makes them laugh every time. (You have to stick with what works when there's a language barrier.)

We begin with deep fried squid and lotus root salad with shrimp:

Then it's grilled shrimp - they are so sweet and sticky:

Then a fire pit is brought to the table and a stone plate is placed on it. We wait about fifteen minutes for it to heat. While we're waiting, Thanh translates this conversation: Thuy and Dung are saying that in China, they put heroin in their food so that after you eat it you want more more more of...something. I kept asking, "What? What do they want more of?" I think they want more food, but who knows? Maybe they just want more.

They have so many funny opinions about the Chinese. I tell them they've already had too much beer.

Anyway, here is the beef and okra waiting to sizzle:

Sizzling:

(You dip it in a salt, pepper and lime mixture.)

After this course, there is animated discussion at the table; they all want Thanh to ask me something. She laughs and asks, "Do you want baby duck in egg?"

I have experience with this. When teaching in China, on an ordinary day during lunch at the grade school, baby duck in egg was on our lunch trays. None of us could eat it...all furry and beaky and...a baby duck.

"Sorry," I say. "Americans have no courage."

They have figured on this, so they scour the menu and come up with the grande finale: deep-fried whole fish. It was hard to capture its immense beauty:

You wrap the delicious morsels of this fish in rice paper along with rice noodles, star fruit, basil, greens and cucumbers and dip it all into one of Vietnam's many amazing sauces.

The best part of this fish is its crunchiness; you eat the scales and all. I may not eat baby duck in egg, but I will eat fish scales if they are done properly.

Here is Ut, the bag designer:

And we're done.

Here is Dung with Huang. Every night he comes over for a few hours after work, and this is all he does. He looks at his son, plays with his son, makes sure his son is comfortable. At dinner Dung hardly ate anything because he was so enraptured with this child.

Huang has a village that caters to every single need he has before he has it. I have heard him fuss a little, but I haven't heard him cry. Not once in ten days.

We are done with our feast by 8. I drop by Tran's salon to see if she's there for a final massage. I'm in luck. She insists on touching up my lashes and says, "I hope your mother doesn't say 'Marjie, you look terrible!' when she sees you at the airport." They are so cool-looking. I give Tran a big hug when I leave and she kisses me on the cheek. She is, possibly, the purest soul on the planet.

And as I'm walking back to T and T's house - which is just across the street - Ut and his friend are passing on a motorbike. Ut stops and hands me a sugarcane drink that he had just bought for me. See what I mean about the timing in this place? It's like "cue massage." Or "cue eyelashes." "Cue grandma's amazing lunch." Or "cue sugarcane drink after your massage while walking across the street."

Earlier, Ms. Hao gave me a one-of-a-kind bag, too. She put a note inside that read, "I made this for you. I hope you think it nice."

"How can one person receive all of this love?" you might be asking.

I don't really know. I'm almost embarrassed to write about it.

When I get to their house, grandma and Huang are asleep on a make-shift bed on the floor. Thuy will join them here and Thanh will climb a ladder where she will share the loft with her father, two brothers, sister-in-law and nephew.

Part of me wants to join the slumber party, but I take the computer back to the hotel and write this final post instead.

We've already decided that we will say "Hen gap lai" at the hotel tomorrow- none of this "goodbye" stuff is going to happen. I'll eat my rice cakes, get my hair washed, play with Huang, get in a taxi and get ready to go to work tomorrow.

What do I do for work again?

Hello!

2013-01-08T08:27:00.000-08:00

So much happens in the market each morning that I could write about just that. Here are a few stories from this morning:

I'm walking through the main strip as usual when a tiny woman carrying a basket on her head filled with rice, coconut and sugar spots me.

"Hello!" she says, and smiles an almost-toothless grin.

I return her hello and she laughs and laughs. Then she grabs my hand and grips it tightly, pulling me alongside her as she strolls down the alley, talking all the way.

All the vendors are laughing because she is so small and is gripping my hand so tightly that I'm bent over just trying to keep up with her. She does this for a long while - to everyone's extreme entertainment.

Then she lets go and says, "Goodbye!"

It really is rare for the older people here to know English, let alone speak it with confidence. She's pretty cool.

Another scene: Kids all over Vietnam absolutely love to say "hello" to foreigners. Sometimes the hello is joined by "how are you?" and we are constantly returning these very sweet greetings.

Today while I'm walking past the temple, two boys - about ten or eleven - see me and one whispers something into the other's ear. They both look at me and the one who was just dared (I'm guessing) blurts out "F**k!" (I censored that for my mom.) They are both a little horrified at their own courage, and they take off giggling down the alley, turning to catch my reaction. But I'm just laughing, so I'm sure that is a little disappointing.

Kids are so endlessly sweet here...I'm sure if an adult had been there, these boys would have been in big trouble. I know that some kids will grow up to be motorbike cowboys here, but I have yet to meet a good candidate for that.

Better?

2013-01-07T07:46:00.001-08:00

On Spaghetti-with-Soy-Sauce-Night, I tell Thanh I want to do the dishes.

"No!" (emphatic). "No work for ten days!"

"But what about you?" I respond. "You work every single day."

Thanh just shrugs and says, "We different."

And my hair-washer, Trinh (also my age), during our hour-long conversation I learned that she sleeps on the same bench I recline on during a hair-wash...she and three other girls who work at Salon Mimi all sleep in a row on the salon beds. And they share a tiny bathroom with a squat toilet and a shower head next to a bucket.

"It's OK," Trinh says. "It's not bad."

I am never more aware of my privileged life than when I'm here, and the fact that I have these friendships at all...well, it has to do with acceptance on many levels. Unconditional understanding of where we are from, who we are, etc. Mostly, though, these are content people. Filled with generosity, love and humor.

I think about these things a lot. So much, in fact, that I haven't been able to read the three books I brought. Too distracted with it all...I've seen too much behind the curtain these days.

What I think about:

My many freedoms: political and personal. Educational opportunities. Career choices. The ability to travel freely around the world. Maybe more importantly, being able to afford to travel freely around the world. Car ownership, home ownership. The time to think about what makes me happy and the means to make those things happen.

And that four years ago I (freely) answered a Craigslist ad that brought me here - to a place where I feel even more free. But in this place the people are not free. They do not have political freedoms and they are captives of poverty and bound by family responsibilities; no one else is going to take care of them if they get sick. So they have each other instead of insurance and pension plans. It would take them a lifetime to save enough to travel to America, but by then they would have hospital bills to pay.

So they accept it. They have enough. They have food, shelter, family and community. I know a lot of rich people would give anything for that.

Last night as I'm teaching Thanh how to use Facebook, she says, "So much freedom in America."

During our Nha Trang get-away, she confessed to me that she would like to be independent, but that it will never happen.

"It's hard," she said.

But loyalty and care-taking is so ingrained into her being that she couldn't go out on her own, even if she had money. At this point, anyway.

"Do you want to come to America?" I ask, hesitantly. I kind of have to ask. But I can't picture her there without the rest of "her."

She thinks for a moment, then says, "No. I don't."

I'm relieved. Because we have way too much, and with that comes so many problems. I want her to have a good life. I want all of them to have "better" lives. But what, exactly, does "better" look like? Does it make this market look like the shopping mall of my recurring nightmares?*

What a strange, strange world. None of it makes sense. I was born there, they were born here.

And the strangest part of all? "Contentment" exists somewhere outside of circumstance.

On Wednesday, a time-machine will take me back to my life. I will be happy to return to it (although today I couldn't remember what I usually eat for breakfast). A few people have predicted that I will come back here to teach - based on my obvious love for this place. The answer is a definite "no" to that. Just thinking about it causes me nothing but anxiety. I hate the heat, and I only endured it because I loved it here so much. But that was a different time, under different circumstances. This place changed me and offered me more than I ever thought possible. But I am content in Seattle.

Nevertheless, I do think that it will be a bit confusing to return after these two weeks. (I think I usually eat eggs for breakfast.)

OK. Now, for some final food wrap-ups:

*1. Speaking of that recurring nightmare, I keep meaning to mention this: the sushi restaurant that caused me so much worry? It closed after only one month. "Very bad," said Thanh.

2. I saw Pomelo Guy the other day, but he was just walking through the market and was not selling pomelo. Today a woman who HAD to be his twin was selling it in his spot. It was dry and very disappointing. I'm hoping for a miracle the next two mornings.

3. Deep-fried Spring Roll Lady closed her cart two years ago and moved back to the Mekong Delta, her home. I finally dragged Thanh to her area of the market this morning to make inquiries, and that's the story. So she closed up right after I left. I probably gave her the majority of her business.

Everyone else sells and sells, day after day. And they will be selling to me for two more days. Nothing could be better, from my perspective...

Correction: THIS is the Best Soup I Have Ever Tasted

2013-01-07T03:37:00.000-08:00

Thuy has been wanting to make me this soup all week. Today was the day...so much for my earlier statement, "This trip is not about food discovery, it's about food memory." I said that right before heading to Nha Trang and trying everything on Thanh's mighty list.

But this soup was OUT of this WORLD. I mean, just look at it! How can something with squid, shrimp, eggplant and basil not be divine? And for the sake of the picture I didn't show this part, but underneath is a bunch of shredded banana roots. The combination of textures is fantastic.

I ask if it's hard to make.

"No," Thuy says. "It's easy. So easy."

I've heard that before.

Thanh begins describing the process. It's complex, of course, and involves fish bones, lemongrass, sugar, fish sauce and lime. She gets to the tenth step and mentions "fish in liquid."

"Wait a minute. What is 'fish in liquid?" I ask, already knowing that this soup is way beyond me and my Seattle ingredients.

"I show you," she says, and heads into the kitchen. Here is the kitchen, by the way:

Such deliciousness comes out of such a small space. See the flowers next to the altar? I bought them for "Mom," thinking they would go into a vase. No, they stayed in the plastic wrapping and went to their proper place.

No running water in there, either; you have to get that from a hose in the bathroom. The dishes are done in the back corner, over to the left. Dishes are piled there, then the bucket of water comes out of the bathroom.

Anyway, Thanh retrieves a red bucket from somewhere in there and sets it on the floor next to me.

"Fish in liquid," she says.

I pry open the lid to see multiple fish parts floating in a brown chunky liquid.

"Where do you keep this?"

"Under the stove."

"For how long?"

"Long time. Maybe one year. Want to take to Seattle?"

She thinks she can seal a container and that I can take it on the plane.

"Won't it smell?" I ask.

"Yes, I think."

It's a pretty long flight for that. I will just have to come back.

Thanh cooked lunch earlier. I just can't keep up with all of my meal invitations. Here's what we had:

1) Prawns with garlic

2) Eggplant cooked over fire (slowly) and topped with green onion and nuoc cham. One of my favorites.

3) Pig intestine and beans. The beans were great! (I figured that was adventurous enough, just to taste the flavoring of the intestines.)

During the afternoon, Thanh and I had a map-making competition. It began after I showed her my product: a map that took an hour to make and required me to walk all over the neighborhood. (This is a necessity; I have already misled many people trying to direct them in this place).

"I can make a better one," Thanh says in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"No you can't," I say. So I spend the next hour perfecting mine and come back to see the neighborhood mapped out in the most clear way possible. Alleyways marked by numbers and everything.

"Why didn't you make this for me four years ago?" I say. Katherine can attest to the fact that I have absolutely no idea where I am, ever. So, anyway, if you come to my neighborhood, you will now get a really good map. I took Thanh's and labeled it well; T and T laughed at me, though.

"It's all food!"

Of course it is.

Rainy, Sleepy Morning

2013-01-06T19:20:00.001-08:00

Between Breakfasts

2013-01-06T18:11:00.001-08:00

In between breakfasts (rice cake appetizer at 7, something else at 10), I find "other" things to do. I sit in T and T's house and use the computer. I get my hair washed. I go visiting. This morning I went to see Sweet Seamstress and her brother, Ut - two doors down from the castle. Ut is pretty shy. Remember when he worked up the courage to ask what Katherine would do with her bike when she left because he wanted it so badly? Well, he still rides it with pride.

I arrive at the front of the shop and Ut is holding this bag - quite nervously. Passing it from hand to hand. Finally, Sweet Seamstress nudges him and gestures toward me. He hands me the bag and says, "For you, Maggie." (He speaks very little English.)

Timing is so strange in this place. I find out later that he had tried to get SS to bring it to the stand, but she said he had to give it to me. I guess he was working up his courage when I happened to come by. I'm pretty sure it's the best give I have ever received. Well, actually I will have to think about that, but right now it feels that way. It's beautiful, a one-of-a-kind Ut design. I tell him how much I love it, and how he should sell them in the neighborhood - or in America (don't ask me how we communicate, it just happens).

He just shakes his head and says, "Only one."

Later I am walking by Nam's mother's house (just past the fabric stand on the left). Usually his sister-in-law sells fruit right outside, but she has disappeared momentarily. I peek in and see that she's awake, lying still on her hard bench. She sees me and beckons me in. So I slip inside and pull up a plastic stool. She gives me her hand and we smile at each other...usually there has been someone there to translate. But now it's just the two of us. She points up to the wall where she is pictured at age 70 (I know numbers and she tells me that).

"Beautiful," I say in Vietnamese.

She nods. It seems she is telling me, "That is who I am, not this."

Then she asks me what number child I am, and I answer, "Two."

Then she removes her hand from mine and picks up her other hand - the one that lies limp from her stroke - and places it in my hands. She indicates that she would like me to massage it to get the blood flowing.

So I do - I massage her from her fingers to her elbow and back. I stop for a moment and she nudges me with her good hand, like a cat. I laugh and keep massaging. She laughs, too.

After probably 20 minutes or so, her daughter-in-law - who returned to her station shortly after my entry into the house - peeks in and gives a little gasp. She is quite surprised to see me sitting there.

And then there is nervous activity and Nam's sister is fetched, who then fetches her English-speaking friend, and our secret moment disappears.

In Just One Day

2013-01-06T18:06:00.001-08:00

T and T's mother cooks lunch almost every day. I brought her some purple potatoes before we left for Nha Trang and yesterday she made purple potato soup with shrimp to go with this pan-fried fish. She used to cook for a living. She is amazing. The thing is that I never see her cook or eat; the food just magically appears.

Mom, these shirts are yours. (Yes, T and T insisted on THREE shirts for you, and they chose the material. Which one do you like best? They have a clear favorite.)

This is my lovely seamstress across town (not to be confused with Sweet Seamstress), Thu Ha. My mom had a shirt copied three years ago and loved it, so I took the same shirt and had it copied three more times. This seamstress is a master copier, but she can also take a picture of a dress and your measurements and execute a fitting perfectly.

When I was home for about six months, I received a notice that I had a package waiting at the post office; Thu Ha had sent me two embroidered pillows. Of course, they matched my living room colors perfectly. She has a sixth sense.

Yesterday Trinh washed my hair at Salon Mimi, and since no one was there, we chatted for over an hour. As I'm walking back to my hotel, she rides up behind me on her motorbike and asks me to join her for lunch. We ride helmet-less through the alleys to a fish soup stand and she buys me lunch with her tip money. Seems you can't do anything for anyone in this neighborhood without getting it back in some form.

The soup is definitely the best I've had, ever: shrimp, squid and fish balls topped with thai spinach and other greens.

Here is Huang saying good morning:

He is wearing a hat because it is "so cold" this morning. Actually, the weather has been great ever since Sunday, which was miserably hot. So lucky.

Last night Thanh took me to Cho Lon - Chinatown. Because Tet is nearing, everything is Tet-related. About fifty of these shops line the streets; everything is yellow and red.

I met four former students at Yogurt Space last night (yogurt, ice cream and donuts have taken over this city in the last few years): from left: Linda, Justine, Alex and Jack. They look exactly the same, except they are a million times more beautiful and handsome - these kids are now 10th graders. I will go to the high school on Tuesday to see all of the others (except that many of them are now in the US).

Josh, take note: Upper Left Apparel has gone international!

Remembering Nam

2013-01-05T19:16:00.003-08:00

I love this picture of "My Two Mothers."

I collected some of my favorite Nam stories - so those of you who didn't experience him between 2008-10 can get a sense of what a character he was, and for those who did (about 12 of you), to relive some memories.

I got to pay proper respects to him this morning. Yesterday, his sister invited me to Sunday breakfast - I had been trying to see Minh (his nephew who always translated between us) all week, but his job at the travel agency keeps him really busy.

Over beef pho and 7-Up Minh told me this version of the story: The oldest daughter - who is married with a year-old baby - was robbed on her motorbike and broke one of her legs when she went down. That happened four months ago. Two months ago, Nam's wife was walking back from the market and was hit by a motorbike, and one of her legs was broken. Meanwhile, Nam had been getting more and more sick. I knew Nam had a drinking problem, but Minh said it had gotten worse and worse.

"Nam was a very kind man," he explains, "but when he drinks, he can't control himself. He talks and isn't so nice."

So his stomach problems were probably alcohol-related, and the night he died, both his daughter and wife were upstairs with broken legs. His other daughter has been working two jobs to make ends meet, so no one was there to help him.

I'm sure this is the correct story; Minh's English is very good.

So we drive to District 8, me on the back of Minh's bike and Minh's sister and niece on the back of Nam's sister's bike, and visit Nam's house, which is the size of my kitchen. Nam's family is Christian, so a picture of Nam sits on a table with a flowered vase of incense burning in front and a picture of The Last Supper hanging above. We are given incense when we enter the house and we each bow to Nam's picture (he is about 30, very handsome) and set the incense in the vase full of sand. A figure of Christ on the cross leans against the photo.

Minh translates, and I tell his wife how sorry I am, that he was a good friend to me and to many of my friends in America.

She sits on the floor, holding a very fat grandson, her leg in a cast. She graciously thanks me for visiting, then asks how I am, how my work is going in America, and was I hit by Hurricane Sandy?

Then Minh translates this: In Vietnam, they believe that butterflies visit when the soul gets to its resting place. The other day, a butterfly flew in the house and rested on Nam's altar.

It helps to have this visit and some closure.

Yesterday I went to a special market to buy an outfit for him - here they burn paper outfits, money and houses for people to have in the afterlife. I especially like the Adidas hat. And, of course I had to buy blue...I will burn it with people who knew him when I get home.

Enjoy some stories, and feel free to post a favorite Nam memory:

The Cowboy of Nguyen Canh Chan (his story):
http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=28749709#editor/target=post;postID=6622641594629041044

When Nam Falls in Love with Sue:

http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=28749709#editor/target=post;postID=8902752854282054866

When Nam Involves Himself in my Shoe Decision

http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=28749709#editor/target=post;postID=1726408653550050348

The Day Nam Finds Out I Have a Motorbike:
http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=28749709#editor/target=post;postID=2902137171620199235

When Nam Spies on Me at School:

http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=28749709#editor/target=post;postID=6024456529209074672

"Hello, Sea"

2013-01-04T18:19:00.003-08:00

We visited famous temples, rode a motorbike along the coast, swam in the ocean, and learned how to make homemade pizza, ice cream and clams with linguine, but here is my favorite moment:

At about seven on the first evening - after a really full, fun day with Fran and Ann, I see Thanh lying on the bed looking at a sheet of paper with a bunch of writing on it.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Research," she answers.

"What do you mean?"

And she begins to show me the list she has made of things she wants to do while in Nha Trang. Famous temples and sites, but mostly food she wants to try: a regional fish soup, the Nha Trang version of the grilled pork assembly in rice paper I ate for lunch on my first day, a special grilled beef and a squid version of the rice cakes.

I just stare at her. I mean, I had no idea she was actually that much of a Soul Sister, too. Every single time I go on a trip, I have the same kind of list with me. I had no idea she did research.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Fran calls us a taxi and we head into town that minute to begin marking off her list. Out of a list of eleven things, we manage to do nine of them by the time we leave. Here is the fish soup:

The next morning, Fran and Ann have a motorbike delivered to their house for us and my goal to ride it up the coast to where the best beaches are - way out of town. I think this is "our" goal, but Thanh is driving, and the further we get out of town, the slower we go. I think that perhaps we are running out of gas or the bike is losing power. Finally she stops.

"Why?" she asks, indicating the open road ahead.

I'm surprised, but I say, "Because that's where the beautiful beaches are."

She is really uncomfortable.

"I don't like," she says, and I realize that she hasn't spent any of her days outside of her community - it must be really strange to feel so isolated. So we head back and find a beach in town with hardly anyone on it.

At first she is hesitant about the water. The previous night, after fish soup and the night market, I drag her down to the water and make her wade in it. She screams and laughs, but then finally relaxes and says, "Hello, Sea."

But in the daylight the waves aren't so menacing, and pretty soon I see her all the way in the water in her shorts - she doesn't have a swimming suit.

And later, while laying on the sand, she says, "Freedom."

She says so many good one-liners during the 48 hours. When we wake up on the first day, the first thing she says is, "It's so quiet." Reminded me of when Katherine was showing her a picture of her parents' Montreal cul-de-sac, covered in snow. She didn't mention the snow - her only comment, "Where are all the people?"

And on the first morning, when we walk to the end of Fran and Ann's gated community to peer over a brick wall and see the fishing community in full work mode, she says, "Two worlds." Which is exactly what that contrast is.

And after landing in Nha Trang, I don't want to make a big deal out of the fact it is her first time on an airplane, but when the plane stops, she says, "Not scared."

But our favorite line the whole trip is something I told her that my three-year-old niece, Ava, said on Christmas Eve when my whole family showed up: "I can't believe my eyes!" To every beautiful scene or temple or experience, this is our on-going joke.

It's really fun to be at the temples with Thanh. She is very spiritual, and places money in all of the donation boxes. When we pray to the Lady Buddha, she says, "You ask her anything, anything..." and when we pass an elephant god, we rub his head then rub our hair, "For lucky." She buys incense at each place, and offers gratitude constantly. She also buys Ann many "host gifts" - flowers, candy, a lucky Buddhist medallion. She and Ann are fast friends - Ann is Vietnamese, Fran is American. They met in Philadelphia, and have had numerous experiences in education here. Right now they are on a break from it all.

I learn some pretty shocking news from Thanh during these 48 hours, and I wish I could see the look on Katherine's face when she reads this. But, here you go: the fabric stand is Thuy's, not Thanh's. Thanh just "helps." She doesn't get any money from her work.

"I don't need money," she explains. Thuy pays for everything - the house, food, rent for the stand. Thanh gets a little money from selling silver on the side, but it's just a part of being in the family. I ask her why Thuy does the stand and she says, "She's good (at it)." The other day when I was buying fabric, I asked Thanh "how much?" and she said, "I don't know. Ask Thuy." And that kind of surprised me. But now I understand that it's not Thanh's thing.

The other shocking news: there was this guy that we always saw kind of hanging around the stand, and we never really knew who he was. Hanging out at their house as much as I have been, I see that he's there in the mornings to assemble the stand, then at night to put everything away. I ask her who he is.

"He's my brother," she says. Then she says that he's different. I ask her what she means and she says, "Asberger's."

Every once in a while, she comes up with a word like that, a word that it seems that she shouldn't know. But she explains that he sets up the stand and takes it down as his part in the family business, and that when he's not doing that he just "walks around Ho Chi Minh City."

Anyway, we had a lovely time. When we land and walk out of the airport to smell the city and feel its electricity, she says, "I love love love Saigon."

Nha Trang is beautiful, and the air is clean, but home is home.

For me it is so refreshing to see my friends - we had so many significant times together. One reason I wanted to come to Nha Trang was to say goodbye to a very good mutual friend who had passed away over a year ago. Fran and I sat on the top of the Catholic church where he's buried and called him names for not being with us.

"I got him back, though. He's going to kill me for burying him at the Catholic church." But the view from up there is beautiful, and I think he is happy, despite himself. So this is a trip of many emotions. Many.

Here are the squid rice cakes - yum:

And Nha Trang version of wrapped goodies in rice paper:

A Formula

2013-01-01T17:37:00.002-08:00

This morning a fish tried to escape his blue plastic bin (and death by bludgeoning) and landed on my foot. Frogs get their heads snipped off and- after their bodies jump around a bit- their skins are slipped off, like t-shirts. Chickens are beheaded and quartered on the chopping block, and shrimp free- fall off of their metal stands.

Is it being more aware of the cycle of life that makes me feel more present here? Or is it just all of the senses required to exist here moment-by-moment? Having to plaster myself against the fabric stand to let a motorbike pass through the narrow alley after hearing a horn beep, dodging roosters and dogs (thinking they are rats), feeling the sweat and tasting the salt, listening to the vendors advertising, selling...since I can't gather it up and liquify it and shoot it into my veins, I will have to settle for coming back to re-acquaint my soul and my taste buds whenever I can.

Thuy and Thanh's house, the size of my living room and kitchen - maybe 600 square feet - houses anywhere from five to ten people at a time. Grandparents care for kids, and vendors watch out for each other - and borrow change and use toilets in neighborhood homes.

Here is a formula:

Fulfillment = scissored frog heads (nothing against the frogs) + pet roosters - heat and humidity + rice cakes (1000) + green tapioca balls filled with mung bean paste covered with coconut milk (that vendor was here this morning) + hair washes and My Spa Massages X community.

Life is in constant motion.This is math I understand.

Food School

2013-01-01T17:34:00.002-08:00

This trip is not about food discovery, it's only about food memory. Making sure my taste intelligence stays current.

This is banh cuon - rice noodle ribbons, deep fried savory bread (with shrimp and mung beans), Vietnamese bologna (I will never ask what's in it, it's delicious), basil, cucumber and bean sprouts. And, of course, the nuoc cham.

Nam saw me eating this at a market stand one morning and, of course, became fixated on the fact that I wasn't eating the best banh cuon in the city. So the next day he took me to this drive-up stand, pushed his way to the front and ordered. I became hooked on it. So yesterday, in Nam's honor, I walked here and ate it with the locals. Of course I got lots of stares, but if I cared about that I wouldn't have left the castle for two years.

And this is banh beo Hue - glutinous rice filled with shrimp (shells still on) and mung bean, the bologna again, topped with cilantro, croutons and dusted with shrimp flakes (orange stuff). And topped with nuoc cham. Very similar to banh cuon, but different consistency. Same same but different.

And to close, this is Hainese Signapore steamed chicken over yellow rice, topped with cilantro, cucumbers, with a side of sweet dipping sauce. I found this place on accident once when I was lost in a downpour on my way home from school. I almost couldn't find it again, but after three trips down the wrong street, there it was.

OK, that is all for Food School today.

Seattle, Here You Are

2013-01-01T17:15:00.001-08:00

She's Just Like That

2013-01-01T05:25:00.001-08:00

I forgot how amazing My Spa (pronounced "Me Spa") is.

Thuy leaves her baby with Thanh for the first extended time in six months and we take her motorbike downtown. We walk in to the smell of bamboo and the sound of a waterfall and "temple music" (what Thuy calls it). We sit and drink ice tea and eat candied ginger while surrounded by pictures of Buddha, Lady Buddha and trees and flowers.

The massage begins with a cool, lemongrass-scented wash cloth (whole-body), which is followed by aromatherapy lemon oil rubbed above our noses, a facial bone structure massage and cool strips of cucumber placed all across our faces for the duration of the massage. The massage style incorporates hot stones and stretching. Cost - $18.

Here's why I love Thuy: We are in the small elevator with our two masseuses, heading up to the second floor, when one of them (after staring at me for a long moment - me, two heads taller than Thuy), says something to Thuy in Vietnamese.

Thuy gestures to me and says, "Sister" in a matter-of-fact tone, then pauses for effect before cracking up.

During the massage, she's on the low table next to me, separated by a red sheer curtain in the dark. When our girls leave to change towels - after a moment of silence - she says, "Maggie. How are you?" She's had two massages in her life: Katherine treated her to the first, and now this.

Afterward, she hands her girl a tip. Wanting to match it, I ask how much she gave her.

"One hundred thousand," she says ($6). "Because she very good. And she need money for everything," she adds, with an all-encompassing gesture. Thuy needs money for everything, too.

Fifty thousand would have been more than enough. But Thuy is generous and kind and is just like that.

Thuy is very happy with her life - with her husband and her baby. She knew what she wanted and made it happen...just like she made me be her friend four and a half years ago.

Luck, Temples, Gates and Salons

2012-12-31T17:38:00.001-08:00

I just got doused with luck!

Babies don't wear diapers here because of heat rash, so as soon as the first spoon full goes in, I feel the warmth. When the photographer, Thanh, sees the puddle she says, "You are very lucky!"

(Amy can you see my lashes here?)

Anyway, Happy New Year...if you are my friend or family member -or if you are a human being on this planet- you were wished "happy, lucky and healthy" at this Indian Buddhist temple on New Year's Eve. We placed five sticks of incense each in front of the Lady Buddha after doing the prayer gesture (one for each figure in the temple).

Of course, this night means nothing to most Vietnamese - they are waiting for the Chinese New Year in February, Tet, to bring in the Year of the Snake.

But Thanh knows it's important to me, so she, Tu, Monkey Boy and I head there after dinner at their house. (Tu and Monkey Boy are her niece and nephew). By the way, dinner tonight was spaghetti with meat sauce. But if you look what is on the table, you can see how to make it Vietnamese Style...just add soy sauce and a bit of hot chili sauce and eat it in the same way you eat soup here (roll the noodles with a fork, then dip it in a bowl of soy sauce, then in a bowl of chili sauce).

Do you think it was good? Thuy and Thanh are the best cooks I know. They can make anything taste good. I was willing to suspend my judgment. But - no, it wasn't good at all. I guess it's the equivalent of us trying to make their food. I guess. It never quite translates, does it?

"Tu and Monkey Boy love spaghetti," she says. "But my mother don't like." Her mother cooks duck over fire perfectly; of course she wouldn't like it. They always told me when they didn't like what I cooked (which was always), but what do I do?

I say, "It's really good."

After our temple visit and ice cream with strawberries, Thanh is tired and needs to put everyone to bed. So I consider what else I want to eat and decide to brave the backpacker district for the chicken salad at Lam Cafe (Far Far Away). The backpacker district is something we loved to hate, but we were constantly drawn there during our two years here. The thing about that Lam chicken salad is this: I hardly ever got to eat it due to The Jeremy and Phillipa Gates of Hell. Now, this salad is really delicious: grilled chicken and onions over fresh cucumbers, tomatoes and lettuce with this light vinegary sauce. But two British grade school teachers, Jeremy and Phillipa, sat in front of the Lam Cafe Every. Single. Night. For hours (all cafes on this street are open-aired and plastic chairs spill onto the sidewalks and I had to pass through them to ascend to an upper level). Now, this is depressing enough. All the amazing food in Saigon, and they ate there night after night, and held court there for their entertainment (I guess). But they were by far the most negative people I have ever met in my life. Jeremy taught ART at the GRADE SCHOOL to the sweetest kids on the planet, and the kids all hated art because he was mean to them.

You could have taught these kids about dirt for an entire year and they would have been enthusiastic about it.

A few times I braved the Gates of Hell for this really good salad. Then I would come home and say to Katherine, "Never again. I cannot pass through those gates."

Every once in a while I would ride my motorbike slowly by the restaurant to see if it was clear. It never was. They ate there every night. For hours. Did I already mention that? The salad, so good - and Jeremy and Phillipa, so awful and full of complaints about everything. So tonight, when I got the salad on my mind, the salad free and clear, I couldn't get it off. Even when I realized that the backpacker district was full of drunk foreigners and bikes so thick across the street they weren't even moving because of the new year celebration, I prevailed and made it to the cafe.

When a very persistent, crazy vendor tried to sell me some pot (and made me say "no" five ways), the couple sitting next to me and I were kind of forced into a conversation. A really nice couple from the Czech Republic. They had just come from Laos, where they had rented motorbikes. One of their bikes broke down every ten kilometers, so they ended up pushing both bikes for hours. Anyway, it was one of those great moments of travel, when you meet for a moment in time and share experiences. And they had had a horrible experience, and they Did Not Complain. They laughed about it. They were my serum to the Gates of Hell.

Today I really entered into the flow of the city. I met two especially interesting and beautiful former students for lunch, Diwa and Mithi (I met an especially interesting and beautiful co-worker, Nina, last night - it's the only way they come here). Then I took some fabric to my most amazing seamstress across town for a little clothes-making, then walked around for about two hours. It was much cooler today. As I sat at a red plastic roadside table drinking pressed sugarcane juice with two chickens under my feet and five jars of cobras next to me, watching all the people passing on their motorbikes (about 30% of them texting while driving), I thought, "I'm really here now."

Oh, and this morning I went to Trin for a hair wash. She is The Most Amazing Hair Washer Ever. As I am lying there, I feel someone slip off my flip flops and realize I am getting a pedicure without requesting one. This is the place of magical permanent lashes and pedicures. Not just any pedicure, either. A design. Not really my thing, but when in Vietnam...And I know this is almost heresy, but I have switched my loyalty to Salon MiMi from the Bum Bum, only because I love Trin so much.

Some things just have to change, right?

I have convinced Thuy to get a massage with me today. I asked her last night and she said, "No...I don't want to leave my baby."

"For one hour," I said.

"I think about it."

And this morning, she greeted me with a smile and a "yes." So happy.

Scenes from the Hood

2012-12-30T17:42:00.001-08:00

Garlic Lady has to be my favorite vendor. She is sassy and has hit me every day for being gone for two years. She tells me I have to come by and say "hello" five times each morning, so I do what she tells me.

The Castle gate, for Katherine:

And Laughing Grandpa, Henry's father, or father-in-law...I'll never know which. The happiest baby in the world - the one he played with constantly for two years, is now the happiest four-year-old in the world.

Candle Lady and Rice Cake Lady. Yesterday Rice Cake Lady delivered cakes to my hotel. The guy there translated a conversation between us - so cool.

My Kind of 2pm

2012-12-30T17:31:00.001-08:00

My niece Ava's tape artwork hangs next to the wall Christmas tree. Out of all the gifts I brought (a suitcase full), I think this piece of art is Thanh's favorite.

Seafood Couple

2012-12-30T17:20:00.001-08:00

This is one of my mom's favorite food memories from Christmas three years ago: the seafood stand right around the corner from the castle. My mom loved these scallops best...you dip them in a mixture of salt, pepper and lime. Scallops are served this way all across Vietnam. The Seafood Couple who runs this stand are extremely gracious, but isn't almost everyone here?

Pictured to the right: Fingernail clams with rau muong. I love the little squares of pure fat, like bacon, that she stir fries into it...

Remedies

2012-12-30T17:13:00.001-08:00

When you have a headache, stomach ache, or an injury caused from a Saigon Cowboy while living in Nguyen Canh Chan, before heading to the local drugstore it is advisable to visit the fabric stand first. You will get a diagnosis and a remedy - possibly tea with ginger for your stomach or tamarind root for your motorbike burn.

This morning I arrive to the stand with a headache and am told to:

1) Eat my favorite pho ga (chicken) of the gods, right around the corner from the castle, pictured here:
2) Come back and drink a vial of calcium (out of a straw) and take a pill
3) Drink hot water
4) Eat Mangosteens (they are in season, lucky me...my favorite fruit ever, gummy bears in fruit form)

And here is the view from my headache station this morning (I am told to stay put for a while, so will take this time to post a bunch of pictures - you can see from this perspective that the stand is right outside the house):