Extreme Makeover: Home Edition

I sure am glad I waited three weeks for this apartment.  It’s hard to describe how it feels to come home to a place that I inhabit solo.  It feels good to be within these walls.  All the bars on the windows and doors, which I will refer to as “the fixins,” are so french quarter with the lavender walls that I think, “You are lovely against the white shutters” and I beam in their general direction.  What I was expecting to be a large porch has been transformed into a magical second bedroom, catching the morning light and encouraging stomach crunches, push-ups, and dumbbell curls.  The truly awesome thing about this place is that there are windows between every room.  The two bedrooms are separated by large sliding windows.  There are small pop out windows from the bathroom to the kitchen.  There are sliders from the second bedroom to the kitchen.  Who needs privacy?  Since I have no furniture, I also think this would make a good Marrakeshian “pillows everywhere” room.  My friends from Edmonds, WA have deemed it Carrot’s room.  They imagine that I will adopt Carrot and they can be co-owners from the next street over.  See Carrot’s ad here:

I have a Siberian husky dog. But unfortunately, my mom is allergic to its fur so I have to sell her, which is my last choice. Otherwise, my mom will throw her to the street :( This is so sad because she's very special to me.

Some information about her

- Her name is Carrot

- She's a Siberian husky

- She's 6 months old & weight ~20kg

- She's very nice & friendly, even with cats

- She loves to go jogging, play ball

- She prefers beef & pork & ribs than seafood or crab/fish/prawn

- She's well taken care by my uncle, who is a vet, so I don't have any paper but if she has any problem, just ring me, I'll tell my uncle to come over to your place :)

Siberian husky is easily bored if you leave them alone. So I want to find Carrot a loving, caring new parents. I don't want my baby to be left behind. Carrot will come with some of her favorite toys :)

I bought her for 12 mil dong. I will sell her for 10 mil dong. I can reduce the price a little bit if you are a really big dog-lover.

Email me at catherine5989@hotmail.com or text me if you are serious. Thanks

But I already have a CARmela and a ROTtweiler, and there is no room in my life for CARROT.  James and Megan do not cease to pursue the dream.  Off of Carrot’s room (the name will stick, I think) is a barred up window with an opening that swings shut.  My landlady speaks no english, so she flung open the cut-out and mimed jumping out of it.  I made a “birds flying” motion with my hands and an implied question mark.  Maybe this is where you release birds that accidently fly into the house.  She shook her head and was stumped.  Her daughter told me today that it’s the fire escape.  Hmmmm.  If I jumped outta there, I would get entangled in a mess of telephone cables which hover over a barbed wire fence.  Tough decision.

There are still a few things left to be done for the apartment to be completely ready.  Had to walk about a mile to the Vincom Towers, a shopping center, to get towels.  I went into the nicest bedding store I could find, grabbed two towels, two hand towels, and bathmat, and rang them up.  The total came out to one million five hundred thousand dong.  It's twenty thousand dong to a dollar.  I guess I grabbed the equivalent of The Hotel Collection.  Oh well.  Now I have really nice looking towels that don't really get you dry.  I have ok’d the fact that I might come home to workers all up in my house.  I just pack all the important/expensive stuff to work with me.  Tonight I came home and noticed that about a quarter of a new bottle of Aquafina was missing.  Wow, they totally just opened my shit.  I had also created a dish dry rack with a large bowl and all my clean dishes drying in it.  For some reason, it was half full of water.  It was sitting next to one of my formerly clean cups which was also half full of water.  I rewashed everything, and thought to myself, “Really!?”

And that was my first full day in my Vietnam apartment. Minus the bulk of the day training my chiropractic staff.  More to come on that later.

Front door area

Check out my sweet piano!

Workout Room

No Reason to Cook when Good Dinners Cost a Dollar

Bathroom Decor

Wash Machine

Dryer

Tourist Woman

Today is my last real “vacation” day.  I never thought I could be so content doing nothing, but it’s been pretty cool.  Every morning I wake up on the second floor of my hotel, cursing the slats in the door that let morning sounds drift up from the ground floor.  I go downstairs and Tuyet (we had been calling her Twit, but it’s really more like Doo-wit, meaning snow) makes me breakfast.  I realized today that she has never had a day off.  I mentioned this to her, and she said, “yes I work full time,” and then smiled at me.  Poor thing rides a bicycle 7 kilometers to work every morning, and spends every afternoon at cooking school.  She has gotten in the habit of calling me ‘sister’ and every day we have language lessons at my table.  By the time I've finished my second cup, there are yellow post its scattered all over the table scribbled with english and vietnamese.  Vietnamese sure have a hard time with the ‘shhh’ sound.  Sometimes I have to remind her that she should take care of the people waiting for their first cup of coffee before we continue.  Today I learned, “I love you very much,” which sends the bell boys peeling out of the room giggling with their hands over their mouths.  I learned a phrase about how the vietnamese girls like to come out at night (to kiss) from the front desk girl, and after repeating it back to her, she said, “Madame I think you are very funny.”  Well you’re the one who taught it to me.

Tomorrow is not only Thanksgiving, it is also moving day!  Have no idea how the apartment turned out, so I’m very excited to see my new digs.  I have reservations at a restaurant with my American friends.  For $30 we can enjoy turkey day from far away.  This is an outrageous dinner bill by vietnamese standards.  I can get a delicious meal for three to four dollars, and we are talking more than one course.  But a small price to pay for a taste of home.

Friday morning will be my official first day of work, though I’ve been doing a fair amount to get the clinic going.  Unfortunately, opening day keeps getting pushed back.  If I wasn’t enjoying myself doing nothing so much, I’d probably be a little peeved.  As of right now, we have two chiropractors come opening day.  The clinic will be open 7 days a week, 9am to 9pm.  Looks like I’ll be making my overtime.  I’ve been put in charge of recruitment of new chiropractors.  This is really fun and I’m enjoying the process.  If only I had someone like me to answer my questions before I came.  Blind leaps.  They make life more interesting.  I really do need to get some people over here though, to avoid burnout.  I went to meet with the boss the other day, and she had a makeshift round table going with about thirty staff members.  I was as I usually am, sorta hippied out in flip flops, and I can only imagine what they were thinking.  I said as best as I could in Vietnamese, "I don't speak Vietnamese."  Then a little talking in English.  Then the boss said in English very sternly, "who can understand her!?"  Doesn't seem like anyone could.  I start training them on Friday, and who knows how long it will take for my message to come across.  I think I'll start out with the Harvey Lillard story, back in 1895 . . . 

For not knowing who I was getting involved with, it sure has been a pleasant surprise.  My boss has a picture of her and John McCain on her desk, and she has been on the cover of the vietnamese equivalent of Times magazine.  Her brother is an artist who has sold his works to the Bills, (clinton and gates), as well as various royalty, etc etc.  They take good care of me.  I feel like there is a whole team of people designed to make my life go smooth.  They pop up with dinner invites and shopping outings and I am forever grateful.  There is a pretty large expat community here, and most days I am meeting up with someone new, gently putting my feelers out into this new life.  

That’s the summary for now.  Pictures to follow of the apartment!

Language Lessons

I have been in Vietnam for about three weeks now.  When you first arrive it’s like you see everything from the other side of the window.  There’s a barrier and you don’t quite know how to get to the other side.  Riding in the backseat of a taxi, buildings and people and motorbikes blur together and you wonder how you will ever become a part of the beating pulse that is Hanoi.  Then as you sink into a routine, you begin to recognize the street corners.  You know the lady selling the french bread spends spare time scrutinizing craniums, plucking white hairs from scalps that are going alarmingly bald from the process.  You make a fist and hold it defensively near your chin, because you swear, if the zippo guy strikes a light in your face one more time, you may just knock him out.  You watch three little boys perched on a parked motorbike at the roads edge, yelling “hello taxi!” and you wonder how you could ever get to the point of letting your children play unattended next to a busy street.  And then you start seeing tourists everywhere, and you have to chuckle as you watch a husband forge into traffic as his wife whimpers and darts back to safety.

I told someone last night that I finally feel like I am beginning to sink into this place, and he said, “Careful!  Pretty soon you’ll be kicking toward the surface trying to get out!”  It will be what it will be.  Every day I try to learn a few new words in Vietnamese.  As I sit here writing this, my cook is asking me, “ex-cuse-a-me madame,” and pointing to her eyes, nose, mouth, ears, for me to translate.  Yesterday she taught me to count to ten . . . mot, hai, ba, bun . . . 

The Vietnamese language seems impossible.  I have an upper hand because there are many similar sounds in chinese that white folks just have a really hard time with.  Vietnamese is a tonal language involving six tones.  There are upswings, downswings, flats, and who knows what else.  What this means is that you could have a word like, “Ngon.”  I know that it means delicious or fingers or toes, depending on how the ‘o’ sound comes out.  The only way I can think to describe this difference is to ask you to remember saying “ahhhhhh” at the doctor’s office.  One “ahhhh” might be the sound that comes out through barely parted lips, and the other would be opening your mouth as wide as possible.  The thing is, if you are off slightly (and how could you not be) they will stare at you with blank faces and your efforts will be all for naught.  No wonder most expats don’t bother.  

I am planning on starting a beginner’s course in vietnamese next week.  However, last week I answered an ad in The New Hanoian for Russian Lessons with Tania.  Nobody understands why I’m doing this.  I think Russian is the most beautiful language while Vietnamese sounds like cats fighting.  Vietnamese is only useful in Vietnam, whereas a vast part of the world speaks Russian.  AND, when Vietnamese don’t speak english, there is a good chance that they may know Russian.  And I think I should get fluent in Russian, because in my estimation I’m about 15-20 percent there already.

I met Tania at a coffee shop and I liked her immediately.  She pulled up on her motorbike, greeted me, and began her mental estimation of how much I knew already.  It was meant to be a meeting to determine if we would be a good match.  We ended up spending five hours together, as she dragged me all over the city on the back of her motorcycle to show me her favorite city spots.  We have already had our first lesson in which I learned the complex russian alphabet.  I’ve gone back in time to my child days of decoding puzzles.  It’s a pretty satisfying feeling when I have a “breakthrough.”  She kind of closes her eyes in proudness and gives me that thumbs up like I just split an atom.  So cool.  Mental Exercise.  Now to start doing the work out videos I just downloaded on iTunes.  The food is much too good around here.

House Hunters International

So in every immigrant’s new life, there comes the issue of where to live.  Here were my options: take the recommendation of the bosses and go for the place that wouldn’t be ready for three weeks OR look around with rental companies who are looking to make their cut.  First I tried the rental company, because three weeks in a hotel can add up:

the house i looked at was really neat and in a good location, but the shower is right over the toilet so the bathroom floor would always be wet, and it sort of stinks, the kind of stink that would never go away cuz of the drain pipe.  But its right on a really central street lined with trees, with a little "rosario market down below" and a bar just around the corner called 17 cowboys, lots of little pho stands, and tree lined streets.  Pleasant.  So you walk down this little alley past side stall hair salons and other eateries, past little hanging cages with a songbird each, and then you turn left into another short alley and there are some really tall narrow buildings lining this charming little mini alley.  So its got a pretty front gate from floor to about 10 feet high, and it's locked.  Beyond is a small courtyard where you could potentially park a motorbike.  It turns out to be a "homestay" with the owners living downstairs and two apartments upstairs.  The other apartment is an american couple.  I'm told the owner speaks good english.  There is a maid, and I can probably convince her to do my laundry for cheaps.  So you step up to their bottom level, and keep in mind tall and narrow, cuz their house is spread up five levels, with the top two being the apartments.  Honestly feels like a tree house.  There is a bridge over a tiny pond going into their kitchen.  The wood steps are a dark beautiful color, and you climb up to the second level and see a piano and a guitar, and a family room in general. Then its a stair climb, but again, beautiful winding wooden stairs as you pass a wall decorated with adorable regional pots.  then you get to the fourth floor, and at the landing you see a door to the left and to the right, both which are locked.   The maid flings open the door to the left, and it is a tiny kitchen area with a fridge, cupboards, counter, a hot plate, and a dinky kitchen table.  Mona said, I betcha that fridge stinks!  The door to the right leads to the living area, opening into a living room with the ratty furniture, go past the tiny bathroom, decent sized bedroom with no mirrors, and a little balcony where you can sit outside.  A wall of windows face the stairwell, but there are curtains that can be let down.

all this for 500/month.  pros: feels like a birdcage/treehouse, cage within a cage situation due to the fact that you would have to get past the gates and a whole family and my locked doors to get in.  Probably the family would look after me a bit, and would potentially have friends upstairs.  great location, probably 1 mile to work.  cons: less privacy, stinky.  and my friend helping me said it might be more embarrassing to bring someone home.  thanks. for. that. info. lol.

Option 2: Take this 70 square meters apartment and hope it turns out great.  Nice view of a lake, private, down an alley filled with police officers families, so much less chance of crime.  Cons: Not as attractive of a neighborhood.  1 mile from work from a less awesome direction.  At first the land lady wanted $500/mo, $1500 due upon looking, and $1500 due upon move in, No wash machine.  My boss had a nice little chat with her, telling me one must make demands, and got it down to $1350 every three months with a wash machine.  When the lady said she was worried about me running off, my boss claimed responsibility for me.  She got my back!

View from the Porch

 Kitchen and door to the porch

Protection from street thugs : )

I'm going with Option 2!  Move in date is November 22nd!  Stay tuned for "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition!"

Some Hanoi-Ances

I was walking down a street, and man bolted out in front of me, stuck one finger over his left nostril, and sent a snot bullet whizzing past in front of me.  It happens a lot.  No need for Kleenex over here.  Thanks for helping me work on my limbo!

It was pointed out to me by another American that many men have super long thumb fingernails.  We commiserated on the fact that it must be used to scratch deeply into itchy areas.  

I’m not sure if it expresses gratitude for a great meal, but I have a hard time concentrating on palatable pleasures when I can hear people eating from across the room.  Most people eat with their mouths open, smacking their chops happily with absolutely no self awareness.  I know this, because I can’t stop staring at them, as if my pleading eyes will make them stop.

Sometimes people just break out into song as they are hangin’ curbside, and they are singing with their eyes closed and all their heart.   And it's just plain amusing.

I get mad when people can’t understand me.  I know it’s wrong to get upset.  I come to their country and they can’t speak MY language!?  Just part of why I made myself do this in the first place.

I was in a tiny shoe shop and the shopgirl just lit up on a cigarette.  Can’t escape cigarette smoke here : (


I saw a man get hit by a bus trying to make a three point turn.  He was standing with his back to the bus, smoking a cigarette.  The look on his face when he realized he was being run down by a bus was priceless.  He went to the window to chew the driver out, and the driver laughed and drove away.  

It is normal for someone to hock a loogie on the street in mid conversation with no shame and continue the conversation.


You guys just had daylight savings and I went from 12 hours from Texas time to 12 hours from Carolina time.  I guess Vietnam can't be bothered.

Observations thus far.

Oh, one more that I can only speculate on; calling the cable guy.

Sapa, Vietnam

Currently trekking around Sapa, a mountain town in northern Vietnam.  Tonight we will do a homestay in a village.  More to come, but I just wanted to post some pictures.

Taxi!

So my mom is here for two weeks and we are trying to be in vacation mode/find a place to live/get to know the city.  The hotel is starting to feel like home and the staff like family.  There is one shining girl in particular who is always chirping, “Hello madame,” and screeching “Yes of course, madame!” to every question we ask.  One night we told her we were on our way to dinner to the restaurant Highway 4 (from the Lonely Planet guidebook.)  I had just spent 30 minutes researching which restaurant I wanted to go to while Mona slept, hunched over my laptop uncomfortably as there is no desk at which to write.  So this little chickie asked us where we were going to eat, and when we told her she scrunched up her face remorsefully and said, “I think I know someplace better for you.”  So while I nodded and smiled at her as she called a taxi, I still got into the taxi and gave the address to Highway 4, a restaurant of high reviews.  On the ride, we passed a poppin restaurant filled with people and good vibes.  I recognized the name as another restaurant from the book that I wanted to check out.  For a split second, I wanted to yell, “stop the car.”  But little good that does when the driver doesn’t speak English.  So after about another mile we arrive at Highway 4. We climb the stairs into the restaurant, but something is amiss.  There is no hostess to greet us and the tables are eerily empty.  However, clanging and voices can be heard from the kitchen, as well as voices from upstairs, so we ascend.  It seems as though a private party is going on in a side room, but all other floors are empty.  We get back to the lobby and hop around from foot to foot, wondering what the hell is going on.  As no one ever shows up, we walk back down to the street.

It’s not the busiest street, so after a minute of hoping for a taxi, we start walking toward the next street up.  But then we see a taxi parked on the side of the road with a sleeping body reclined in the driver seat.  At this moment, we have to go around him, but we are sort of stuck next to him as we don’t quite want to step out into traffic zooming around us.  So Mona being Mona, she knocks the window, and sort of puts her hands up in the air, like, “you gonna drive us?” He says yes and motions for us to get in.  Well, we can’t because the seat is totally reclined.  So we just stand there.  So he gets out and opens the door for us.  And we just look at him and look at the seat, and its sort of getting interesting watching how long its going to take him to realize we can’t get in if the seat is  down.  Finally he gets it, I show him the address of the restaurant that we passed one mile prior, and we are off.  The first thing he does is get on his cell phone like he is trying to find out what the address is.  And he is driving slow.  Really really slow.  So we take a left down a fairly narrow street, and we are starting to get into what I can only call the GHET-TO.  Mind you, the restaurant was pretty much a straight shot down a main road.  So we are creeping along past all these stalls of barber shops and ladies with their heads tipped back getting their faces tweezed.  Motorcycles are flying past us, and we are creeping along and the driver is just having himself a nice ole conversation.  At this point Mona is cussing and every other word out of her mouth is “STUPID!”

So honestly, the road keeps getting narrower, but it’s to the point that we do not want to get out of the car in this ghetto.  We come to a Y and he forks right.  At this point we make it ten more feet, and we are damn near lodged in this alley, with motorbikes pulling up in front of us and behind us as well.  At about this point he realizes that he’s gonna have to back up, but there is nowhere to go.  No one will give way.  When he backs up one foot, motorbikes flow past through the crack like a heavy leak.  People are yelling.  He is still on the phone.  He gives no regard to who he may hit, and does come within an inch of a family of three on a bike.  The angry mother pounds the car with her hand and I feel more pounding from the back of the car.  Mona’s cussing starts getting more frequent and louder.  I’m quiet and amused, because what else is there to do in a situation like this?  He looks back at me and says something in a very desperate manner.  Mona tells him he's stupid.  It takes us about fifteen minutes of backing up and going forward inches at a time to get the car turned around.  We are backing into metal signs and crunching up against parked motorcycles.  We get going out of there, but remember how the road is narrow?  Other cars are driving toward us flashing their brights. Our driver just plows ahead and when there is nowhere else to go, he tries to veer up onto the side walk, and unbelievably, he makes enough room for the cars to get around.  But then we are hung up on something and the car is not moving.  I can see a main road a short ways down a side alley, so we throw the meter amount of money at him and fling ourselves from our trap.  We hail a taxi and make it back to the restaurant that I almost yelled “stop” for an hour before.  If only, right?

The ride back to the hotel costs twice as much as it should, like the meter is on fast forward.  By now I know the roads well enough to also know that he is not taking the most direct route.  It can make you feel like a victim and harden your heart toward what you idealized as a wonderful cultural experience.  But then you gotta think, if I was driving a taxi all day and some foreigners jumped in my cab, would I enjoy the ride a bit in order to not work so hard looking for the next pickup?  And don’t chiropractors do that all the time in the insurance game?  Throwing on ice packs, therapies, and modalities which ultimately grow the dollars per ride, thus not having to attract more patients in to make the “feeding the family” quota?  Who is to say that the path back to health won’t be stronger with the extra attention, or the ride back to the hotel more enriching with the extra bit of sightseeing?  And who’s to say it isn’t being taken for a ride.