Rain, sweat and tears

The rainy season is starting, which means I travel between teaching sites in the rain, either on the back of a bike or on my own bike, and I arrive wet and sweaty. The plastic rain coats sold here are like sweat suits, so the rain mixes with sweat and you smell like a wet dog for the day. The rain just seems to make the locals cold, because the temperature will drop to a brisk 90 degrees F when it storms. The humidity is also about 90 percent. Brrrr. The weather has produced a weird rash on my forearms, which I hope is just a standard heat rash, not some exotic, tropical toxin. Unfortunately, I see a doctor's visit in my future.
I've been drinking lots of water in a lame attempt to get healthier, but the result has been buckets of sweat pouring out of my body 24/7. I've always been a heavy sweater, and the water therapy is only making matters worse.
My daily tennis with Phuong has been fun, hot, and of course, weird. The chuckleheads that play doubles when we finish got into a shouting match the other day, with one guy quitting the match and leaving the court. A guy sort of double-hit a return because the ball hit his frame and strings at the same time and then he "pushed" the ball over the net.  One of his opponents said he hit the ball twice and wanted the point. The shouting ensued, followed by the walk-off.  Whatever.
When Phuong and I play, one guy does robot-like aerobics about 10 feet from me when I serve. Big distraction. The talkers are back, also. Vietnamese is essentially a mono-syllabic, tonal language. The tones can be sharp, so two guys simply chatting sound like they're fighting about spousal infidelity. I got pissed the other day with all the crap going on next to me, so I yelled "screw this", paid my money and left with 15 minutes of time still owed to us. I didn't care about the money -- the tennis is reasonably priced, but I don't pay to be bothered by robot-man or the mouths that roar. Some pretty boy with a David Beckham haircut showed up one day and came on way too strong to Phuong. What a wing-ding this loser was. All I want to do is play a little tennis. Just another day in the life here.
I wanted to go to the U.S. in June, but Phuong couldn't get an interview at the U.S. embassy until July. We'll see what happens. If she can't go, then I'll travel solo.
Two houses are being built directly behind our house, so the melodic sound of construction work starts at 6 a.m. and continues until 6 p.m. And the good news: They work seven days a week. Speaking of melody, a guy on our street died and the mourning requires three days of music, drum pounding and singing. Pretty much around the clock. I respect everyone's religion, unless it involves cutting people's heads off, but kids have school, people have work and I have to sleep. Too bad, I guess. In Ho Chi Minh City, I was told mourners have to rent a hall for their ceremonies. Good idea.
The adult classes I have are pretty quiet, but the kids classes are awesome.  I break the ice with adults by speaking Vietnamese. That way, they can laugh at me and maybe not feel so embarrassed speaking English. The kids don't care so they're a hoot. Kids are great everywhere. Too bad they grow up to be adults who talk way too loud and do aerobics next to me while I play tennis.