Good-bye house, we're moving to a motel

 A long and complicated story about the house we are renting will come to an abrupt end in a few days when we move into the Nha Nghi, a motel pretty much right behind our house. It's one street over from our old house and Phuong's family's house, so really, there is someplace like home. I admit I'll miss the lousy electric, leaky roof, dangerous stairs, hyperactive gas stove, the geckos, and the noisy birds that live on the third floor of the old house. But as long as Phuong and I are together, life is grand. I've rented two houses here, and let's just say the end game in both instances wasn't particularly pleasant, so moving on isn't very difficult. We're on the fourth floor of the motel (that's what they call it here), which means we still have the joy of going up and down dangerous stairs several times a day.
After tennis, Phuong and I usually go to a coffee shop called Lido's on the Dong Nai River. An alley leads to Lido's, and that's where everyone parks their bikes. When we park my bike, we can look in the side window of a small household plumbing store. It was there that we met "the nice lady," who works in the plumbing store. We chatted with her through the window and became friends. She gave us a book written by her friend, an American who fought in the Vietnam War. Much of the book focuses on events in Dong Nai Province, where we live. Sadly, "the nice lady" quit and has been replaced by "the not as nice lady." The replacement lady isn't mean or anything, but she seems bored with the job -- she cuts her toenails while she's sitting behind the very small counter, but at least the clippings appear to be aimed toward a trashcan. The other day, she was on her cell phone crying while talking to whoever (crying females aren't that uncommon here, from what I've seen).  I miss "the nice lady."
Also, the staff at Lido's changes almost daily. The guy -- a kid, really -- who gave me a cool key chain, is gone. A nice little girl (about 16), who jokingly thought I was going to throw her into the Dong Nai River one day, is gone. I tried to speak Vietnamese to her at Phuong's urging and the little girl thought I said I was going to toss her into the river. We had a good laugh. Every time she saw me she would say, "No river. No swim." The world of coffee shops here is pretty fast-moving and interesting. My former favorite coffee shop, Vang's, now employs girls with short shorts and short skirts. It wasn't like that before, when the wonderful Nguyen girls in bluejeans worked there. The other day, this young security guard at Vang's wouldn't let me park my bike in the 50 open spaces in front of the shop. He wanted me to squeeze my bike into a crowded alley. Good-bye, Vang's.
On a sad note, Phuong's grandmother died today. Phuong found out right after tennis. We'll pay our respects tomorrow (Friday) and Phuong's grandmother, who was 97, will be buried Sunday. Grandmom had eight children, Phuong's wonderful mom among them, of course. God bless.