Phuong and I, proven to be legally sane after an exhaustive interview and testing process by some psychologist, went to the courthouse in Bien Hoa last week where we were exhaustively interviewed by yet another guy in black slacks and a white, button-down shirt. He asked if we can communicate with each other. He asked if we were happy. Phuong did all the talking, probably out of fear I would say something rude or stupid. Smart woman. And the results -- along with all the paperwork obtained through numerous trips to Ho Chi Minh City -- are in. We're getting married March 10. That turns out to be the day after my dad's birthday. My dad died three years ago, so he won't be coming to the wedding. Neither will my mom; she died almost nine years ago. I really wish my mom could have met Phuong. I know she would have loved her because Phuong is, well, she's so lovable ... and kind, and generous, and ... you get the idea. If I was smart, I'd marry this woman. Hey, wait. The psychologist said I was smart. Actually, he didn't say anything I could understand, but he gave me a paper that said I had a 107 IQ. Anyway, no one is invited to our wedding, and we're not having a party. We're unconventional ... Phuong became pregnant over five months ago, we've lived together here and there for more than 17 months and got a real house together a little more than a month ago, and now we're getting married. Maybe we'll start dating after the wedding. We're both so happy that it's difficult to put into words. God knows I didn't come to Vietnam to find a wife and have a baby. Quite the contrary. I wanted to teach, experience the culture, and move on. And after I met Phuong, I had several good job offers that I rejected. I didn't leave because I felt like the love of my life -- Phuong -- was here, in Bien Hoa of all places. Sometimes, you just know when something is meant to be. Turned out I made the right decision for a change.
I made another decision last week, although it's nothing like marriage. I returned to tennis at the urging of an 84-year-old man who's super nice to me and wants me to play doubles against him and his children and friends. I agreed and he thanked me by almost taking my face off with his nasty backhand slice while I loafed at the net. Really. I just got my face out of the way, but the ball hit me in the arm. The other guys are accepting me as long as I'm with the older gentleman, and my game has improved since the layoff. Now, I'm not so much of a liability as a doubles partner. And my serve is still tops in the field.
I'm protesting Phuong's incredibly long hair by refusing to get my hair cut. But my hair, being curly (and gray, now), grows out, not down. Some days my hair is super curly, and Phuong says she likes it because it reminds her of noodles. As long as she keeps the fish sauce off of it, I'm OK with that.
My son Alec is coming to visit us in Vietnam in April. I can't wait. I really miss him and my other three children -- Jessica, Caroline, Jack -- so much. They're the greatest kids in the world.
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Monday, February 8, 2016
Special Tet blog
Editor's note: I don't like to write blogs too close together because I'm boring -- as a person and writer. But this is a special Tet New Year's Day collector's edition blog, and it's free of charge.
B.P. (Before Phuong), I was quite cynical about Tet holiday. This year, however, we had a wonderful Tet eve. We did nothing, enjoyed marvelous weather (a bit chilly for the locals, about 76 degrees F) and drank ridiculously expensive champagne at midnight while listening to, but not seeing, fireworks. Tet is the equivalent of New Year's and Christmas in the U..S., but the drinking isn't quite as over the top, everything is super cleaned up, and everyone's in a good mood. There's the same stress in the U.S. and Vietnam as everyone scrambles to get ready for the big day or days. There are cooking marathons where the women are exhausted, and massive crowds at the stores before the holidays. People just don't know how to relax, sometimes. Ah, but the White Monkey is the master of relaxation. Phuong and I mocked Tet eve and went to Metro supermarket, which I was warned not to do. But I got the Affligem beer I wanted, and we also picked up some fantastic Da Lat yogurt and ordinary canned peaches. Metro was crowded, but everyone was jammed into the fresh vegetable section, acting like they were at their neighborhood outdoor market. They'll figure it out one day. We got in and out of Metro fast, which contributed to our wonderful holiday. And just like New Year's in the U.S., I was a bit foggy when I woke up the next day. I did enjoy a virtually traffic-free walk on New Year's and a nice workout in the vacant park near our house.
Phuong, being Catholic, will go to mass three times this week -- Sunday, Monday (New Year's) and Wednesday (Ash Wednesday). And since I'm infatuated with -- and devoted to -- Phuong, I will be going to mass three times this week as well. The things we do for love. Mass is still a trip here. Guys cut me off on their bikes in the parking lot before the service just to get ahead or get a "closer" parking space, girls wear super short skirts sometimes, some pinheads use their cell phones during the service, and most people glare at small children who make noise during mass. But the priest is cool and always acknowledges me with a smile and greeting -- in English. The services are getting shorter, or at least it seems that way to me. I don't mind the service at all, but I dread the ride there on the motorbike.
Another massage parlor is opening near our house -- Massage New Style. I wonder what the "new style" is -- if I wasn't getting married, maybe I'd give it a try. I'm always up for new experiences. The New Style will be next door to Massage Pro and a block away from A Massage. Phuong says she's given all three parlors my picture with orders to call her if I show up looking for a Pro, New Style, or A massage. Spoil sport. New Style isn't open just yet, but it's "coming soon", according to the sign out front.
I tried an organic-type treatment of my cholecystitis (gall stones) last week. I ate only green apples for a day, and topped that off with a delicious glass of warm pure virgin olive oil and organic lemon juice before going to bed. I'll spare you the details of the next day, but I must say that I give the treatment a passing grade, so to speak. I told you this was a special blog.
B.P. (Before Phuong), I was quite cynical about Tet holiday. This year, however, we had a wonderful Tet eve. We did nothing, enjoyed marvelous weather (a bit chilly for the locals, about 76 degrees F) and drank ridiculously expensive champagne at midnight while listening to, but not seeing, fireworks. Tet is the equivalent of New Year's and Christmas in the U..S., but the drinking isn't quite as over the top, everything is super cleaned up, and everyone's in a good mood. There's the same stress in the U.S. and Vietnam as everyone scrambles to get ready for the big day or days. There are cooking marathons where the women are exhausted, and massive crowds at the stores before the holidays. People just don't know how to relax, sometimes. Ah, but the White Monkey is the master of relaxation. Phuong and I mocked Tet eve and went to Metro supermarket, which I was warned not to do. But I got the Affligem beer I wanted, and we also picked up some fantastic Da Lat yogurt and ordinary canned peaches. Metro was crowded, but everyone was jammed into the fresh vegetable section, acting like they were at their neighborhood outdoor market. They'll figure it out one day. We got in and out of Metro fast, which contributed to our wonderful holiday. And just like New Year's in the U.S., I was a bit foggy when I woke up the next day. I did enjoy a virtually traffic-free walk on New Year's and a nice workout in the vacant park near our house.
Phuong, being Catholic, will go to mass three times this week -- Sunday, Monday (New Year's) and Wednesday (Ash Wednesday). And since I'm infatuated with -- and devoted to -- Phuong, I will be going to mass three times this week as well. The things we do for love. Mass is still a trip here. Guys cut me off on their bikes in the parking lot before the service just to get ahead or get a "closer" parking space, girls wear super short skirts sometimes, some pinheads use their cell phones during the service, and most people glare at small children who make noise during mass. But the priest is cool and always acknowledges me with a smile and greeting -- in English. The services are getting shorter, or at least it seems that way to me. I don't mind the service at all, but I dread the ride there on the motorbike.
Another massage parlor is opening near our house -- Massage New Style. I wonder what the "new style" is -- if I wasn't getting married, maybe I'd give it a try. I'm always up for new experiences. The New Style will be next door to Massage Pro and a block away from A Massage. Phuong says she's given all three parlors my picture with orders to call her if I show up looking for a Pro, New Style, or A massage. Spoil sport. New Style isn't open just yet, but it's "coming soon", according to the sign out front.
I tried an organic-type treatment of my cholecystitis (gall stones) last week. I ate only green apples for a day, and topped that off with a delicious glass of warm pure virgin olive oil and organic lemon juice before going to bed. I'll spare you the details of the next day, but I must say that I give the treatment a passing grade, so to speak. I told you this was a special blog.
Friday, February 5, 2016
A bum trip to bureaucracy
Phuong and I made a couple of trips to Ho Chi Minh City this week. The second trip wasn't initially planned, but more on that in a moment. First, we left Bien Hoa 5:45 a.m. on Thursday for Phuong's appointment with the doctor at Tu Du hospital, which specializes in prenatal care and delivery. It has a good reputation, which explains the massive crowd of pregnant women everywhere, and I mean everywhere. In the halls, in the stairwells, in the men's room ... everywhere. A few men were on hand to accompany the women (and cough without covering their dang mouths). While Phuong waited with the masses, I went to the U.S. embassy about two miles away to get two documents notarized so Phuong and I can get married. The embassy visit went smooth, but the woman there told me I needed to get her "notary signature verified" at some other bureaucratic office a few blocks away. She said that the (unnecessary) bureaucratic office closes daily from 11:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. (nap time in Vietnam). I returned to the non-air conditioned hospital and everything went great with Phuong's doctor visit. The sonogram showed our baby's fingers and toes and ribs and everything else ... very exciting.
We left Tu Du and rushed to the (unnecessary) bureaucratic office, getting there at 11:02 a.m. Closed. Nap time must come early on Thursdays. We go have lunch and return 1:30 p.m. because the traffic is that horrible in HCMC. We take a ticket (number 76) and watch the electronic screen show 67, then 68, then 69, then 81. I felt like Mr. Bean in the episode where he's waiting at the emergency room. Anyway, after an hour or so, 76 shows on the screen. Shocking, but the Vietnamese girl who's "helping" me isn't very friendly. She takes my passport, looks at my picture, contorts her face, and asks with some serious attitude "Is this you?" A lot of comebacks were racing through my mind, but I just nodded yes and let it go. She shuffles the papers like she's actually doing something, and says "Come back tomorrow at 3 and get your documents." There was no mention of a two-day notary process on the website, but I didn't have any choice. The other folk waiting with me weren't pleased either, but we had to soldier on and live to deal with bureaucracy another day.
Phuong and I made our second trip in pre-Tet Friday traffic, getting there early (2:20 p.m.). Phuong took charge, went into the office immediately, and the nap-sters said the papers were ready. 60,000 dong later, I had my documents. I told the girl behind the counter that the embassy website should tell people that the notary process takes two days so people can plan appropriately. Her response? She laughed. I asked her if she spoke English. Her response? She laughed. I guess I'm a funny guy. Usually, I get a hand waved in my face when I talk (English or Vietnamese), but now I've got ém rollin' in the aisles.
Tet fever is rampant. I'm not a New Year's guy, so it's lost on me. Prices go up, the crowds are relentless, motorbike traffic is wretched and sprinkled with drunks, and people celebrate by eating food that my bowels don't trust. However, I love the time off from work. I can finally get our new house in order, so to speak, and spend quality time with my future wife. Now that's worth celebrating.
We left Tu Du and rushed to the (unnecessary) bureaucratic office, getting there at 11:02 a.m. Closed. Nap time must come early on Thursdays. We go have lunch and return 1:30 p.m. because the traffic is that horrible in HCMC. We take a ticket (number 76) and watch the electronic screen show 67, then 68, then 69, then 81. I felt like Mr. Bean in the episode where he's waiting at the emergency room. Anyway, after an hour or so, 76 shows on the screen. Shocking, but the Vietnamese girl who's "helping" me isn't very friendly. She takes my passport, looks at my picture, contorts her face, and asks with some serious attitude "Is this you?" A lot of comebacks were racing through my mind, but I just nodded yes and let it go. She shuffles the papers like she's actually doing something, and says "Come back tomorrow at 3 and get your documents." There was no mention of a two-day notary process on the website, but I didn't have any choice. The other folk waiting with me weren't pleased either, but we had to soldier on and live to deal with bureaucracy another day.
Phuong and I made our second trip in pre-Tet Friday traffic, getting there early (2:20 p.m.). Phuong took charge, went into the office immediately, and the nap-sters said the papers were ready. 60,000 dong later, I had my documents. I told the girl behind the counter that the embassy website should tell people that the notary process takes two days so people can plan appropriately. Her response? She laughed. I asked her if she spoke English. Her response? She laughed. I guess I'm a funny guy. Usually, I get a hand waved in my face when I talk (English or Vietnamese), but now I've got ém rollin' in the aisles.
Tet fever is rampant. I'm not a New Year's guy, so it's lost on me. Prices go up, the crowds are relentless, motorbike traffic is wretched and sprinkled with drunks, and people celebrate by eating food that my bowels don't trust. However, I love the time off from work. I can finally get our new house in order, so to speak, and spend quality time with my future wife. Now that's worth celebrating.
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