Still waiting, Amway, sad kid

Phuong jokes that our baby is waiting for Wimbledon to really get under way before it's born. Right now, our baby is sticking with Phuong. Doctors extended the due date from July 4 to July 6, but I don't put much stock in their predictions. We'll just wait -- and as the Vietnamese say, waiting is happiness. (If waiting is happiness here, why does everybody cut in line?) Wimbledon started Monday, so I expect to see our baby real soon. I think of Phuong all the time and I want her to have the best experience possible delivering our baby.
My walk to and from my new favorite coffee shop has become a circuitous and complicated journey through Bien Hoa. All to avoid motorbikes on the sidewalks. But it's not really working. I go through the park, down a couple of alleys, along the railroad tracks, down on a side street, and on the main road for a short while. I'm not on the main road much because of the bikes, but I still manage to almost get hit a couple of times a day. I'm OK, though, because I've learned the art of defensive walking. Unbelievable! But this isn't a pedestrian-friendly town. In the White Monkey's view, there's a class system here: Car drivers think they are gods, motorbike riders are heroes, bicycle riders are mere mortals, and pedestrians either sell lottery tickets, or can't afford a car, motorbike or bicycle.
All that said, most people along my zig-zaging route recognize the crazy, singing, cane-carrying White Monkey. And they're very nice. Lots of smiles and nods from the locals make the walk pleasant, despite the motorbikes. I wear big headphones and listen to music when I walk -- I've gone through about five pairs of headphones this year -- so I don't have to tell people my name or where I'm from.
Part of my routine includes a stop at Hancook, a new Korean restaurant on the main street near the language center where I teach. The kim chi is very good, and there's a quality mushroom soup as well. In fact, all the food I've had there is good. Needless to say, I'm burned out on Vietnamese food, and I'm not that crazy about it in the first place, other than the chicken. Obviously, Phuong has slowed down a little on her cooking, I often work 5 p.m. to 9 p.m., so we cobble together meals from the Korean restaurant, a little home cooking, and Phuong's mom. We're eating well.
It's interesting, but the folks we've encountered who work for Amway here think they're super hot stuff. Really. They mock products not sold by Amway and warn that you're making a big mistake by buying whatever the hell you buy that's not Amway. Some Amway folks down the street had a huge party that closed part of  the street and included live music -- to celebrate their daughter's first birthday. Overall, our neighbors are OK. The ones that are weird, and that's just about all of them, keep to themselves. Our next-door neighbors have a six-year-old boy who screams and cries, and I mean screams and cries, about four hours a day. We'll hear him screaming and kicking the walls or whatever at 10:30 at night. God, I hope our kid isn't like this. I feel bad for the little boy. He seems bored in addition to unhappy, but Phuong and I have almost no interaction with this creepy family.
I'll see kids riding bikes alongside cars and motorbikes, and playing in the streets, but I'd like to see more parks and playgrounds here for kids and families to gather. It's a different culture from what I'm used to, and really, I have to remind myself of that quite often. I'm like everyone else: I think I know what's best for the world and everybody in it, and that my ideas are not only the best, but the only ones that matter. Maybe I should get a job with Amway.

No baby, trash hoagie, lipstick craze

The big news with our baby is no news … yet.  Phuong is huge and she gets an occasional contraction. But no signs of honest-to-God labor. The due date remains July 4, but doctors don’t expect the baby to wait that long.  Of course we’re anxious, hoping and praying for a safe delivery and healthy baby. No choice but to keep waiting.

I altered my walk route because motorbikes kept hitting me when I walked on the sidewalk. I was going to get into a fight and clobber somebody – or get clobbered – if I stayed the course on the sidewalk. Sad, but that’s how it is.  So now I walk along the railroad tracks. It’s trashy, but there’s a little bit more nature and green. There’s still a motorbike or two on the paths next to the tracks, but not like the sidewalks, where people suddenly pull in and park their motorbikes to patronize the shops.

 The other day during my walk, I saw something that shook me up. There was a man  ahead of me squatting next to the tracks and it looked like he was rummaging through some stuff. You see people looking for recyclables this way all the time. But when I got next to him I saw that he was filling a loaf of bread with discarded food that had been sitting next to the tracks. He was making a kind of trash hoagie that I assume he was going to eat.  It smelled rancid. Maybe I’m wrong, but countries like the United States and England seem to do a better job of hiding and segregating their poverty. In countries like Peru, Bolivia and Vietnam, the poverty is more visible, and is readily seen alongside the well-to-do.

It’s a fashion statement that’s blowin’ up in Bien Hoa. Young girls all over town, from ages 12 to 30, are wearing red lipstick. You betcha. Lipstick has come to Dong Nai province in Vietnam. I noticed my coffee shop girls wearing it. Staffers where I work are now wearing it. So are students. I even see random lottery girls and food stand girls wearing lipstick. This fashion “craze” has taken off in the past month or so. The girls aren’t shy with application. They’re still learning, I think. Personally, I’m not enamored with lipstick. In my opinion, Vietnamese girls are pretty and don’t need this kind of embellishment, but it’s not like I have a voice or say in the matter. People will do as they please, and if slopping red wax around your mouth makes you happy, then go for it. I wanted to get some pictures, but I couldn’t figure out how to get close-ups and not look perverted at the same time. I’ll work on it when I can.

I had more to write, but the internet is brutally slow so the blog stops here.

Park is the place for White Monkey

I spend more time in the park near our house because it's relatively clean (compared to the city) and there aren't many motorbikes, although an occasional duckface will race his motorbike on the park's concrete paths to get somewhere really important, like a coffee shop or video gaming room. I can do tai chi in the park, though, and passersby don't seem to really care. It reminds me of Hong Kong. The Vietnamese stare at me less in the park when I do tai chi than when I walk on the sidewalk to my new, favorite coffee shop. In the park, there are wedding photo shoots, which are rather pleasant, a few birds in the trees, and lots of butterflies. All of this is serenaded by unseen cicadas. The litter is minimal, and the park workers always smile or nod at me. All in all, a good scene. The canal near the park can smell sometimes, but since it's rainy season the water gets flushed out, so to speak. I'm mystified by the guys who fish in the canal. I don't think you can catch anything there except a serious skin rash. When I went to the park at dusk, I saw lots of birds zipping around the trees and canal while I worked out. Phuong was with me and said no big deal, they're bats.
An old friend Eric suggested I walk myself back to health after my two motorbike accidents. And he's absolutely right. Actually, I've been a walker for some time. I'm completely recovered from the motorbike accidents thanks to Phuong's massages with Chinese oil, walking, tai chi, and not smoking. Yes, I'm closing in on three months without a puff. Smashing your ribs and lungs on concrete is a drastic method for quitting, and I don't really recommend it, but whatever works.
Sadly, my walk is not a pleasant experience. A motorbike rider banged into my back (the fourth time this has happened) as I walked on the sidewalk near this craphole market next to the train tracks. No damage to me, but I was popped pretty good and stumbled a bit. The rider's reaction? He laughed at me. I approached this fishface with my cane in hand, ready to swat his ugly pug into next week. I showed restraint, however, and merely screamed curse words at him so loudly that the losers who work in the market gawked at me even more than usual. The guy rode away -- on the sidewalk. Three days later, I smacked a girl's bike with my new cane when she was about to hit me as I crossed the street with a pregnant lady (in a crosswalk). Really. The girl didn't make eye contact with me when I asked her "What's up, apeface?"
Speaking of pregnant ladies, my beautiful and lovely wife Phuong looks ready to give birth any moment. Phuong is incredible: 9 months pregnant and she's still cheerful and beautiful. The baby keeps moving, but it's obvious there isn't a lot of room for the baby to maneuver. We'll see elbows and knees and feet and hands move across Phuong's BIG belly.  And when I curse, which I do on occasion, Phuong tries to cover the baby's ears by putting her fingers on her stomach. You'd have to see it, but it's cute and quite funny.
The rainy season has cooled things off ever so slightly -- it's 92 or 93 every day instead of 97 or 98. But the humidity is brutal. I went into the staff room at my school and a Vietnamese staffer was tutoring a little Vietnamese girl.  I go in there to get my attendance folder for class and organize any papers I have for class. The Vietnamese staffer had the air conditioner on 32 degrees celcius, which is 89.6 degrees farenheit. That's warm in any culture. I prepared for class in the hallway, where it was probably a brisk 85. I understand it's all genetics, physical stature and such, and the heat doesn't bother these folks as much as the White Monkey.  But when a 210-pound White Monkey is wearing dress clothes and a tie and teaching in an 88- or 90-degree classroom, life becomes a sweaty mess. I don't do my best work. A student wearing a micro-miniskirt asked me why I was sweating in the 89-degree classroom when I was teaching. I responded: "Because I'm wearing clothes, I guess."
I included a few pictures of bikes cutting into oncoming traffic or riding against the grain to make a turn. Signals aren't necessary when riders pull this stunt. It's really shocking I've had accidents here, isn't it?
I've got some great kids and teen classes these days. For whatever reason, I relate to these guys. Maybe it's because they're young and their minds are open to new ideas, new ways of thinking, and new points of view. They get over their shyness pretty quickly and will try to speak English in class. I love that. Youth is great.  

An explosion at home; baby wants out

We had a crazy kitchen incident last week. It was a near miss that could have been horrible. Really. Phuong was using the percolator to make my morning coffee. I went to the fridge to get milk and Phuong was washing some spoons in the sink when the percolator blew up. And I mean BLEW THE HELL UP. Coffee grounds were everywhere -- the walls, the ceiling, the kitchen table, in the fridge, on Phuong, on me. Crazy. Phuong got sprayed with a tiny bit of hot water, but she was mostly out of harm's way. The percolator handle was across the room. The screwed-on top had blown off and was on the stove. It sounded like a bomb. Phuong's dad came over and with a smirk on his face said it was like the war. I knew what he meant and we laughed together. Funny, but a really scary moment that could have been much worse.
I'm happiest here when I'm with my wife or in the classroom teaching. Phuong is a remarkable companion, great cook and funny person. When I broke one of the free bowls we got with a purchase of spaghetti sauce while I was doing dishes, Phuong immediately said, "I guess my dear didn't like their promotion." She made an incredible dinner of salmon and shrimp with cream sauce on Saturday night. That's typical. She always prepares unique vegetables. And she's pampered me through my motorbike injuries. Remarkably, I'm all better now and pain-free. No easy feat with two sets of banged-up ribs and a mashed right ankle. She's an incredible woman and I'm a lucky man.
Almost all of my students and classes are wonderful. I have to clamp down on some of my little kids classes early, but they get it and their English improves quickly. Kids -- and teens -- are like sponges. They soak up the language, including the pronunciation. I'm happy to report that teens exhibit similar behavior all over the world. They pout, sulk, push the limits, disrespect the White Monkey, and love to curse. I've tossed a few teens out of my classes, but only when they violate a school or White Monkey classroom policy. But the teens and practically everyone else here never hold a grudge. I've booted teens out of class and the next time I see them we're laughing or joking or sharing a moment. I believe that will continue. In more than three years living here, only one chucklehead -- a co-worker -- will not speak to or acknowledge me after an incident two years ago that was clearly his fault and/or responsibility. That's actually a pretty good testament to the Vietnamese people. Too bad they're chuckleheads when they're riding their motorbikes or behind the wheel of a car.
The motorbike has become the bane of my existence here. I don't like it and I don't trust the people who ride them. Many folk have their left turn signals on and then turn right. The positive -- sort of -- is that very few people use their turn signals. Nobody yields at intersections. I walk much more these days, but motorbikes ride on sidewalks and I've been hit by bikes (not real hard) while walking at least five times. And the bike riders glare at me like I'm the ass clown for using the sidewalk to WALK. (This is why I carry the cane even though my body has healed.) At night, about 10 percent of the bikes have no lights whatsoever and about 50 percent have no rear lights. Kids drive stupid and weave in and out of traffic. Bikes come out of side streets onto the main roads and never yield or give a rat's rump about oncoming traffic or right of way. In short, motorbike riders follow no rules or laws, have no etiquette, and care about no one but themselves. Sadly, I've chatted with two people at Metro Supermarket who told me their children were killed in motorbike accidents. And two students told me about family members they lost in accidents. It really upsets me when I hear these stories, but I'm not shocked since I have first-hand experience with how dangerous the bikes here can be.
The rainy season has arrived and, of course, our new house floods. In fact, just about every house seems to take on water. The streets flood quickly because the litter blocks the drains. The temperature isn't quite as high -- in the low 90s -- but it's very humid. It's a real treat when the power goes out, which happens about once a month for three-hour stretches. (Peru was much worse in terms of power outages. And some of us who lived in California know about Enron.)  So, the motorbikes and weather are practically killing me - literally -- but I've got the best wife in the world and awesome students.
Phuong's belly is huge and it's only a matter of weeks -- if that long --  before she gives birth.  She now has weekly hospital visits and so far, so good. The baby is quite active, kicking and stretching. I think it wants out of there.