Another red Covid sign was posted on a house on our street, bringing the total to eight. But the good news is that some of the signs will come down this week if the residents test negative. A few are already down. Still, no one is talking much about Covid or a particular variant here. There's almost a stunned silence regarding the virus. But I do see some attitudes slowly changing. People on our street who didn't wear masks would laugh and point at me when I wore one with a face shield, but now they laugh at me behind their own masks. Some mask resistance exists here; one guy at the park rode his bicycle and worked out on newly installed exercise equipment without a mask, along with his kid, who was also mask-free. I used sign language to suggest he should wear a mask and he honestly thanked me through my wife. Next time I saw him and his kid they had masks on. Two park joggers go mask-less and they huff and puff as they go about their business in a crowded park, which means they're likely to share any virus they happen to be carrying. I politely suggested that they wear a mask, and got zero response. My wife told the park security guard to put a mask on, and, shock of shocks, he did. I wouldn't be so adamant about masks except for the fact that it helps prevent the spread of the virus, and Covid case numbers released by the government here continue to climb, with anywhere from 13,000 to 17,000 new cases each day. Things are pretty much opened up, and there seems to be an honor system at businesses to scan your proof of vaccination with your cell phone. Some do, some don't. A couple of aspects of life here are returning to normal a little faster than I'd like. More motorbikes are being ridden on sidewalks and more litter is starting to show up.
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Last week at the park Joanna insisted we run a footrace. So, ready, steady, go, and away we went (I'm pleased my back lets me run). A lady who my wife and I know very casually says to my wife: "It's good your husband is running now with your daughter because he won't be able to run in a year or two because he's so old." Charmed, I'm sure. But it was one of those weeks where the odd was the norm. My daughter and I turned the corner to walk the path that leads to the street behind us and then on to the park, and as we turned the corner, we were met with smoke. Trash was being burned on the narrow sidewalk. Joanna was scared and wouldn't pass, so I started to push the pile to the side so she could get through, and some woman comes out of nowhere screaming at me to leave her burning pile of rubbish on the pedestrian pathway alone. I still pushed the pile a little so Joanna could pass and the woman barked something at me and swept the pile back into the middle of the sidewalk and reignited it. There was a bunch of leaves, berries, sticks and I guess some regular trash. I told her to burn her trash in front of her house or in the street and left it at that. Once past the burning pile, Joanna kept laughing about the whole thing, and started with the "Why?" questions. No easy answers. The charred remains of the pile were off to the side of the path the next day. Later, Joanna and I were walking down the main street when a security guard sitting in front of some bank shows his cell phone to me with a translated question: "Is she your daughter or granddaughter?" I told him daughter, which he either didn't believe or understand, and he showed me again. So I responded again, in English and Vietnamese, and he showed me and asked (I guess) again. I said "Yes, yes," and he seemed happy with the response. Then he pointed to my stomach and laughed. I told you it was an odd week.
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