No water for a while; seeds in bananas; 'leave fan'

We didn't have water for 36 hours at our house this past week. Even though the time without water was relatively short, it was a big hassle. This wasn't a scheduled shutoff. It was completely unexpected, making it a bigger hassle because we have a 21-month-old girl who has just started potty training. And it's 98 degrees fahrenheit here every day.
The city hired high-quality contractors who were working on the drainage system on our street and they somehow cut the water line to our house. While they were repairing the severed pipe, dirt, rocks and probably litter got into our water line. This prevented water from getting into the house. Our water tank on the roof went empty very quickly and we weren't getting water from the street. So we went dry.
Phuong carried buckets of water from her parents' house to our house while I entertained Joanna. I got the better of that deal. We always have a big container of filtered water in our kitchen (remember, not many people drink tap water), and we used it for coffee and dishes. We washed and bathed out of buckets and used buckets of water to "flush" the toilet. The showers were kind of fun and fairly effective, especially with Phuong's help. Well, that's what Joanna intimated.
When city workers finally showed up, they removed the sidewalk (again!) and cleaned out the line. But they said they could not replenish our empty tank because there wasn't enough water pressure to send the water to the tank on our roof. Their solution was that we buy a "special" machine (probably a water pump) to send the water to the tank. Thanks, guys. But for whatever reason, the water just came back on about five hours after the debris was cleaned from the line. Good work, guys.
Here's a brilliant revelation I had after all of this: Life without clean, running water is incredibly difficult and dangerous. People in Flint, Mich., and Puerto Rico have had to endure this. People deal with this all over the world. I'm a big fan of boiling water, even (or especially) from our tap here. It's interesting how things we take for granted, like water and electric, become super enormous deals when they're taken away from us.

* * *

I've never had bananas with seeds before until I moved here. I bit into a banana and a little black seed about the size of a BB nearly shattered my bridge work. The seeds are quite hard and can number from one to five. The bananas with seeds are shorter and more stout than the bananas in the U.S. and they have a mushier texture. Not all of these bananas have seeds, but many do. People have told me to eat more bananas to combat dizziness from my head injury incurred more than four years ago. My dizziness remains sporadic but I've steadily gained weight from all the bananas I'm eating. Hence, the White Monkey.

* * * 

I know all kids repeat, but my daughter Joanna takes it to another level. She loves to turn off the fan and run away while Phuong and I have dinner in the kitchen. Phuong lets Joanna get away with just about anything that isn't dangerous to her, but I try to set a few limits, especially when it's 98 degrees every day. So I said to her: "Leave the fan alone, leave the fan alone, Joanna!" She ignored me, of course, and ran away after shutting off the fan. But a week later at the tennis court where we play on Sunday nights Phuong turned on the fans in the change-over area, and Joanna immediately barked: "Leave fan!" Also, she loves spotting the tiniest of details in books that aren't related to the story. She'll see a fish in a little picture on the wall in the house of the Three Little Pigs, for example, and shout "Fish! Fish!"  Typical kid behavior, I know, but joyous nonetheless.

Sadly, many of the small kids in the neighborhood will have nothing to do with Joanna and a couple are over the top rude. Life lessons, I guess. And Joanna is quite sweet, but many of the kids could care less about that. The parents care even less than the kids. The parents are taking selfies while their kids try to bully Joanna. More life lessons.

* * *

I won't say much about my tennis with Phuong other than to report that I've lost good leads in our last three matches, so I've fired my coach and replaced my advisors. Of course, I don't have a "coach" or "advisors", but if I did, I'd fire them. Worst thing I ever did was help Phuong improve her serve.

No power, no cold water, no visa (yet), no adult guidance

We've lost power on our street twice in the past two weeks. The power outages lasted about 90 minutes each time and both occurred on Saturday night at about 7:30 p.m. That means no lights and no air conditioning. Since the weather has been typically nasty lately -- 98 in the day with 80 percent humidity -- the outages are no fun for me. I suffer in heat and can't wait to move somewhere cooler, if I don't die from heat stroke and skin rashes first. The neighbors seem to enjoy the power outages, however,  running out into the street and talking excitedly. A big neighborhood cheer goes up when the power returns.  Cheap thrills.
We've lost cool water in our house for the past two days. Our hot water -- we have a solar panel of some sort -- is really, really, hot, and working almost too well. It's not a huge issue because not many people drink the tap water in Bien Hoa. You just have to be careful in the shower or your skin will get burned. Really, it's that hot.
I dealt with pretty much the same issues in Peru except there was no hot water. Cold water was plentiful so showers provided a different challenge.  In Yellow Springs, Ohio, my house has flooding, drainage and plumbing issues, but my wonderful property manager (Teresa D.) is helping me deal with them. Bless you T.D.
My house in Yellow Springs is important because I plan to eventually move there with my wife Phuong and our baby Joanna. But that's contingent upon Phuong getting a waiver to enter the U.S. We sent documents to our lawyer and are still waiting for a response regarding an application for an I-130 visa interview at the surly U.S. Embassy in Ho Chi Minh City. If all this falls apart, I'll lose lots of money but no sleep over this "pathetic" process. But I'm not sure why a country would NOT allow a tax-paying, reasonably loyal citizen to bring his foreign national wife into his native country with her American husband and American child. Phuong is a certified nurse, accountant and IT in Vietnam. She's a dedicated mom. Worthless skills in the U.S., right? Sounds to me like some petty U.S. bureaucrats are on a power trip. I won't lose sleep because our daughter is doing quite well here. I'd rather my American daughter grew up in the U.S. with her American dad and Vietnamese mom, but U.S. bureaucrats seem to want otherwise.

* * *

Now neighborhood kids and teens on our street insist on shouting "FU@K" at me when I walk to a local coffee shop while carrying or holding hands with my 21-month-old daughter Joanna. I guess they're showing off, or something intelligent like that. I ignored it twice, but since Joanna is with me,  I confronted them the third time it happened, but they courageously ran into their house. An older woman was with the boys, so I said the same to her in Vietnamese to demonstrate what the kids were shouting at me. But she refused to look at me the entire time and obviously took no action against the kids. Folks, all I want to do is walk to a coffee shop with Joanna to give her some exercise and get a cappuccino for me. Who benefits from stupid, ignorant behavior like this? It's about the sixth time I've had this happen to me in Vietnam, and the most disappointing aspect is that parents and other adults who are present pretend they don't hear it or act like they're looking the other way. I don't blame the ignorant kids. I blame the ignorant parents and ignorant adults who let it happen. What a bunch of ignominious ignoramuses.

* * *

Phuong and I tied 6-6 in tennis on Thursday, and she beat me 3-6 on Friday. Her style is difficult for me -- she's a counter-puncher who hits a slower ball. This forces the White Monkey to try to generate pace on his shots, but I generate unforced errors instead. Phuong can also hit very well-placed returns that I have to chase down. This wears me out, even though my fitness is exemplary. Ha ha. But I'm not one to make excuses. Ha ha.

Poorly installed air conditioner nearly falls from on high

The bedroom air conditioner in our house almost fell to the floor last week. The unit was poorly mounted above a picture window -- the installers used anchors and screws that weren't big enough and strong enough to support the air conditioner.. It didn't actually fall, but literally hung by threads of the screws. Our 21-month-old daughter Joanna sometimes plays under that air conditioner and looks out the picture window, and the outcome could have been tragic if circumstances were slightly different. Thank God they weren't. The air conditioner, which we purchased at Nguyen Kim in Bien Hoa, works quite well. The installation by store employees didn't work so well, and that's not acceptable. There are no reasons and no excuses for substandard work like this, especially in a house with a baby. I've had issues with substandard work in the United States, Peru, and even Poland. But these issues involved internet, computers and other stuff that wasn't life-threatening. Because of sloppy work, a falling air conditioner could have killed a small child.

* * *

Joanna was quite sick this past week with some sort of stomach virus. She didn't have any energy and was rather cranky. She didn't eat and had diarrhea. We took her to the clinic because we don't have a baby doctor -- I guess that's how it works here -- and the doctor there said a lot of kids in town had the same problem. After three days of medicine, she's back to normal. A little leaner and meaner, but back to normal. I downloaded The Very Hungry Caterpillar video for her when she was sick, and now she's obsessed with it. She'll make a slurping/eating noise to signify that she wants to see the video. She's been walking around the house making slurping/eating noises for a week. Funny kid. I teach six mornings a week, but on Sunday, or when the private students don't show up, Joanna and I walk to a little coffee house nearby. The heat wears her down, which is a good thing because she'll take a nap and go to bed at night instead of playing under falling air conditioners.

* * *

I have nice private students, but my favorite student "Sam" (her nickname) is making remarkable progress. She reads slowly and clearly, expresses herself very well,  and has improved her pronunciation dramatically. And Sam approves of my use of American phonics rather than using the  so-called international phonetic system. American phonics uses the 26 letters of the alphabet, sometimes with symbols above the letters, to create phonemes that represent sound to teach pronunciation, while international phonics uses many symbols that are not among the 26 letters of the alphabet to represent sound (for example: ɖ ŋ æ ʌ) ... There's nothing wrong with the international system, and perhaps it's more precise than American phonics. But to me, the international system is like teaching and learning another alphabet (credit to Chris Larsen for that reasoning). I prefer keeping things simple for my students, and maybe I'm Mr. Lazy (Sam's nickname for me). But I can teach my EFL/ESL students to pronounce any words in the English language, even  choir and squirrels. I guarantee I can improve the speaking and pronunciation of my students because of American phonics. Really, speaking well is what it's all about.

* * * 

We're shipping lots of documents to our lawyer in Cleveland. We're applying for an interview to get a spousal visa for Phuong.We know we won't get the visa, but we're hoping to find why, in God's name, Phuong has a lifetime ban from entering the U.S.

* * *

I blew a 3-1 lead and lost 3-6 to Phuong in tennis on Tuesday.

Well-traveled book provides grim memories of Auschwitz

I finally finished the book "Auschwitz Nazi Death Camp" this past week. This book, which is more than 300 pages and also includes numerous pictures and documents, has been through a lot. I bought it at the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial and Museum bookstore for about $60, and I almost left it (and my Swiss Army knife) at the concentration camp during my tour. I did leave it near the luggage check-in counter at the Prague airport. A flight attendant brought me the book right before takeoff on my Prague-to-Qatar flight. In Vietnam, I left the book at a fruit stand when I was buying apples. I went home, realized my gaffe, and returned an hour later and the book was still there. The book (and I) also survived a motorbike crash when I was broadsided outside a coffee shop where I had been reading. I would go to coffee shops three or four times a week and read for about a half-hour every day. The book has many authors, many footnotes,and a ton of detailed information about the operation of the camp. It also has quite a few pictures, but not too many of a graphic nature. While detailing the horrors and almost certain death faced by the Jewish prisoners, the book also focuses quite a bit on Polish victims, and Poles who assisted the underground, which is understandable since the concentration camp is in Oswiecim, Poland, and Poles and Russians made up a significant portion of the concentration camp's early population. Clearly, this is a detailed and accurate account of what took place in Oswiecim from 1941 to 1945. It's fairly comprehensive as well. It brought back the emotional experience I had while touring the camp. I recommend it.

* * *

I'm sorry to report that I'm not the only foreigner to have issues on the motorbike here. I was told that two foreign teachers at the language center where I used to work had accidents recently. One guy didn't have a real serious accident, but the other guy broke his arm in four places and was scheduled to have surgery here. Like anywhere, health care can be hit or miss in Vietnam. It all depends on the doctor. I had an OK experience getting my gall bladder out in Ho Chi Minh City. But after I suffered a serious head injury in a motorbike accident in Bien Hoa, my son wisely had me shipped to Thailand for treatment. I wish the gentleman with the busted-up arm the best of luck and a speedy recovery.

* * *

My wife's mom loves to buy us fresh fruit and vegetables from the market and "vegetable man", who passes by our house every morning on his motorbike without a muffler. She'll put the stuff on our kitchen table and slip out the door, ninja style. I give her cash, ninja style, from time to time to help cover the cost. It's all good. Mom picks out great corn and carrots, and last week brought us some kumquats (trái tắc), They're very small, maybe a hair bigger than a marble or an olive, and they look like miniature oranges -- green on the outside with orange pulp inside. They're bitter, but not as sour as the yellow lemons I'm used to, and they have lots of seeds for how small they are. Adding kumquats to ice water is almost magical. It creates a refreshing, tasty and thirst-quenching drink. I'm not a real fan of Vietnamese food and cooking (Anthony Bourdain can kiss my pho and hot pot), but some of the fruits and vegetables I've had here are the best I've had anywhere.

* * *

Phuong and I are playing tennis three to four times a week now. I suggested that we try our old court again -- where the chuckleheads walked across the court -- and the new managers are quite nice and accommodating. The tin roof cover has been fixed so we played in the rain yesterday. Joanna behaves quite well while we play, and amuses herself with Phuong's Apple Notebook and exploration of the surrounding area. She's a lovely child.

Two years without a cigarette; one more key TEFL tip

I celebrated a significant anniversary in my life on March 23. That day marked two years since I last had a cigarette. I love being cigarette-free, and free is the optimum word. No longer do I ''have to" search for my brand of butts in a town that either doesn't understand what I want or tries to overcharge me for what I need. I don't "have to" have a cigarette with beer or coffee. In fact, I drink less beer and coffee, possibly because I don't smoke. No longer do I literally burn through my money to feed an unhealthy habit. And no longer do I "have to" go into those god-awful smoking rooms at the airports in Tokyo, Vietnam, Qatar, and other foreign countries that still have those god-awful smoking rooms. I don't hassle smokers about being smokers -- I'm not one of those ex-smokers. I really don't care. But I will ask smokers to move if they light up next to Phuong or Joanna. That can get you into a fight here, but so be it. The first year I quit I had to overcome urges to light up from time to time. Second-hand smoke smelled pretty good the first year that I stopped smoking, but it gradually got less attractive. Now, I'm not grossed out or anything, but I don't like it. I've also noticed a subtle improvement in my tai chi breathing, which is an integral part of the exercise. Maybe a downside is that I've put on a little weight, but I'm 63 and I never, ever really looked liked the  Marlboro man, who died of lung cancer. So, if you're still a smoker, that's cool. But I'm not jealous anymore, and that's cool, too. I'm kind of proud of that.

* * *

March 22 was five-year anniversary of my dad's death, but anniversaries like that aren't very significant to me. Whenever I remember, I'll say, "Oh yea, that's right. He/she died today (or this week or yesterday or whenever)."  Death anniversaries are more important in Vietnam, but I'm not interested. Once you're dead, I believe -- in the words of the late, great Harry Kalas- -- you could be, you might be, you're "Outta here!"
I try to remember people's lives from time to time, especially my mom's. Gertrude (Stachow) Millman taught me to always give and be generous. Her wise words didn't always resonate with me, but they seem to have taken on added significance lately.
That's probably because my third daughter, Joanna, reminds me so much of my mom: similar expressions, similar determination, and the same caring nature.

***

 My friend John S. gave me a knife sharpener when I visited him in Dayton, Ohio, about a year or so ago. It was one of those gifts I threw in my suitcase and pretty much ignored. I used it once in Vietnam, and it seemed OK, but lately it has become one of my favorite tools. I've sharpened every knife in my house -- and you have to be careful because it can make knives almost too sharp. I'm going to use that thing to sharpen my wit, but I'm not so sure it'll help my writing.

* * * 

I forgot one very important tip for TEFL job hunters. When you read an advertisement for a job from a language center that contains bad grammar, misspellings, strange, awkward or incorrect sentence structure, weird collocations, lots of promises but no salary minimum, BEWARE! BEWARE! BEWARE! You'll be working for someone who doesn't have a good command of the English language, but they'll tell you how to teach it.  And trying to get paid -- not to mention trying to get all of the other promised benefits -- could be very testy. Remember: Experience keeps a dear school ...

* * *

Phuong and I are playing tennis three times a week these days, and the matches are very competitive. Phuong rallied from a 1-3 deficit to beat me 6-4 on Thursday.  I haven't slept well since.

Joanna goes under the water, and kicks her way to the top

Joanna is only 20 months old, so she's years away from being able to swim. But there's no doubt that she loves the water.  When we get to the Pegasus pool, she starts smiling incessantly and she'll excitedly babble Vietnamese and English. She seems uncharacteristically at ease there, strolling along the edge of the pool near the deep end like it's no big deal. Of course, we're right on top of her making sure she's safe, but Joanna acts disinterested in our presence. Even her social demeanor changes somewhat. She is more relaxed and natural with strangers and other children at the pool. I guess she's found her niche.
This past Wednesday, Phuong went in the water with Joanna because of my motorbike wounds and ear issues (we've bought earplugs and a cap, and my crash cuts are healing, so I'll be back in the water next week). Phuong is so good (and accommodating) to Joanna, that the Peanut was even more comfortable in the water. I yelled "kick" and Joanna would kick ... and laugh. I yelled "use your arms" and Joanna would splash with her arms ... and laugh. Then Joanna would climb out of the pool and reach for mommy to go back in the water. Phuong suggested I gently toss Joanna into the water, so she would go under and come up and reach for mommy. I was a little nervous about the whole deal, but I tossed Joanna into the water. She went under, of course, and came up into mommy's arms. This routine continued, but the last time my Joanna toss was a little wide left. She went under all the way to the three- or four-foot bottom. I was quite nervous, but Phuong started saying in a playful manner, "Where's Joanna? Where's Joanna" like it's a game of hide and seek. Well, Joanna kicked her way to the top, and in typical Joanna fashion, acted like it was no big deal when she surfaced. She really loves the water.
Raising a child is such a joy, especially because I'm in a situation where I can be there almost all of the time. I know women's lives can be difficult, but in most cultures it's the women who raise the child and help that child grow, learn and develop. That's a reward like no other.
* I have some distressing news to report. Phuong has won two out of our last three tennis matches. On Tuesday, she whipped me 2-6. I want to use the motorbike accident as an excuse, but it really wasn't a factor. My eyes had some difficulties adjusting to our new court, but Phuong was on the same court, and adjusted quite well. In short, her ground strokes were deeper and more accurate than mine, her strategy was more ingenious than mine, and her serve, which I helped improve, was much ... well, much improved.
* Joanna says both Vietnamese and English words, but uses English almost exclusively around me. "It's me .... a bee ... eyes ...." and so on. She'll say things like "ga" for chicken  "ca" for fish and "troi oi" for "oh my God!" when she's around Phuong's family.
* It's been 95 to 98 degrees fahrenheit here for the past five or six days. Luckily, the humidity has been in the mid 80s -- ugh!. Still better than Poland because I see the sun here and I'm with my wife and daughter. I miss a lot of the people I met in Poland, though, and I miss a lot of the food. But I also really miss people in Peru and I especially miss my family and friends in the U.S.
* I welcomed a new private student on Saturday. He got lost trying to find our house. Seems simple enough to me: left on D12, right on N14. But this really baffles the taxi drivers here (they're easily baffled) and anyone else trying to find our house.
* I want to thank the people from Italy who have accounted for hundreds of hits on my blog lately. Not sure why readership has picked up there. Maybe it's because Fabio Fognini is my favorite tennis player. Maybe it has something to do with my short stint in Poland. No idea, really. I want to thank anyone who reads this blog. By the way, I printed more copies of my "book" so I can burden my friends with more junk. A second "book" is in the works. Don't say the White Monkey didn't warn you.

Tai chi minimizes impact of another nasty motorbike crash

I've been extremely dedicated to tai chi the past two years or so and I believe I'm finally reaping the benefits from my dedication and hour-long nightly training sessions.
My body is still, well, flabby and borderline disgusting. But my fitness, overall health and recuperative powers have significantly improved. Let's look at why I'm touting the benefits of tai chi.
This past Sunday I was broadsided on my motorbike by a speeding, most likely drunken bag of douche. The bag of douche was going about 60 kilometers an hour when he hit me and he didn't touch his brake before impact. He had to cross the center lane line to hit me, meaning he was in the wrong lane. The impact knocked my helmet off my head, knocked my cell phone out of my pocket and down the road about 25 yards, and scattered me and my groceries all over the road among the broken glass and plastic from the bikes. "Witnesses" scrambled to get my scattered stuff, and me, to the side of the road while the bag of douche took off. I was too stunned to get his photograph with my recovered cell phone, but I probably didn't have enough time anyway. He was in a hurry -- no doubt he's a doctor who was rushing to perform surgery on children who will die without his help (that's sarcasm, folks). One witness in a nearby coffee shop said in lousy English that maybe I was going too slow, although the same witness said the bag of douche was going very fast. Sometimes, you have to draw your own conclusions.
The photos on the right show some of the effects of the accident on the flabby White Monkey. My hip was a little sore at first, and so was my left shoulder. But that brings me back to tai chi.
Three hours and three Ibuprofen later, I was on the tennis court, battling my way to a dramatic, hard-fought 7-6 (11-9) victory over my beautiful and ultra-competitive wife. I did my usual hour of tai chi after the tennis. I feel fine today -- maybe a little sore -- but fine with absolutely no serious issues. I taught my private student as usual Monday morning and my life has resumed its usual yin and yang flow. Maybe some luck was involved -- good and bad -- but I know that doing tai chi every day gives a 63-year-old White Monkey many physical and mental benefits.  I've been doing tai chi for 46 years, but I've gotten really serious and focused the past two years -- after two motorbike accidents damaged my ankle, ribs and kidney, prompting me to quit cigarettes and reduce my intake of alcohol. Clean living and tai chi (and Phuong and Joanna) have led to a healthier, happier and more resilient White Monkey. I'll praise my wife yet again because she has set up space for my tai chi, keeping the third floor balcony where I work out clean and adorned with plants, trees and flowers. She pushes me to practice, and never criticizes or makes fun of this martial art. Yes, it's a fighting art, but I couldn't whip a wet noodle. I could certainly eat one, however, judging from my girth. I tell Phuong that my stomach isn't fat, but that the accumulation of chi in my dantian gives the illusion of a fat stomach.  She knows the truth and tells her friends that I'm eight months pregnant.