Life, Love, and Pronunciation with Miss Madeline

One of the classes I'm teaching here at Hai Duong College is English pronunciation for first year students. Our text book, and I use that term lightly, was published in England in 1977 and is entitled "Ship or Sheep?"***

In this past week's lesson, students were learning the sound "uh", as in Sunny, honey, cousin, ugly, and lovely.

The following dialogue is given in "Ship or Sheep?" to help students practice this sound. Really, what other conversation could they have given?

Russ: Honey, why are you so sad?
(Janet says nothing)
Russ: Honey, why are you so unhappy? I don't understand.
Janet: You don't love me Russ!
Russ: But, honey, I love you very much.
Janet: That's untrue. You love my cousin, Sunny. You think she's lovely and I'm ugly.
Russ: Janet, just once last month I took Sunny out for lunch. You mustn't worry. I like your company much better than Sunny's.
Janet: Oh, shut up, Russ!
Russ: But, honey, I think you're wonderful. You mustn't....
Janet, : Oh, SHUT UP!

Being Jesuit educated myself, I really feel the need to educate the "whole person" of my students here in Vietnam. You know, cura personalis and all that junk they fed us at Fordham. So after giving this pronunciation lesson, I decided to give a supplemental life lesson.

Lesson on Life and Love with Miss Madeline

1. Don't date boys named Russ.
2. Keep your boyfriend away from cousins named "Sunny."
3. If your boyfriend takes said cousin "Sunny" out to lunch, leave him.
4. If you accuse your boyfriend of thinking you're ugly, and he responds that he "likes your company," dump him, get a make-over, and go out with his best friend.

I have so much to teach here....

***Houghton Mifflin does NOT exist in Vietnam.

Update on Cooking

I just semi-successfully cooked a chicken stew-like dish.

There were tears. There were feathers. But I did it.

Adventures in Cooking

This past weekend I tried my luck with the Vietnamese train system and huffed on down to Vinh to see my dear friend and fellow Fulbrighter Sofia. Sofia is the Jewish grandmother this nice Catholic girl from PA never had. She fed me all the comfort and love I needed in the form of homemade chicken soup and tofu salad. I ate better during a few meals with her than I have for nearly all of my 2 months (yes! 2 months! 1/5 of 10 months!) in Vietnam. Seriously.

I may never be able to cook like Sofia, but I was inspired enough by her--and embarrassed enough by my own kitchen ineptitude as compared to her--that I have made it a goal for my time in Vietnam to learn to cook.

(Goals in Vietnam: 1. Don’t get hit by a motorbike. 2. Change lives. 3. Learn to cook.)

I get the feeling that I’m something of a joke among the other teachers. With many of them, the language barrier keeps us from going too deep conversationally, so the one thing we know we can always talk about and understand is food. Our conversations usually go something like this:

Vietnamese teacher: Madeline, what did you make for dinner? Noodles again?
Me: Yes.
Vietnamese teacher: Oh. (Giggles at my incompetence as a female)

Last week Mrs. Thu, my boss here, told me that she thinks living in Vietnam on my own will be good for me because I will learn to cook, clean, and take care of myself. She says this will help me find a husband.

Apparently Mrs. Thu doesn't put much faith in my charming wit and youthful good looks.

But in all seriousness, I really just need to learn how to cook in order to take better care of myself. Sometimes I am amazed by my ability to fend for myself. The other day I bargained, in pseudo-Vietnamese, with 6 very aggressive men who drive Motorbike Taxis for the cheapest rate across town.

That same day I forgot to eat breakfast and bought a box of crackers for lunch....Things like this make me wonder how I ever got a Fulbright.

Enough is enough! I have just returned from the market, and I am ready for you, lunchtime. Beginning today, if you are a vegetable I will sauté you. If you are chicken I will boil you. If you are rice I will rice cooker you. I can do this.

I am strong (strong). I am invincible (invincible). I am Woman. Hear me roar.

(Or at least hear me curse--loudly--at the damn stovetop when I inevitably burn everything.)

Visitors at almost 2 months in...

Yesterday, two friends of friends from America happened to be passing through Hanoi (people do that these days!) and gave me the opportunity to play tour guide. First of all: you should know I love being a tour guide--any kind of tour guide. New York City Tour Guide. Amish Country Tour Guide. Vietnam Tour Guide.

So, of course, being their pseudo-guide was great. Its kind of empowering to be a single white female walking around the streets of the Old Quarter in Hanoi and realize that you sort of know where you’re going. Two months ago, “fresh off the boat” you might say, I didn’t think that was possible. As I talked with my two visitors, I realized that there’s a lot that has happened over the past two months that I didn’t think was possible. Its funny: until given the chance to say out loud what you’ve been doing, and the people you’ve been meeting, and the things you’ve been eating, you cannot really process what you’ve been going through. Sure, I try to reflect, but sometimes my own instincts for survival get in the way of my reflection and I just need to troll facebook, watch MAD MEN, or read the TIMES and think about how my problems are cake compared to Obama’s.

The thing that the conversation with my visitors kept coming back to was this real love for my students which is growing everyday. In each of my classes of 40 students, there is only 1 boy--somewhat ironic in a developing country where the role of women could use some progress. Not to discount the boys in the class--they are great, and my joke the first day about them being the lucky ones actually landed.

But the girls-oh the girls!-are just some of the sweetest, most inspiring, most lovely and graceful creatures I’ve ever had the privilege to know. I’ve been able to spend time with some of them outside of our classes, and despite our strong language barrier, the female connection pulls a strong current.

What do we talk about? Well. Obviously. Boys. We talk about boys a lot.

And clothes. And hair. And my new manicure. And GOSSIP GIRL. (“You lived in New York? Did you live on the Upper East Side?!”)

And what is expected of them. And what their families think about them being in college. And what they want to do with their lives. And how they miss their boyfriends, a number of whom are in the army. And how they are scared to go to mandatory military training and learn to shoot guns, but they too would defend their country if asked.

And so many other little things that come out of their mouths that just blow my mind. Some of the girls are goofy, some of them are girly, some of them are shy, but all of them have this graceful way about them which my heavy-handed American mannerisms envy. After 10 months in Vietnam, is it too much to hope that some of their loveliness will rub off onto me?

The other thing that I realized as I was playing tour guide is that, ironically enough, living in Vietnam has fueled a patriotism and American pride within myself that I wouldn’t necessarily know I had if I hadn’t ever left.

Things that happened here in Vietnam during the war were awful--for everyone on all sides. That’s what war is, or as much of it as I, in my sheltered naivety, am able to understand. Still, I’m living in North Vietnam, 34 years after my fellow countrymen caught the last helicopter off a rooftop in Saigon, and I’m proud to be an American. I’m proud when people ask me about my President, and I can say he is an intelligent, self-made man who is challenging America and Americans to be better than maybe some of us believe we can be. I’m proud when I talk about New York, and I see the looks on my students’ faces when I explain that if they walked down the street in Manhattan, people wouldn’t know if they were American or Vietnamese, because everyone looks different. I’m proud that I’m from a country whose government wants me to be here; that wants me to teach, wants me learn, and wants me to come back to America and talk about it.

I’m not completely naive on this. Every morning I read the online edition of the New York Times: Joe Wilson’s disgusting display in Congress. Kanye West’s loathsome hubris. The riots on health care at Town Hall Meetings. I get it; there are reasons to not be proud of America right now. There were reasons to not be proud of America in 1975. That being said, I’m living across the world and I see that my life is one giant opportunity waiting to be had because I’m an American. Somewhere along the line, some people did some things right, and they did so with my future and my dreams in mind.

That’s an incredible thing to realize. And I'm less than 2 months into this thing.

Manicures in Viet Nam

Thu tu Wednesday
Vietnamese Word of the day: sự cắt sửa móng tay: manicure

The other day, a student of mine and her older sister wanted to take me to get a manicure. They asked me what color I wanted my nails painted. I said light pink. I think something was lost in translation...

The Vietnamese may not do subtle, but my fingernails are Bedazzledly Beautiful!

Advice from my 90 year old Aunt Virgie

Chu nhat: Sunday
Word of the day: Lon: pig
Just got off the phone with my 90 year old Aunt Virgie Fitzgerald. That woman has never been one to mince words or keep her opinions to herself.

Here are some of the gems she had for me:

1. If it gets overwhelming, just come home. Don't stay there. Nobody wants you there anyway.
2. Get a maid.
3. Find an army base. You'll feel safer. How close are you to Okinawa?
4. Maddie, don't become sick. Whatever you do. Just don't become sick.

God love her.

I had a great weekend. Yesterday some students took me to a few local temples and then to my student Linh's family's farm for lunch. I just about died when I saw that there was a pen of about 15 little piglets. I just love pigs so much!!

My students found my affinity for swine a bit confusing. They kept saying, "Miss Madeline. They are gross. They have the flu. You know, H1N1." But they were pink and cute and I loved them despite their bad swine flu rep.

Just look at their little piggie snouts!

And their pink piggie ears!

But enough about the pigs. If you want to see more, check out this facebook album.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2170967&id=10902081&l=e8e5ab2a76

I've had lunch at a number of student and faculty member's houses, and the most interesting part is always meeting the parents. Linh's father arrived at the house just as we were about to leave. He didn't speak a word of English, but he came right up to me, shook my hand, and said something in Vietnamese, which Linh translated as: "He met another American once during the war, but that is the past and now he is proud to have you in his house, and he hopes you will come again soon." Ever since I've been here, things like that just kind of take my breath away. I can't quite describe it. He asked me to take a picture of us shaking hands:

Me and Linh's Dad

Assimilation

Thu Nam
Thursday

I'm one of those people who feels best when I look best--(Is there anyone who isn't one of those people?)--and I decided that the condition of my thick, humidity-infused coif was becoming a detriment to my mental health. Something had to be done.

Today I spent 5 hours in a salon chair getting my hair cut, semi-permanently straightened, and styled. In other words, Vietnamesatized. It cost me $15.00.

This is assimilation I can get used to.

My friend Bac took me and explained to the owner of the salon what I wanted done.
Shorter. Straighter. Easier.
She then told me that she and the owner, a man named Hieu, both agreed that when I was finished I would look much more beautiful and much more like a Vietnamese. Well, a girl can dream, can't she?

Over the course of the 5 hours, I think I had 10 different people work on my hair. At one point there were 4 people all touching my head at the same time, each doing a small, specific task.

Is this what communism is all about?

All in all, I must say I am very pleased; they did a great job. When I was finished, Hieu said he thought I looked like Victoria Beckham. I said, "Which half of me? Which half of me looks like her?"

Because Posh Spice is half my size...Because she's so skinny...Get it? Funny? Yes?...sigh....

No one got my joke. I'm not funny in Vietnam.

Here's the 'do:
Yes, I took this picture of myself. Yes, I was alone in my apartment.
Sometimes I am my own worst nightmare of a woman.

Cravings

Tuesday: Thu Ba
Word of the day: xin chao: hello/goodbye

I knew this would happen.
My boss Liz told me back before I left that she thought I would probably start craving weird things at some point in Vietnam.
She was right.
Is this what pregnancy feels like?
(That's not a very funny joke.)

1. Coffee. Bad coffee. With too much Splenda and just enough milk. From Star-Lite Deli on 44th Street.
2. Pickles on Burgers. Mashed in with the ketchup and cheese. Under a slightly toasted bun.
3. Nachos with melted over-processed Velveeta. (Pre-lactose intolerance.) Eaten on the couch. While watching football with my Dad. At 1pm on a Sunday after church with the family.
4. Lean Cuisine. With Emily. In her UWS apartment while watching Real Housewives of NYC. Eaten in a dish with chopsticks. To make it an event when we couldn't afford to go out.
5. Lancaster County Sweetcorn. Grilled while in its shucks. With too much butter and salt and pepper. Preferably eaten outside. With friends and loved ones. Who appreciate good produce as much as I do.
6. Red Wine. Anywhere. Always. But preferably with Italian food. Any Italian food. Except Italian food in Vietnam. It makes me sick.
7.Pumpkin Spiced Lattes (I didn't even know I liked them!) from September-November in New York. On days when you can wear a sweater and scarf, but don't need a jacket. Between runs around the reservoir and work.


I think that's enough. I actually feel a little better just putting that out into the universe.

Adventures in Transportation

Sunday
Vietnamese word of the day: ban: friend

It was a pretty good week at the college, but by Friday morning I was ready to head to Hanoi to see some friends and get a few western comforts. My saying that I need to go to HANOI for Western comforts should give you some idea of what my life is like right now. Not complaining: just facts.

Regardless, my ridiculous internal alarm clock got me up at the usual 5:30am, and I headed to the bus stop to brave Vietnamese public transportation solo. I saw a lot of strange things on New York City subways and buses; here in Vietnam, I'm the strange thing on the bus. Seriously. Every person who walks on the bus spots me, quizzically looks me up and down, makes a comment to their friend (for all my lack of understanding of Vietnamese, I know when I'm being talked about), and if they have even the smallest knowledge of English or just a lot of curiosity, they come and sit next to me/half on top of me and begin talking to me in Vietlish. Or Engamese....

On Friday morning the first person to approach me was a middle aged doctor with a decent surface knowledge of English. The bus was empty, but he came and sat right beside me and rested his bag and arm on my leg. Personal space is something that I'm learning to do without...We had a pleasant enough conversation--"Yes, I'm an American. I'm an English teacher. I'm 23. No, I'm not married"--then he opened his briefcase and pulled out a packet of medical documents written in English and asked me to translate them into Vietnamese. I politely explained that I can't speak very much Vietnamese--and don't think I could even read the English of the medical document--then put back on my IPod and tried to desensitize myself to the fact that I'm the favored bus freakshow. Next up was this young sassy bus ticket collector. He spoke no English, but he wasn't really interested in conversing anyway. He, like the doctor, sat literally on top of me and took one of my purple earbuds out of my ear and put it in his own. His buddies gave him a thumbs up and we sat like this, listening to music and cruising along, for about 45 minutes. He liked Fleetwood Mac. At one point I showed him the address of where I was going, which was a good thing because the bus I was on apparently wouldn't take me there. Shortly after he had detached himself from me, the bus stopped and he grabbed my bag , pulled me into the street, and brought me to a different, bigger bus. No explanation was made, but what the hell was I going to say about it? This bus did take me to the station I needed, thank God.

In my former life (BV--Before Vietnam), there were many times that I pulled into Port Authority or Penn Station in NY and would have to fight tourists who tried to take my cab and cab drivers who refused to go to Washington Heights. Here in Vietnam, I walk off the bus and am immediately swarmed by cab drivers and motorbike drivers who take one look at my sweet, dimpled, American Pie face and figure I have a lot of money and will be easy to rip off. None of my "trusted" cab companies (the 3 in all of Hanoi that don't rig their meters or take you in circles)were at the station, so I walked a few blocks, all the while being trailed by a parade of Vietnamese men shouting, "Madame! Madame! Will you please get on my motorbike!" No, I will not.

The 2 days and 1 night in Hanoi were great save a few stomach issues, but what's my life these days without those? I came back to Hai Duong on Saturday night because this morning I was slated to go with my teacher friend Mrs. Bac to Co Son Mountain via motorbike! Mrs. Bac picked me up at 7:30 am while heavy skies loomed above. I brought my own helmet--my bicycle helmet. No one here, except for me, rides a bicycle with a helmet. This sometimes makes me feel like the less cool 10 year old version of myself that I once was, but most of the time it makes me feel at least slightly less in peril for my life. That being said, wearing an ill-fitted bicycle helmet on the motorbike really just made me feel like a loser. I'm going to need a cute motorbike helmet if I want to keep my self respect.

About halfway into the 1.5 hour drive to the mountain, Mrs. Bac pulled over and said she thought it was going to rain and we should put on our rain coats. I pulled out my silly purple poncho, readjusted my stupid helmet, and got ready for the worst. About five minutes later the Vietnamese rain I've been waiting for finally arrived. I was soaked through my poncho, my mascara was running down my face, and my legs were caked in mud. In the words of my father, I looked like I'd been shot at, and missed. We pulled into the entrance of Co Son Mountain where about 5 men sat waiting to park motorbikes; they all started laughing when they saw me. How's that for humility?

Luckily, the sky really cleared up, and Bac and I had a lovely day together. We went to her parent's for lunch and they were great people. I also took a 2 hour nap on a wooden bed in their living room. They insisted.

I'm looking forward to getting this week underway. I only have a few classes because about 1/2 the students have manditory military training. Hopefully I can fill up my time.

Here is a picture of Bac and me on the Mountain! She's great. I still look a little rough...

Questions for teacher.

Thu Tu Wednesday
Vietnamese Word of the Day: sinh vien: student

On the first day with each of my classes, I've been having the students fill out note cards about themselves. At the bottom of the card they can write any question they have for me. I received this question this morning.

Question #176:

"Are you lonely in the evening? Would you like I introduce one or more boy for you?"

Avoid the Thit Cho....

Thu Ba: Tuesday
Word of the Day: Cho: dog

So this past weekend I returned to Hanoi to see some friends, find a hamburger, and take a shower-not-in-a-bucket. I am happy to report that I had success on all three of these fronts.

On Sunday, my friend Mia and I took a cycling day trip to Hoa Lu and Tam Coc. We rode through some villages, saw some water buffaloes (IN THE WATER!), and went through a cave via boat. See Exhibits A, B, and C.

Exhibit A.

Exhibit B.

Exhibit C.

All in all, it was good to focus my energy on an excursion of some kind. I am finding that the more active I can be here, the happier I will be.

On the trip, our tour guide was a Vietnamese man named Ang who was very skilled at making animal noises. Non-stop. His goat was especially impressive.

As we were rowing along this river through beautiful limestone formations, Ang asked if I had ever eaten dog. I said, "No, I have not. I have a pet dog, and her name is Lady."

People in Vietnam also have pet dogs, so I asked him what the difference is between your pet dog and a dog you eat. He said, "Oh, you would never eat your own dog. But you would eat your neighbor's. One time I ate my girlfriend's."
...
I asked if that made her upset. He said she never found out.
...
Later in the day, after he asked me if I have a "lover" (a question which I am asked at least once a day, and just like that, "Do you have a lover?"), I asked him if he still had a girlfriend.

He said No.

MAYBE BECAUSE YOU ATE HER PUPPY, DUDE.

This is one of the loves of my life, Lady Felix. I will never eat dog, Lady. I promise.

Exhibit D.
Love of my life.
(More pics from the weekend on my facebook album: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2164219&id=10902081&l=c02b62e408)

First Week in Hai Duong!

Thu Nam Thursday
Vietnamese word of the day: Phu nu::woman

I'm wrapping up my first week of working in Hai Duong. It has definitely been challenging (just ask my father who's been talking me through it everyday via skype!), but I know there will be some big rewards in the future. My students are just the sweetest kids, really. Although they are college age, they have a certain innocence about them which just draws you in. They've also given me some very lovely gifts, such as:

-A watermelon
-Green Bean Cake
-Sweet Milk
-Pork Bread
-Banh Gai Cake
-Vegetables that look like Moroccas
-A face mask to protect against pollution

They call me "Miss Madeline," which slays me. No one has ever really called me by my full name, so I get a kick out of the fact that everyone here insists on calling me by it.

I also really like the other women in the English department. They are all young--I think the oldest one is 30--and they all have small children. I can't wait to meet their families.
We've had some very interesting conversations about the differences between Western women and Vietnamese women. Here are some examples:

Mrs. Bac: How old is your sister?
Me: 27 years old.
Mrs. Bac: How many children does she have?
Me: She doesn't have any yet.
Mrs. Bac: Oh.... This is a difference between Western women and Vietnamese women.

Mrs. Huyen: How do you like the food so far?
Me: I like it OK, but I've gotten a bit sick, so I'm trying to cook for myself mostly.
Mrs. Huyen: Are you a good cook?
Me: No, unfortunately I'm not.
Mrs. Huyen: Oh....This is a difference between Western women and Vietnamese women.
Me: Well, my mother is good cook.
Mrs. Huyen: Then she should teach you.

Mrs. Ngan: Are you married?
Me: No.
Mrs. Ngan: How old are you?
Me: 23 years old.
Mrs. Ngan: When will you get married?
Me: I don't know. Someday I hope.
Mrs. Ngan: Oh....this is a difference between Western women and Vietnamese women......


This weekend I am going into Hanoi to stock up on some oatmeal and other necessities in my life. On Sunday, I am going to meet my friend Mia to go on a bicycle tour of the Red River Delta. I also promised my father that I would make sure to eat some red meat at a good restaurant. I think he is very concerned about the possibility of me a)not getting enough protein, and b)becoming a vegetarian. Currently, the man is devising a way to smuggle some deer jerky through the Vietnamese postal customs...