THE REST OF 2013 (INCLUDING VIETNAM) PART II

Happy May Day! We have the day off because it's Indonesia's Labour Day, like a lot of other countries. This term has had a lot of random one-day-off-in-the-middle-of-the-week holidays. By Nicole's reckoning, only 4 out of 11 weeks this term are full five-day weeks. Seems like a good day to blog.

And so our tale continues. In this episode, we find our heroine kayaking around the limestone cliffs of Ha Long Bay, climbing through the Cu Chi Tunnels last used during the Vietnam War, teaching students how magnets work, marking about 120 composition penned by up and coming English Language Learners in two days' time, and making friend with a family in Abu Dhabi.

I'll switch out of third person now. Let's go back to Vietnam. When last I blogged, Aasha, Dipesh and I had finished a full day of ambling around Hanoi. The next morning we got picked up at our hotel for the 3-4 hour drive to Ha Long Bay which is north and east of Hanoi. The others in our group were 1 elderly Asian man (I presume Vietnamese, but I don't actually know,) 5 British girls, and 3 American guys. The guys were from California and of Vietnamese descent, two brothers and their cousin. They claimed that all three of them put together could speak Vietnamese, but only as a team effort.

Our boat disappointingly did not have typical Chinese junk sails like I was hoping, but it was still a good boat. (Despite one rat sighted during the voyage.) Once onboard, we had a seafood lunch as we sailed into the bay past the magnificent "limestone monolithic islands" (I lifted that, but it's a good description.) Sadly, my camera had stopped working at this point. It was a problem with the lens. The telephoto lens was still working but the normal one wouldn't. Whenever I put it on the camera it just made weird electronic adjustment noises and showed a blank black screen. I ended up taking pictures with the telephoto lens and my tablet instead. But still! That's why I brought a different camera back with me for 2014 - one that isn't so delicate and can stand being tossed around in a backpack a bit more.

After a few hours we had made our way well into Ha Long Bay, green and white limestone towers passing by us on all sides. Just do a Google image search for "Ha Long Bay" and you'll see what I mean. The only thing that could have made it better was if it had been a little sunnier and clearer, but it was still impressive. The first place we stopped was at a huge cave. We toured around inside this cave with other groups on boat excursions. The path into the cave and out again was fairly long because the cave was immense and cavernous and it's limestone ceiling stretched high above us. This was not  a cave to cause claustrophobia - just the opposite if anything. I'm still not certain of the geological history of the cliffs there, but I know the limestone plays into it. Very neat to walk around inside one anyway. 

We got to go kayaking after that. Happily, I got paired with the most sporty of the five British girls so we really took off and kayaked all over the place. We went around a small floating village in the bay and around any cliffs we thought looked interesting. We were the first ones to leave the boat and last ones back. That evening, after dinner, the British girls, the American guys and the three of us sat on the uppermost deck of the boat to play cards and drinking games. Local women would row up to our boat in small dinghies to sell vodka and snacks. The girls had bought some vodka so we were set up for the night. One of the games we played was Bullshit, but because of the British girls, we decided to call it Bullocks instead. And if you wanted to call "Bullocks!" you had to do it in an English accent. We goofed around and talked and had fun. 

The next day included a tour of a small pearl farm, and then we picked up some passengers who were headed back from a three-day tour. With the new folks, who included some American and British couples, we got a mini-cooking class and made spring rolls. I think the best part of that day was getting to know one of the British couples. They had been travelling around for a few months on their honeymoon and doing some volunteering as they went. She was a doctor, almost done with her residency, and he was a primary school teacher so they had found it easy to find volunteer opportunities. Everybody can use doctors and teachers. They were very fun to talk to and share some stories with.

Back in Hanoi, a few hours later, we just had time for some delicious sandwiches before heading to the airport to go to HCMC. Nicole and Claudia were already there and had found a hotel. The plan was to arrive around midnight and head out on a tour the next day with them. 

Standing in line to check in at the Jet Star queue we found that once again we had another flight delay. As it was already getting late and we knew that we would now arrive after midnight, this was pretty frustrating. This was just the tip of the iceberg however. The Hanoi airport is probably the worst airport I've ever been in. Everything about it was awful. I'm not a picky person, I usually just roll with the punches, but the number of factors conspiring against us at this airport put me over the edge. In between the check in on the lower floor and the security check on the ground floor there seemed to be hundreds (yes, actually hundreds) of people hanging around. Doing what? I could not tell you. They were just a big, pointless crowd of people. Some with luggage, some without. Not queuing up to check in to flights, not waiting for arrivals, just... there. And they didn't go away. It was mysterious, and, seeing as they completely blocked the way and it was a nightmare to push through them, very annoying. It wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't had to push through them about five times. 

After we went through security we thought we'd find a wifi spot and e-mail the hotel to tell them we were arriving late (we had arranged airport pickup again.) We got through security to the gates only to find there was no wifi whatsoever. The next course of action was to find a phone. There were none. I brought my concern to an airport staff member. They were very unhelpful and eventually I found out there was no phone or wifi at all and no one could, or would, help me. So, once you get past security there is no way to contact anybody outside the airport. I exited security, pushed my way through the hundreds of people milling about in a small space and went downstairs to find a phone. The Tourist Information Desk looked promising but their phone could only make local calls to Hanoi. The people at the Jet Star desk were able to help me at least. Back upstairs and through the teeming masses and security once more. We waited around on uncomfortable plastic chairs, keeping an eye on the departures board. On one walk up to the departures board I discovered that our flight was no longer there. Simply gone. Poof! What the heck! Already in not the peachiest of moods, I asked of an airport staff - still diplomatically - what was going on. The infuriating woman wouldn't even acknowledge me. She did not deign to make eye contact, or even mutter a vocalisation, but tersely waved me away from her desk. I tried again and all I got was the frigid hand wave. Well [expletive expletive] you and what the [expletive expletive expletive] is this [expletive expletive expletive] and I mean [expletive]! This of course, in my head, not out loud. The solidly built walls of my composure finally blasted away, I blustered past security once again, forced my way through the multitudes of people uselessly taking up space, stormed to the Jet Star desk and asked for their help in figuring out what the [expletive expletive expletive] was going on. They told me my flight was boarding now and I better hurry upstairs to the gate. Maybe this time I swore out loud. I don't remember but it's a distinct possibility. I ran upstairs, shoved through the throng, and this time security didn't even bother making me pass through the scanning machine. Aasha and Dipesh and I queued up... only to wait around for 30 or more minutes. They boarded another flight first while everyone on our flight stood around waiting. And it took forever because for at least 10 or 15 minutes they called latecomers to the gate and didn't seem to want to depart until everyone had arrived. Excuse me, but if someone can't get to their flight on time - on a delayed flight nonetheless - they don't deserve to hold the entire flight and all those after it back while they are summoned. But that's not how Southeast Asian logic works. (Logic? What logic?) Needless to say, we were all feeling pretty bitter. The final kick in the pants was when we arrived in HCMC and it took an excruciatingly long time to get to the terminal. One last little jest at our expense. In my exhaustion and anger, I briefly considered if I had died and gone to some sort of purgatory where I would be taxiing on the tarmac from now until the end of time. 

But eventually we did arrive and sure enough the driver from the hotel was still waiting (at last, some redeeming gesture of goodness from humankind!) I hope I'm never in the Hanoi airport again - what an experience!

The next day we headed out on our tour with Nicole and Claudia. Nicole told me about their visit to the War Remnants Museum the day before and how emotionally shook up it had made her. She said that she was shocked and horrified by the things she learnt American troops had done to the Vietnamese during the war. The pictures, stories and artifacts from the museum were overwhelming. She shared some of the horrible things she had learnt with me and even the secondhand shock was unbearable.

When she shared some of these stories with me, some of my ire from the day before faded. Maybe that unbelievably rude woman who just waved me away when I asked for help lost a father or mother in the war. Maybe her family was tortured at the hands of our troops. Maybe someone in her family still suffers from severe disability due to Agent Orange. How do I know that there aren't real scars, even now, and that dealing with upset Americans at the airport is more than she can handle, thus the no eye contact? How can I know? It got me to thinking and really sobered me up.

The first stop on the tour was a bizarre temple (in my opinion just because it was so different from anything I have ever seen) of the Cao Đài, religion. According the Wikipedia article I have just read to refresh my memory, it was established in Vietnam and most of its adherents are Vietnamese. Their god is represented by an eye (The Left Eye of God, to be exact), their beliefs include a rich cosmology, and their temples are extremely colourful. We were allowed to enter and observe... a ceremony? worship? meditation and prayers? Je ne sais pas. Row after row of dutiful practitioners sat on the floor inside. All the women wore white robes as did many of the men. Some men wore bright red or blue or yellow robes too and some had fancy looking hats. What is it with religions around the world and weird hats? They mostly sat in silence and occasionally would all bow at the same time, seemingly before a bell had even been rung. It was just so mysterious. Talk about the "Mysterious Orient" - I would say this was the epitome of it. It was colourful and weird and ornate and totally beyond my comprehension. A mural on the wall at the temple entrance showed Vietnamese leaders with Victor Hugo painting words on stone tablets. Stranger and stranger...

We ate lunch at "the only place in town" (i.e. the restaurant of my business partner with whom I have a deal to bring busloads of tourists every week). I was more insulted by the lie itself than anything else. Not very convincing when you drive past half a dozen place to eat on your way out. Ah well.

The last stop on the tour was the Cu Chi tunnels. The Cu Chi tunnels - and here I need no visit over to the interwebs to refresh my memory - were built as means for the Vietnamese to disappear from the dangers of war on the ground. Some communities lived underground for years, etching out a meager existence and fighting guerrilla warfare. With our tour group we watched a surreal pro-Communist video about a young girl who was an American-Killer Hero of the highest order who had bravely found against the American Devils and protected her community. It must have been made very shortly after the war, judging by the age of the film. It was too bizarre, surreal as I say, to be truly offensive. How can you be offended by such obvious propaganda and political spin? They weren't trying to force the propaganda on us anyway. The video was presented more in the light of being an artifact and it was followed with factual information about the tunnels.

The tunnel entrances were teeny-tiny. I used to think Indonesians were small people. It's the Vietnamese who are truly slight of frame. The entrances were about the size of a large shoe box. Or a tile on the floor. You can go through some of the tunnels. They have been widened for tourists and they're still very small. We went down the entrance (this one was had steps, not just a hole in the ground.) Aasha, Claudia and Dipesh decided they didn't want to do it. Too small. Too claustrophobic. Although we knew the tunnel wasn't very long, it's scary to just head into it, not knowing where it goes exactly. Those in the group who wanted to go went down the tunnel one after another. Nicole went and I started and then backed out, claustrophobia crashing in. But then, somehow, I pushed down my fear and made myself go back in. And once you're in, you really can't back out. It was too small to walk, but tall enough not to have to crawl, so Nicole and I crouch-walked through the whole thing, hearts beating fast. Some areas were pitch black so you just had to follow the person in front of you. It really wasn't that far, but it was completely exhilarating and terrifying and I thank my lucky stars that I will never have to live in a tunnel.

During our tour we also saw all the horrible, nightmarish traps that the Vietnamese soldiers made to stop, maim and kill the American troops. Some of them were unbelievably ghastly and made me feel sick. That, combined with the information from the propaganda video, made me realise that both sides had done plenty to torture each other. It would seem the Americans were as cruel as the Vietnamese and the Vietnamese were as sadistic as the Americans and vice-versa and all of it was unbelievably, unspeakably inhumane. The lesson I took away from this is that there is nothing worse than war and people can be truly awful. Awful isn't even a strong enough word. Repugnant, maybe. Diabolical. What's the point in piling blame on one side or another? It's a small comfort to try to distance yourself from things like that, but it's hard to do that when you realise this happened less than 50 years ago. 

By the time we got back to the city, it was night already and we spent the rest of the day going around one of the bigger night markets and eating dinner. The night market was full of the same North Face and other brand names we saw in Hanoi (real or knock-off, hard to say). I didn't get any North Face but I did get another pair of travel pants! And I am happy to say that our last dinner in Vietnam was truly the best. All our food was fresh and tasty and delicious and I would go back to that restaurant in a heartbeat. It was a good way to end an exciting and sometimes emotional trip. It was a trip full of "woahs" and "wows" (in fact, that's what Nicole called her blog post about it.) I'd like to go back though. I feel like there's a lot more to see and do. Also, I'd like more Vietnamese sandwiches, cinnamon curry stews, mango salads, and spring rolls please.

As for the rest of 2013... School has been much easier this year, as I mentioned before, so time went pretty quickly. By Week 8 of Term 2 we were into our biannual mega-testing mode, the craziness where kids as young as 5 and 6 take eleven exams in a two week period on which the totality of their academic merit and much of their self worth is based. This is also very mysterious to me. More mysterious than the mysticism of Cao Đài, and certainly a lot more frustrating. We don't have any lesson plans during this time, but we do come to school and mark papers for 6 hours a day. Every written composition needs to be marked twice and if the two markers have a disparity of more than 3 marks (points) a third marker must be called in. Ai-yi-yi. Oof dah!

There were a few other trips during this time. Aasha and I did a weekend trip to Singapore before Vietnam, and we also went to the Thousand Islands with other friends after October. There was even a trip to Bogor (about an hour away from Jakarta,) in which Nicole and I got on the train in the nick of time but Aasha had the automatic doors close on her and, just like something out of a movie, we were banging on the window glass as the train started to pull away and gather speed, leaving Aasha on the platform. Fortunately, another train to the same destination followed 15 minutes later. 

Overall, the time went by quickly. Now that my time at Bina Bangsa is almost done, I can reflect on all that has happened and all that I've learned and how I've changed. It's hard to pinpoint when all of these changes and learning experiences have happened, but eventually at some point I have come to feel at home in Jakarta. That's not to say I wasn't very excited to come home for Christmas.

Looking spectacular in tall tube socks, sports sandals, travel pants, and my Damn I Love Indonesia sweatshirt (from the Damn I Love Indonesia store) and to top it all off, carrying a didgeridoo, I flew from Jakarta to Kuala Lumpur. There I scrambled through many long lines and dragged my approximately 50lb luggage up a non-functional escalator going from the crappy low-cost-carrier terminal to the fancy-pants, sleek and shiny international terminal. I had booked my ticket through Etihad, so my flight from KL took me to Abu Dhabi in the UAE. (I learnt that all Etihad flights start with a travel prayer from the Koran.) As a Christmas present to myself I had booked a room in a hotel near the airport. The timing was right and I didn't need a visa ahead of time and I really wanted to stay in a hotel in Abu Dhabi. I had visions of fluffy bathrobes and those cool, waterfall style showers. I just had to.

In line to get my visa-on-arrival stamp, I double-checked with the man in front of me that I was in the right spot for visa-on-arrival. He had an American passport so I figured I might as well ask him. It turns out he was travelling with his wife and five kids. They had lived for a long time in the US but now were permanent UAE residents. We chatted amiably in line for a few minutes. 

On the other side of security, I needed to exchange money and get a taxi to my hotel. I didn't know where to go, but I saw that same family by the luggage claim. The mom was bedecked in a full black burka, only a small slit showing her eyes and the bridge of her nose. Their three daughters were older than the two boys and all three wore colourful hijab. The kids looked like they might be between 7 and 15 or 16. Since they had been such a nice family to chat with, I decided to ask them where I might find what I needed. The mom asked where I was staying and told me that it was actually quite close to the airport and on their home way. Since their driver was coming to pick them up, why not get a ride with them? Uh... Time for a split second decision. To trust or not to trust. They seemed nice, but that doesn't really mean anything. I had more faith in the fact that they were travelling with five kids than their seeming niceness. I know of Middle Eastern hospitality. Perhaps they were just trying to be kind and generous. I decided to trust. When I was telling this story to my friends after Christmas, Kristina said, "You  know, I'm surprised you don't get kidnapped more often." It was definitely a risk, but my gut instinct was correct in this case. 

We waited for a few minutes and then the driver arrived. He had a stereotypical handsome Middle Eastern look, dressed from head to toe in white clothes with white cap and a full, wispy white beard. His features were angular and hawkish. He didn't speak English. Like almost every other working person in the UAE, he was an expat. It was quite a squeeze to get all of us into the minivan. Being the guest of honour, I got a bucket seat to myself. One of the boys sat on the dad's lap in the front, the other boy sat on the mom's lap in the other bucket seat, and the three girls crowded into the back. We had a pleasant, short trip to my hotel and I took the opportunity to invite them to come and have dinner with my family, should they ever find themselves back in the states. It seemed like the thing to do. I was grateful that I know the Arabic phrase "shukran" (thank you) from my parents and used it several times. 

When we arrived at the hotel, before I got out, the mom pulled back the veil over her face and said, "Here's what I really look like." I'm certain those were her words. It was strange but I instantly felt like I was being let in to a little world of trust and hospitality. I thanked the family again and they took off. I might not see them again, but I'll always remember their kindness and their crowded minivan.

The hotel was not over-the-top in its level of luxury (it had to fit my budget after all) but it was very nice and I had a very restful stay there. The next day I walked outside in the pavilion and had the taxi driver take me to exchange money. In that way I felt like got some real - albeit very short - experiences outside the airport. The flight to Chicago went smoothly. (I had a window seat and there was no one next to me!!! I could sit cross-legged!) Soon enough, I was back home.

Well, that wraps up 2013. Sorry if I've been sparse with some details and overly generous with others. I tell the stories I remember in my own way and in my own time and at this moment I can't think of anything else to share. 2013 was truly a crazy year with plenty of ups and downs. It was a year that seemed like it must have been more than just 12 months. And, almost all of it was spent in Asia, from early-mid January to mid-late December - the longest stretch I've ever been away from Minnesota. 2014 has also had some excellent stories and I will be eager to start sharing those soon.