[Shannon dials A Friend's number, who answers after 5 rings.]

Shannon [enthusiastically:] Happy Halloween!

A Friend: Um, yeah.

Shannon: I’ve made it through Israeli security, recovered from Dengue Fever, and am trudging through Jet Lag Supreme, but I’m BACK!

A Friend: …You were gone?

Shannon: Funny.

A Friend: No seriously, you took off somewhere? Were you on a trip?

Shannon: I went through Israel and Vietnam. [pause] I was gone for almost three months.

A Friend: Oh. [pause.] That went by fast. I didn’t even really noti–

Shannon: Okay, okay.

A Friend: Soooo, what’s up?

Shannon: Gonna celebrate Halloween. Oh! And perform some poetry.

A Friend: Now that is scary.

Shannon: I have another poetry reading!

A Friend: You had a first one?

Shannon [enunciating:] I’m reading at Word Temple on FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 9th at 7pm.

A Friend: I’ll be sure to miss it.

Shannon: I thought you liked poetry?!

A Friend: No.

Shannon: I thought you liked me.

A Friend: A little.

Shannon: [rolls eyes; softly:] …I missed you, too.

A Friend: Are we done here? CSI is on.

I have Dengue Fever.

Meanwhile, look at pictures.

Bắc woke me up at 6am to go to Metro, a Costco-like Vietnamese supermarket.

We “stocked-up” on a few items for her house, but buying in bulk takes on a new dimension of difficulty when you have to transport everything on a motorscooter. (Travel Tip: don’t buy pomelos — large oversized grapefruit — when riding back-seat on a bike).

Perhaps it was the multi-cockroach exposure from previous nights or an increase of diesal fumes in my diet, but when we got back to the house I had little appetite.

I managed to eat a half loaf of white, airy bread, but couldn’t continue any further after seeing “windy ants” crawling on the loaf (“they come on food so fast, like the wind”).

Normally, I consider myself an adventurous traveler, but this heat-pollution-humidity combo was packing a mean punch.

Needless to say, when Lasse, my friend’s boyfriend living in Hanoi, called to say I was welcome to stay at his place if I was hankering for western amenities, I said Yes, Please.

His apartment, amazing. It is plush, complete with sweet-souled housekeeper, and makes a girl feel like she could just sink into that jacuzzi bathtub…

I know, I know. For a real, blog-worthy adventure I should have been seeking out the street phỏ. But I must tell you: travel is for a range of experiences. That, and I wanted to have clean water in under 4 hours for one night, okay?

Lasse and I lived the good life, with take out and House DVDs. But after a night of buckwheat soba noodles and wine, I stepped out of the air-cooled marble floor and onto the balcony.

Hanoi at night — her sweet humidity engulfed me. From 6 stories up, the traffic noise called to me as miraculous kisses of wet air.

Yes, yes, was all I answered. Tomorrow I will come back to you, tomorrow.

Let there be white!

My powercord, which was so inconventiently ‘misplaced’ during my Israeli security stint has finally been replaced! All it took was five broken English phone calls, two cyclo rides, a taxi ride, and $110USD to get my beautiful white MacBook’s battery charged. We’re back in business!

This also means I can now upload all of my pictures to date (link coming soon, sincerely). In the meantime, I will leave my Most Dearest, Darlingest Readers with a visual of the infamous Vietnamese Squat. All it takes is years of yoga, daily stretching, and complete self-abandon. A good conversation partner doesn’t hurt, either.

(Me and Grandma Ba waiting for a boat to cross the river. She told me I should buy a house near her so we can be neighbors.)

Having dinner at Ha’s house again. Watching the TV, images flickering, shots from Iraq.

I had temporarily forgotten about the war. Being in Israel and thoughts of the Middle East seem so far away. California even farther, with boiled pork intestines and banana flower salad on the table.

Listening to President Bush speak on the newest withdrawl strategy is like listening to a foreign language. Oi goi oi, duoc khong? … chet mat.

I ask Bac what the prevailing sentiment is in Vietnam regarding Iraq. She answers simply, solemnly:

“We just feel bad for the people.”

“The civilians in Iraq?” I question further. I am fascinated with the people of this country and their quiet relationship with the past and the future.
“What the people are going through,” she affirms. “Like in Sai Gon in the 60’s and 70’s. We just… feel sad.”

* * *

While riding our bikes along the Red River, water buffalo hunching over soppy green rice fields, I asked Ha a similar question.

“Someone today looked at me and then yelled, ‘Tai, tai tai!’ What does this mean?”

“They are calling you ‘foreigner.’” She smiled “But I think they do not mean it in a bad way. There are just not many westerners by here.”

“Ha?” I cocked my head in the humid breeze. “Are there places in Vietnam where there is still lingering resentment over the American War? Are there still people, say, in older generations, that feel bitterness over what happened?”

Ha pursed her lips and gently shook her head. “No,” she said lightly, “I don’t think so.”

“And why not? It was not that long ago. I would think somewhere there are people that remember and still feel that what happened was unfair.”

She shakes her head again, and again puckers her lips, aloof. With her beautiful Vietnamese-accented English, she says, almost sighingly, “I think the Vietnamese people feel all that is over. They know that it is in the past. And so they leave it there.”

We keep riding. Small children pass by in flocks, all dressed in white shirts, navy pants, a thin red scarf tied under their collar. Watery shouts of “HelloWasYarName?” drops from each child’s mouth, a stream of fascination and excitement flowing over us.

The breeze picks up and the sky turns heavy. It will rain soon. But we do not pedal any faster. We will let the rain come and cover us, because we know a sun will follow.

A typhoon hit the middle of the country and a bridge has collapsed in Southern Vietnam — however, luckily your humble NKS author remains unscathed, writing and thriving in Hanoi, Vietnam.

In fact, there is good news to report: today I got an email from a friend who noticed that a quote from my coverletter to Zyzzyva appeared on the back cover of the Fall 07 issue in the Letters to the Editor.

I figure it’s a good start to appear on the journal, even if I didn’t get published in it

 

Mysterious red bumps have formed along the length of each thigh, like red stiches. This part of my body, a softest skin, has never been exposed to open air, outside of a mosquito net. I consulted a resident Hanoian.

They are classic bed bug bites. Sleep tight!

* * *

With a flash of thirst, I woke up in the middle of the night to get some water. I crawled out of my mosquito net, slid me feet into my plastic sandals, and groggily padded to the kitchen. I wasn’t wearing my glasses; everything was a blur.

I hit the light switch and the fluorescents stammered on. As I reached down to open the fridge, the low-slung handle at knee level, I noticed a large, black spot on the counter. I brought my head closer to inspect the blemish.

It was a cockroach. Four inches long, an inch & a half wide, my was nose nearly touching its back leg. It shivered and scurried under the toaster.

I stood erect, the kitchen still fuzzy for specifics. All I could see were a hundred black circles; the room vibrated with Insectopia.
 
* * *

A neighbor noticed me sitting in the yard, sipping my last few drops of artichoke tea in the safety and familiarity of the front lawn. I said “chào, chi,” and with that, she came over for a chat.

Unfortunately, my Vietnamese stops there, and the ensuing conversation was politely one-sided.

I did, however, manage to let out a universally understood “oooo!” when she pointed out the two hornet’s nests being built precariously outside my front door. I asked her, do they sting? while dramatically poking myself on the forearm. She responded with a series of ominous tones and pointed to her eyes, one of which I noticed was nearly all white, catarac-like.

I chose to refrain from trying to pantomime whether the eye was a result of hornet-damage or if she inteded to communicate that hornets go after the eyes in general.

When Bắc got home, I point out the nests to her, thinking she might want to take action. She says she knows they are there. She wants to leave them, you see, because hornet’s nests in Vietnam are a sign of good luck.

I say try telling that to ole White Eye.

*     *     *

Dinner at Hà’s

If, by chance, you find yourself invited to dinner at a traditional Vietnamese home where a “Western” dinner has been prepared in your honor, it is highly advisable that you do not correct the cook that spagetti is typically served in America without fish sauce.

If, by chance, you also happen to be vegetarian, when most of the meal — including the vegetable soup — contains meat, it is highly advisable to stick mainly to the ‘coleslaw’ which is composed of purple cabbage and mayonnaise.

If, by chance, you find yourself invited to a slumber party, it is highly advisable to remember to bring pajamas lest you need to borrow some from the host; it is highly likely the host is invariably half your size, resulting in your borrowing of her mother’s pajamas, resulting in a flurry of giggles from everyone present.

If, by chance, your host asks you repeatedly if you have to go to the bathroom, tell her yes, you do, and proceed to the bathroom knowing she is offering for you to shower before bed.

If, by chance, you desire to thank the parents of the house for their hospitality, try practicing first the correct tone — otherwise, you may have just called the mother of the house ‘cow’ and the father of the house ‘grandmother.’

*     *     *

What I Like Best

What I like most about Vietnam is that no one will judge you for squatting on the side of the road to eat soup while wearing Hello, Kitty plastic sandals and pajamas.

They may do a double take for you being a blonde plastic-shoe-wearing, pajama-sporting, soup-squatter, but certainly not for the China-made children’s flip-flops you’re wearing.

*     *     *

Q & A

Question by Shanni: Do you have any kind of drink in Vietnam like Gatorade? I have to replace my blood sugar level.

Answer by Hà: What is Gatorade? A kind of cake?

*     *     *

The Joy of Being a Tourist

You never know which of the following is intentional or accidental: Crab in the potato chips; Ants in the bread; Vinegar in the honey; Leeches in the plum sauce; Shrimp in the salt.

(I’ll give you a hint: All but one of those things is intentional)