Namaskar

My motorbike pulls up to the spaceship-looking building and a guard smiles and waves as if I’m a long lost friend he hasn’t seen in ages.  I enter the large opening in the building and directly opposite is a room full of mirrors and glass with about fifty sweaty bodies.  At first, I look away but I cannot avert my gaze for long.  They are wearing incredibly short spandex shorts and matching sports bras.  This must be a qualification for this room because the fit bodies and…developing…bodies are all wearing it.  The music is blaring and their hips are thrusting and gyrating.  Am I in Da Nang’s finest red light district?  No – I’m watching Zumba.  My roommate can attest to this suggestive workout as she is a bit of a regular.  I don’t realize I’m staring until one of them looks over at me.  My whiplash heel turn was probably pretty obvious.  I locate the dimly-lit room I was looking for and quickly flip my sandals off, spread my towel out on an unattended mat and assume the laying position everyone else is in. 

[Crap!  I’m late!] 

One minute later, the instructor speaks softly in Vietnamese and everyone rises in unison, grabbing their belongings to leave.  I’m not late.  I’m early.  And I just crashed this class’ meditation.  Awesome.

Anchor Yearn for A Mossless Stone

“…so many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day, to have a new and different sun. ”


Chris McCandless, ‘Into the Wild’

Playing in the Mud

Today was a very joyous day.  If there is one thing that I miss more than Mexican food - more than driving a car - more than game nights - it's pottery.  My life was consumed by clay up until the last week before leaving America.  I taught wheel throwing, I sold my ceramics, I had clay parties and get-togethers at my apartment - it's an understatement to give clay the name "hobby;" it was a big part of my life, and my happiness.
So when I moved here, its absence left a pretty big, muddy hole.  I'm ashamed to say that I didn't know that the Thanh Ha Pottery Village existed until a month ago, and that I hadn't visited until today.  Rain or shine, Andy and I were on a mission to visit.  (It rained).  The cold, wet day put no damper on our spirits!  We found the village 45 minutes away - just West of Hoi An.

Reconstituting clay with his feet!

At first, it didn't look like much.  We drove around until one woman waved and said hello from her yard.  "Why not?"  I said.  We parked our bikes and ascended the steps to her home.  There were molds everywhere and lots of greenware (unfired clay) piled on the ground and in rows on shelves.  Feeling slightly disappointed that this family only made mold duplicates, I was still appreciating seeing their process and their mammoth kilns.  Considering the amount of greenware waiting around, I'd imagine they only fire it up once in a great while.  Stepping inside their compound, I witnessed a woman sitting on a stool, carving holes out of a giant mold vase.  She didn't mind our presence and continued to carve after offering a smile and "lantern" explanation.
Stepping into the next room, I finally found what I had been looking for.  An unattended large disc on the ground with an accompanying squat stool.  I knew what I was looking at.  The most primitive wheel I will ever have the privilege to throw on.  The woman saw my smile and pointed with raised eyebrows.

"Dạ! Dạ!" (Yes! Yes!)

Are You Readyyy

There are certain things that are hard to imagine about living abroad until you're living abroad.  You know you will eat new foods and meet new people and maybe your shower will be strange like in Lost in Translation.  One thing I had not thought about was Total Peripheral Lingual White Noise Tune-Out (or, TPLWNTU - still working on a shorter name!)

It's natural to overhear other people's conversations when everyone around you is speaking your native tongue.  This gal is arranging a workout time...this guy is having a meltdown with his co-worker...this youngin is throwing a fit over the toy he's being denied... but when you have no clue what anyone is saying, the sounds all fall into the non-lingual grouping of motorbike engines, dog barking or car honking.

At first, this phenomenon made me nervous.  What if they're talking about me?  What if I'm about to be scammed?  But then I learned to love it.  If someone's talking about me in Vietnamese, they can speak as loudly as they like because I wouldn't understand or acknowledge it.  If I want to work and plan lessons in a cafe, I'm not distracted by any conversations that I can't understand anyway.

One area of particular tune-out has been neighbor interactions outside our windows.  We have permanent openings to the outside in most rooms and so neighbor noise is pretty common - especially in the morning.  No one around us speaks English, so the squabbles and singing and yelling and conversing is all Vietnamese... until yesterday morning.  I was getting ready to start the day when, out of no where, I heard a very clear and undeniable English question trumpeted outside my window.

ARE YOU READYYYYY!!!

And that was it.  

Fully Mended

Clichéd sayings don’t really feel validated until you experience them.  You know that popular one about valuing your health (especially when you don’t have it?)  I've never been so happy to feel healthy again.  After two bouts with flu-like fevers, food poisoning, infections, allergic reactions, and strep throat, my list of fun added another teacher favorite – pink eye.  Recognizing this really sexy infection the moment I woke up, I knew that I wasn’t going to spend the $60 to see a Western doctor.  I knew it was pink eye.  That left one other option: the Vietnamese hospital.  I figured I’d do it at some point, why not now? 

My very lovely Vietnamese teacher assistant went with me to the hospital that day. 

Big, white, and bustling with people even during nap time, the hospital visit felt like a field trip.  I was experiencing health care like VN residents.  I waited at the receptionist counter while several women in white processed paperwork and took my insurance card.  Then, I turned around and had my blood pressure and heart rate checked by machines right in the lobby.  After paying a small fee, we got into the elevator, but not without two technicians and a young girl, maybe 17, laying on a stretcher with an IV drip.  In the eternity it took to ascend four floors, I listened to this girl with her eyes closed and a barely-there labored breath, wondering what her condition was at such a young age.  My laundry list of recent illnesses suddenly seemed so trivial.

Promising myself, publicly

I've been thinking about the blog a lot lately and all the things I've meant to add... and then I don't just sit down and write.  This blog is still so new and developing, but lately I've struggled with what a blog should be and what it should express and who exactly I'm writing to and how extended writing (certainly must?) maintain a consistent style.  Or not?

Blogging is more complicated than I thought.

I've had bloggers guilt, without even reaching 25 posts... woah, hang on! I just realized that I've written over twenty bodies of text because I like writing.  Not because someone asked me to or is depending on me to or because I should.  The next five posts may not read as polished and they may not even appear to come from the same writer, but I've got stuff to write about and it's goin' down in the next five consecutive days.  Kisses to those of you who still read and support me challenging myself.  It means more than you know.

Chúc mừng năm mới!

New Years Eve, I started out workin' hard for my money - a four-hour block of classes, scheduled to end at 9:30pm.  A highlight was that only two adults showed up for the second class, allowing us to conduct a very personalized speaking-centered two hours.  After class, I rushed home, changed into a sparkly top (which I then covered up with a homely-looking sweater of course) and headed out to meet a great friend for drinks at one of the swankiest restaurants in town.

The Memory Lounge