To Hanoi with love, and a bucket

So, a bit of time has passed now since I left Hanoi, and I can say that there are good things about being back in Sydney. Like, my dog. And the Alfalfa House, and sunshine so bright it laughs at your retinas.

There are other things too, like having a drink given to you without some dude’s extremely long thumbnail having first been submerged in it. I appreciate that. Or being able to access media on the internet, given that for some reason them US copyright-holding fools aren’t as paranoid about Australian “piracy” as they are about Vietnamese self-help actions (biased much? Tell it like it is sister!).

So I think it’s time to book-end this blog. I was thinking about what made my year so incredible. If there was any one thing, it was the people – it was an essentially human experience.

People see each other, and are people to each other. There’s grace, and a humble-making-thankfulness about a life like this that no number of high end minimalist post-modern industrialist espresso machines can beat.

Shower time with mum

Desperate times

Desperate measures

Finally, thanks you guys for sticking with me. I never thought that I’d write more than a maximum of four posts. But, knowing that people were reading this gave me a reason to share, and also deeply appealed to the narcissist in me. Heh.

I’m going to try to keep blogging, but I really, really don’t want to be JAWS (Just Another Whinging Sydneysider). Further, I can’t make any assurances about quality. As the Sage of Sha La La Las said, “the best love songs are written with a broken heart.” (It’s true: karaoke made me a better person.)  Despite the fact that I do have some misgivings about how we live here, it’s just too damned easy right now.

So, we’ll see. To you, and to Hanoi: much much tiny dog love.

Whiskers on kittens

So maybe instead of writing the all-encompassing post, because that really is an impossible task, I’ll start with some of the things that I’m missing right now (including toothpicks, and throwing rubbish on the ground). And because wordpress murders the quality of the pics, you can see them here too.

I miss being able to get great coffee anywhere. And by anywhere, I mean anywhere.

Boat coffee at the Cần Thơ floating markets

I miss the autonomous kids.

A boy and his dog

And the waving kids.

Bicycles and bridge

I miss finding random altars.

Happy belly god

And spotting unexpected TVs.

Houseboat TV

I miss family time.

When dad's not fishing

And dinner time (also known as old ladies chasing kids around with a loaded spoon).

Time for a feed

I really, really miss road trips. And a road life not dominated by the tyranny of cars.

Fully loaded we got snacks and supplies

I miss people’s uncomplaining and unyielding resilience.

Highway to Ninh Binh after the storm

And I miss the beauty. I miss it a lot.

Sunset at the Imperial City

And then…

Ten days out of the Noi. Still jetlagged. Still contemplating that last all-encompassing post while wading through years and multiple countries’ worth of tax returns. At least my bike is back together.

Not actually my bike.

Worse than getting phlegmed on

The only thing worse than packing is saying goodbye.

Saying goodbye is balls. It’s the worst. I’d have a hard time deciding between having to say goodbye and having a rash. And no bacon, no cheese and none those funny-shaped tasty leaves forever.

Buồn qúa.

New year

Sorry about that outburst. Nothing like picturing yourself as the hapless recipient of uncontrollable road rage to get the old angry-pants on (particularly as I am pretty sure I will be an Asian Woman Driver when I return). I have calmed down somewhat – enough to share the festive red Chúc Mừng Năm Mới! (Happy New Year) greetings, as brought to you by the infamous Hanoi Hilton.

Holiday good wishes from the Big House

(Is it just me or does anyone else find this a bit weird? I guess even ex-prisons want to give love too.)

In time I will write more about Tết in Hà Nội, but not now as I am, of course, rushing to finish a report.

Today’s outrage

Update on reverse culture shock #1 – wtf Australia?! Y’all need to calm the heck down. Exercise, eat more fruit. Love your wife, play with your children. Take your blinkers off, because (1) getting cut off on the road is really not the worst thing that could happen to your precious manhood; and (2) no one owes you a goddamned thing, least of all half a metre of space on the road.

Now, I don’t know what drove these guys to such hideous violence, it might have been an infraction worse than getting cut off. But regardless, geezus people. Get a grip.

Mr. handsome young friendly multiply

Oh the joys of working in a non-native English context.

Sometimes, reading documents that have been translated into English can make you want to stab a pen through your eye (or the closest eye).

But sometimes, it just makes your day. This extract is from Thailand’s National Science and Technology Strategy:

Committee prepared the plan:

Mr. possess guitar noise (Chairman).

Mr. handsome young friendly multiply.

Mr. elephant Aisr Sena Na Ayudhya.

Mr. Olarn Chaipravat.

Mr. Tan Coat Wiorhns Most Noble Order.

Mr. birth to the need close.

Mr. Suemt Tantivejkul.

Mr. Yong strategist strategist family.

Director of NSTDA. (Secretary).

Representative NESDB / Sp. Wt. / NSTDA. (Assistant Secretary).

—–

Thank you Google Translate.

Reverse culture shock #1

How am I ever going to be able to obey traffic rules ever again?

Pre-

Wow.

About a week left for me in Hanoi, and I am suffering from word paralysis.

This has been a monumental year, actually life-changing. I can’t say that’s happened very often before, at least, not perceptibly. What was once foreign is now familiar, and no doubt, the familiar will feel uncomfortable. Strangers have become close friends, and, in the course of the year, best friends became opaque, an other to each other.

I am still waiting for the dust to settle, and hopefully then I will have regained some semblance of verbal acuity.

Setting the record straight

For many reasons, spending an extended period in Asia (and not just Vietnam) has been a tremendous learning experience for me. And one of the more important realisations I’ve had is that Asian people in South East Asia are not, by and large, represented by Asian people in Canada or Australia, or other Western countries. That is, the Asian kid you knew in high school – you know, the skinny one with a pasty computer screentan who hated sport, and wore glasses, and was really good at math and science…forget him.

The average person (based on a survey of thousands) in South East Asia are what the Kiwis call hard cases. Replace the math geek with someone who, while s/he might be smaller, is also tougher; used to hardship (at least, more personal daily discomfort than  your average MEC wearer) and is also perhaps covered in tattoos and stares down the trucks coming head-on while driving the motorbike like a demon with a grudge. S/he is probably able also to climb mountains in 5-inch heels, or plastic sandals; is unfazed by swimming in inky black bodies of water; and is probably smoking a cigarette while paddling to shore in squat position from an anchored boat on an ancient surfboard (in lieu of an actual dinghy). In other words, there is a pretty different risk calculation undertaken here compared to the stereotypically cautious Asian person in the Western world – indeed to people in general in the Western world.

Which is why I’ve realised: forget the math geek – you really should be watching out for the fighting monk with pointy implements.

(original picture at http://www.britishinkdc.com/Article%20Images/ThaiTattoo.jpg)