Fair followers three and other undocumented glancers, at last I turn my eye to the computery glare and my fingers to the silvery dance floor of this senile and sage former addict of a machine, the Powerbook G4. Hello! It has been quite the journey since last I typed. And, along the way, all the pressure of uploading winning pictures vanished in the night, along with the camera itself, my iphone, my passport and a very convenient across-the-shoulder travel bag. Alas. And yet, my person is intact, my mind's had time to heal, and I have moved myself and remaining belongings to much finer, tighter-windowed accommodations. My new street, right in the heart of the downtown district, is called Vo Van Tan. Of course, accents omitted, this name bears no resemblance to any Saigon street in the ears of the Vietnamese.
While I have not come so very far in my Vietnamese language skill, I can feel the effect of my exposure to it. The rhythm of the language, the notes one should strike for high, middle and low soundings, the accompanying facial expressions -- all lay upon me like the gift of a plastic rain drape before downpour. It also has helped to have a partner-in-crime for the past couple of months who speaks Vietnamese and loves to travel map-less. "Sin loi, anh. Anh biet ho boi (swimming pool) cho nao?"... "Sin loi, chi. Chi biet ho boi cho nao?" ..."Sin loi, ba. ho boi o dao?"... Anyhow, while formal Vietnamese classes have not yet begun, I can pronounce simple things correctly - and can utter my own street name, praise a bat.
A moot point, however, the days of dealing directions to drivers long behind me. I'm now a pro, of course, on the motorbike, careening up and down and (one way, again!?) down and up and (sin loi, chi!) to the side of streets, back to middle, and over the many bridges of the sweet, now sweetly weepy (rainy season), city of Saigon. And, mentioning the rain, I should give it thanks for my attendance here and for the new focus I find - the rain, perhaps, and the disappearance of most of my work hours (students off for a summer break) and of my aforementioned sweetheart (back to Europe).
The new place is dreamy. The top floor, which I inhabit while my dear riot of a friend Holly visits home in the states, is checkered like a chess board, black & white, sparkling bright (maid comes weekly). The tidy spot has walls of pure white, an anomaly in Vietnam, anyone who sees this will tell you. The house contains precisely what one needs to be comfortable. Clean open space, plenty of light, a bathroom per floor, a cozy kitchen, a desk and a bed in each of two bedrooms and a good lot of fans (myself included!) --> Cheesy, I know. But the thing is: cheese is hard to find in Vietnam. And the milk is terrible, waxy, you know. So I've got to make my own cheese-i-ness and milk it for all its worth.
More on food: Over the few months or so, I've turned vegetarian (again) and have discovered a whole new world of eats in Saigon. Here, the non-meaters ascribe to the Buddhist definition of vegetarian cuisine (com chay), which excludes egg but includes milk. Viet veggie chefs use a lot of seitan and tofu, and they flavor richly with mushrooms. I appreciate, for one, the community feel when one eats in vegetarian domain, which often shares turf with a colorful incense-emitting pagoda. There's a certain brotherhood (sisterhood? sibling-hood? ze-hood?) one feels, being all high-minded and "green" (or maybe just unusual), amid a carnival of strong beefy odor and a parade of nude cooked chickens proudly flanking every road. (I will not deny the number of salty, savory tid bits I enjoyed in a hundred bowls of pho the months prior.) I also appreciate the interest vegetarian cooks take in, you know, VEGETABLES. You can find good variety here: dark green whosiewhatsits, cabbage, bok choy, cauliflower, tomato, things very underrepresented on the plates and in the bowls of most Vietnamese diners.
And on this middle rising pitch, I hope I do not leave you so unsatisfied as The Rolling Stones, whose lyric, after tonight's class, rings in the ears of fourteen Saigonese teens, about whom I'll tell you all next time. Adieu for now.
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