Eating and Shopping in Quy Nhon. 4th May 2008.

Some typical street scenes around Quy Nhon

We have a lovely housekeeper/cook (Hanh) who makes delicious lunches for us on weekdays but with the public holidays and weekend I have only had two of her meals so far. For our other meals we need to buy something from one of the street stalls, go to a café/restaurant or cook for ourselves. I have discovered just how limited my knowledge is about cooking food different from standard western fare. Any advice will be greatly appreciated!

I have just returned from the produce market that is located about 2 minutes walk from home, once again with some lovely fruit and vegetables but little else. The market is still quite a daunting experience for a woman used to buying her meat and fish in sanitized, plastic wrapped parcels that little resemble the original beast. The food here is real!

There is an amazing variety of seafood available, fish of every description; tiny orange and blue fish that look like they belong in an aquarium, crabs with bright blue pincers, large fish spotted like a leopard, shrimps of all sorts, squid, some that look like mackerels, stingray and many more. My problem is that they all come whole, innards and all, and I really don’t know how to choose and what to do with them. The meat is also a bit of a problem for me – I have eaten two nice meals with some meat in cafes but I cannot face choosing it in the market yet. Too real and too many flies for me.

I am doing much better with the fruit. There is a vast range available. Many are familiar such as– pineapples (invariably pre-peeled), melons, bananas, grapes, passion fruit, mangoes and oranges (ripe but with bright green skins). I have also been enjoying other tropical fruit. I love the papaya and have had it several times for breakfast. I have also enjoyed mangosteens which are about the size of a large passionfruit with a thick red/purple skin and flesh – you split them open and inside there is a white part shaped like a garlic bulb that you eat. Custard apples are a nobly, greenish fruit sort of resembling the shape of a pine cone. They taste a bit like fruit salad. I enjoyed one the other day but one of the other volunteers told me that they are almost invariably full of worms – I didn’t notice them! One of my favorites so far are pomelo – they are like big grapefruit with thick green skins. The flesh is pink, not as tart as a grapefruit but not sweet which is a pleasant change. I also bought something that looked like a potato on the outside and a brown plum on the inside – I have no idea what it was and won’t bother with them again. There are many more fruits that I am looking forward to trying.

The market is an experience in itself. It is a long, open-ended building. Out the front are the flower sellers with gorgeous bright yellow chrysanthemums. Running the length of the market are tables joined in a long rectangle. The women selling the produce squat on the tables amongst the fruit and vegetables wielding large knives and weighing everything on small scales. Many of the women are old. I don’t know how old but with their tiny work worn bodies, crinkled faces and gappy grins they look older than Methuselah. As I move through the market they call out offers that are lost on me. When I point at an item it is quickly grabbed, stuffed into a plastic bag, along with a number more that I don’t want, weighed and the amount of money required communicated by the holding up of fingers. No amount of protesting lets me get away with only one or two pieces. The whole process is done with much amusement on their part and bemusement on mine.

Out the back is the meat and fish section. The fish is incredibly fresh and the area is not too smelly, unlike parts of the beach devoted to fish trading which bloomin pong. I do look forward to becoming more confident at the market – hopefully I will be home one day when our housekeeper goes so I can accompany her and learn some more.

Five minutes away we have a supermarket – it may be less ‘authentic’ shopping there but I do find it easier. I can peruse the aisles undisturbed and examine the unfamiliar packets trying to work out what the contents are. There are a few ‘western’ items like peanut butter and biscuits available if the need arises. I have been pleased to find yoghurt, even though it, like so many other things is very sweet. Even though they are all tiny the Vietnamese seem to have a need to maximize the calories in their food. There is loads of sugar in lots of things, including the ‘bread’ (yuck) and fruit juice. Many dishes in cafes seem to include added fat. I have yet to find anything that is wholegrain – crackers, rice, cereals etc are all very processed. Enough! That sounds like I am whining – the food is fine, I just need to learn more about choosing and preparing it.

There are all sorts of other shops in my immediate neighborhood and further afield. I have enjoyed buying some practical things like a reading light and a spare pair of reading glasses but I certainly haven’t seen anything else to tempt me so far. “Fancy” does not begin to describe most of the things like ornaments and clothes. It seems that if there is room for some decoration then - golly we might as well go the whole hog and add some more. Shiny, cute, colorful, ornate – everything and more.

Those of you who know of my stationery fetish will understand my pleasure in finding a big stationery shop down at the mall. Just had to buy some paper and pens – I know I will be back to find some other treasures. I also bought a publication of the Very Hungry Caterpillar in Vietnamese for a few dollars. I have bought my copy with me so there might be a way I can use the two together. I have checked out the music CD’s too. They are dirt cheap but there was a limited range in the shop – unless I suddenly develop a passion for Celine Dion or Brittany Spears I am unlikely to be buying them any time soon!

My biggest purchase to date is a fancy cell phone. It cost me over a million dong – about $80 NZ and works fine here but will only text some numbers in NZ. Apparently there is nothing I can do about it – it is a compatibility problem with the networks. I can receive the texts – just can’t send them back. Bugger! Apparently it might work when I am in Ho Chi Min.

My early work experiences. 4th May 2008

I have now had the opportunity to meet the people at the Department of Education and Training who I will be working with and some local early childhood teachers. My “counterpart” is Ms Thuy (sort of pronounced “toy”). Counterpart is the term used by VSA for the person who we work in collaboration with.

My understanding of my role is that the two of us will work together on the development of a project aimed at promoting the knowledge and skills of the early childhood teachers in the area. The main focus is on teachers working in remote or poor areas of the Binh Dinh province. Binh, a local employee of VSA, is my interpreter. She comes with me to meetings and visits. Working through an interpreter is somewhat challenging but Binh is great – without her this role would be impossible.

I first met Ms Thuy and the director of the Dept on Tuesday. This was a fairly formal exchange of greetings but I was made very welcome. On Friday I met again with Ms Thuy and had the opportunity to visit an early childhood centre. Eight of us, (department early childhood specialists and local teachers) met at the centre then went on a tour around. Early childhood people are great – even with the difficulties imposed by speaking different languages we were able to make connections over some of the issues that are universal for early childhood.

Touring the centre was fascinating – it is a large full day facility, catering for over 140 children from toddlers to four years of age. The older children go on to another early childhood service elsewhere before they start school at about seven years old (I think). This centre, in the heart of Qui Nhon city, is considered to be of high quality.

The centre was simultaneously both very different from, and very alike, early childhood in NZ. The children are divided into groups of about 20 with two teachers for each group; the atmosphere was warm, affirming and positive. During the early part of the visit the children, following their teachers who were each rhythmically shaking a tambourine, went outside for action songs and chants. Even most of the youngest toddlers joined in enthusiastically. Although though the words were different it felt similar to many music and movement sessions I have attended in NZ

The children, back in their respective rooms, then participated in small group activities. Some of the ones I saw were; family and medical play, books, threading and plasticene modeling. The classrooms were very ordered with many bright colors and cartoon illustrations on some of the walls. The small, brightly colored plastic toys were being enjoyed by the children. I was amazed that most of the children, even young toddlers, seemed happy to remain seated on a mat, playing with a designated toy, for quite extended periods of time. Much to the amusement of the teachers, one of the older children was induced to give me in a series of “injections” when I sat at the medical play.

A photographer recorded my every movement as I met the groups of children and staff. Goodness knows where those photos will end up!

Later in the day I met with Ms Thuy to discuss (through Binh) the ambitious action plan they have identified for me. I will send out a summary of it in an email. It is being negotiated!

Next week I will start visiting early childhood centres out in country areas. I am really looking forward to developing a greater understanding of ece here. I expect that my roll will become clearer during that process.

A message for family and friends (and strangers) reading my blog

This is the window where I sit when I do most of my writing.

Thank you to everyone who has sent me emails – I have enjoyed reading your news from home. I have not managed to answer everyone yet but I will do so soon.

I am not completely sure of the purpose of my blog yet – I suspect that it is more about me then anyone else. My apologies if I am being long-winded at times. Traveling on my own means that I need to internalize my experiences. Writing helps me to reflect on what I have done and seen. Please do not feel obliged to read it all – there will not be a test when I return!

I know that the entries are out of order and that this is causing some confusion – the latest entry I write goes automatically to the top but sometimes I am writing about previous experiences. I have gone back and added dates to the titles to try to make it clearer.

Queen Beach, Quy Nhon, Sunday 4th May 2008

View of Quy Nhon from Queen beach - my home is not far from the radio towers on the far right - (click on picture to make it bigger to see them)



Cafe where I stopped for juice

I took myself for an outing this morning. I took a motorbike taxi to Queen beach - a few kilometers from town. When I got there I walked/climbed down several rocky paths to get to the beach. It was not particularly stunning - but there were interesting big bulbous rocks and warm sea to paddle in. I followed the road up a long hill to photograph Quy Nhon then walked back to a lovely cafe for a juice.

It was great to get whole minutes of time, while walking, without any people around - it is so busy here, no matter what time I go walking there are always many people which sometimes gets tiring. I did not see any wildlife apart from a few birds (and lots of young couples seeking a quiet spot!).

I stopped to look at some local crafts but, not being in the mood for shiny cats made of beads, ornate vases or marble dragons today, I did not make any purchases.

When I decided to go home I could not find any of the ubiquitous motor bike taxi divers that usually haunt my every step so I ended up walking home and got fairly warm in the process. Thank goodness for a fridge with ice and a cold shower.

Flight to Quy Nhon Monday 26 April 2008

Making pathetic hand signals and desperately pointing at Quy Nhon on a map in the Lonely Planet, I managed to convince a taxi driver to take me to the domestic rather than the international airport. I waited for a long time in a queue as directed, only to discover when I got to the counter that it was completely the wrong one. I rushed to the other end of the airport and joined another group that resembled a group of people trying to buy a drink in a crowed bar much more than a traditional queue. To my considerable consternation I saw that, while the time for my flight was fast approaching, people’s luggage was being carefully counted and weighed. It was clear that a strict limit of only one piece of hand luggage and a maximum of 20kg checked in luggage was being applied. People were being told to leave bags and boxes behind. I had successfully taken my overweight bag (24kg), a carry-on bag, a laptop and a shoulder bag without problems on the international flights but now I was worried. As I waited in the ‘queue’, repeatedly losing my place as people wilier than I slipped ahead, I had plenty of time to concoct a plea for leniency. When it came to me I was simply asked if I would like a window seat and sent on my way. Whether this was because (a) time was running out, (b) I looked so bloody desperate or (3) the hassle of trying to tell me about it in English too much, I do not know but I was very grateful.

During all of this process I was amused to watch a group of approximately 30 Americans who appeared to have signed up for a “Buddhist Experience”. They were predominantly young women many of who wore wire framed spectacles. Their long brown robes were just as freshly new as the shaving of their heads. Practicing beatific smiles, and serene walks they stopped to talk earnestly with their accompanying monks but their eyes darted around brightly, willing us unenlightened westerners to notice them in their new roles. I suspect that some of them will not be able to maintain the appropriate attitudes and postures for long. I should not scoff at them because there was a time when, given the chance, I could have fallen for the same folly.

Once on the plane our departure was delayed by a sudden severe thunderstorm but eventually we were on our way. Clouds obscured the view until we approached Quy Nhon. As we circled over the city I had the opportunity to survey the land that I had been examining on Google Earth. A great surge of nervousness and shyness overtook me as I went forward to meet Phuoc and some of the other volunteers who would be my colleagues for the next year.

Overnight in HCMC, Sunday 27th April 2008

On arrival at my hotel I gratefully closed the door to my room, relieved to have survived lack of sleep on the flights, losing my passport and money and negotiating my way through customs without a visa. I anticipated having a shower and crawling into bed for a few hours but the call of unexplored sights was too strong. Within a short time I gingerly poked my nose out of the air-conditioned hotel and breathed in the smells, sounds and sights of Viet Nam.

Much to the amusement of some of the locals I started my acclimatization by sitting on the curbside and watching. Eventually I built up enough courage to walk around the block. The footpaths in Viet Nam have many purposes. They are a place to; repair motorbikes, dry washing, undertake commerce, sew on a treadle machine, pile heaps of rubbish or rubble, cook meals and to sit and gossip. Activities such as these take precedence over walking, which consequently must be done on the road a good deal of the time so, even walking around the block, means that one becomes a part of the unique melee that is Ho Chi Min City.

Remembering Anne Duncan’s advice to walk steadily and unswervingly into the traffic, I felt quite proud when I first crossed the road. Indeed I could be accused of feeling smug the next day as I watched other tourists taking their first baby steps. I was once again reminded of the truism about ‘pride before a fall’ when, finding myself stranded on the wrong side of a major road, I had to shelter amongst a big group of loud American tourists to get across!

Several places where I attempted to buy a bottle of water were not interested in my American dollars so I steeled myself and negotiated, at an exorbitant rate, to change some for Vietnamese Dong. I was then able to buy some dinner. Feeling like quite the intrepid traveler, and determined not to resort to western food, I found a café and ordered Vietnamese spring rolls and a drink. After recovering from the shock of paying 65,000 Dong I realized that this was only about NZ$5.00. Fending off the determined hawkers of books, lighters, wallets, and nick-nacks, but succumbing to the pleas of a number of beggars, I took myself back to the hotel before the sudden darkness fell just after 6:00pm.

The next morning, after a long walk in the wrong direction, (bought on I am sure by the dislocation of being on the other side of the equator), I turned my map upside down and I ventured a little further a field. Leaving the slightly seedy backpacker district of my hotel I made my way down to the central area of the city. The cramped, crowded market, with its pungent smell of durian fruit and fish only attracted my attention briefly and the expensive chain stores not at all. I enjoyed the park alongside the river and admired beds of zinnias, topiary tress and statues of (I think) Uncle Ho.

I find the issue of poverty difficult to deal with. There are many people on the street in HCMC who are disabled. Sitting on the opera house steps, I saw from a distance, a man without legs, in a simple wheelchair, making his way slowly down the centre of the street amongst the traffic. Across his lap was draped severely disabled child. When walking a while later I came across him, still slowly edging along. He was not begging and, uncertain of what to do, I passed him by but his image continues to haunt me. I think that perhaps, despite the risk of causing offense, I should have offered him some money. I do not know how to resolve the dilemma of being such a privileged visitor to this country.

Later in the morning, tired and on sensory overload I decided to make my way early to the airport. As it turned out this decision was fortunate. I have decided that it is not a ‘Travel Angel’ I have with me but a ‘Goddess of Travel’!

Traffic in Ho Chi Min City, 27th April 2008

Just a glimpse of the traffic - how do you like the wiring?

I have not yet written about my short stay in Ho Chi Min City. I was only there overnight but it made a huge impression on me. It is a city like no other that I have visited. Knowing that I would arrive in a state of exhaustion I had arranged to be met at the airport by a driver for the hotel. In retrospect this was probably unnecessary but it was very nice not to have to negotiate with the hordes of determined taxi drivers and touts on first arrival. My drive into the city was comparatively sedate in a modern car with air-conditioning. I watched in awe the sights of HCMC unfold as we got closer to the centre. The first and overwhelming impression is of the traffic.

There are apparently about four million motorbikes in the city. These, combined with bicycles, cyclos (bicycles which have a seat for a passenger or two in the front), cars, trucks and buses, weave through the streets in a bewildering and noisy fashion, often ten or more abreast. The drivers, apparently determined to take the shortest, quickest possible route to their destination, toot frequently on their horns as they go seemingly randomly through intersections, change lanes, (and indeed sides of the road), and commandeer the footpaths. The traffic continuously flows around others and pedestrians in a way that I have never seen before.

The riders (and pedestrians) appear to have an extraordinary ability to anticipate the intentions of those around them. Watching the traffic made me think of flocks of birds that swirl in the sky, moving in semi-unison, but crossing paths without collision. It seems like chaos, and I am sure that at times it is and that accidents do occur, but it has a beautiful order within it. Here in Quy Nhon, as I try to prepare myself to join the fray on my bicycle, I have been contemplating the skills that I lack. I frequently see children, including tiny babies, perched on the front of motorbikes weaving through the traffic. I am sure that these children are developing a heightened sense of spatial awareness and knowledge of trajectories – perhaps I need to borrow a child to be my guide! I do however find it disconcerting to see these children and babies on motorbikes with no protection whatsoever. Helmets have recently been made compulsory and (of a sort) are worn by many of the adults but I have yet to see one on a child.

I suspect that the organic, unstructured nature of the traffic actually works for flow much better than a rigid system would. It has certainly given me a different perspective on the concept of ‘Asian drivers’.

The other aspect of the traffic that impressed me from the beginning is the ingenuity of the Vietnamese people in transporting large objects by bicycle or motorbike. I have seen all sorts of things being carried including; large panes of glass, fridges, a double mattress, a cage full of puppies and another with three full size dogs on the back and one sitting on the tank, piles of LPG gas bottles, huge quantities of plastic bottles, two big pigs in a basket and racks of dried fish with a lit brazier. It seems that there is almost nothing that you can’t transport on a bike!