My Father, My Hero

As I turned to my bag to grab my water bottle, I caught him at the corner of my eye. He was greeting Cau Dai, who just arrived to visit Di Ngoc for the afternoon. I walked out to the front and saw him. My Ba. His green, short-sleeved collar shirt hung loosely around his body. Even as a new shirt (Costco-shopping recently, Ba?), it couldn’t hide how much weight he had been losing. His brown, multi-pocketed pants seemed to be influenced by the skinny-pants generation, but those also seemed to fit him as perfectly as a paper bags designated for those long baguettes they sell outside Big C. As I soaked in the mere fact that my father was here in Da Nang, I almost failed to notice him beckoning me over. After two downward waves towards the palms, I held my father lightly in my arms, fearing that I could possibly break him with an over-anxious hug. And just like that, we were reunited.

We headed over to Co Minh’s for lunch in a Mailinh taxi. When we arrived, a big pot of bun bo Hue was awaiting us – or more so my dad since that’s his favorite dish and I already ate at Di Ngoc’s. Our other relatives joined us after their lunch as well, and as they all conversed, I felt the familiarity that I had missed for a long time. In most cases, I find myself struggling to understand the Vietnamese being spoken around me, but with my Ba here, every single word seemed to make sense. I felt I wasn’t just listening with my ears; I was also listening with my heart.

After lunch, my dad borrowed Co Minh’s motorbike to take us around the city. I recommended we sit down and have coffee at Highlands Coffee, which had a nice view of the river along Bach Dang. When we sat down and talked, we immediately converted to Viet-lish, as we recognized that there were subjects that could only be expressed in one language or the other. After we talked about my cultural observations and future aspirations, we got to talk about him -- the topic I had been awaiting for a long time. And without even prying, he told me more than I ever knew: his stay at the Nagasaki refugee camp; his unapproved excursion to Tokyo that set the precedent for other refugees to stay in their own camps; his life regrets and his positive turn-around because of them; his love for salsa dancing; his current participation in a Vietnamese choir; his adolescence in Sai Gon… things that I never knew, and it took me a fellowship to Vietnam to find out.

As he talked about his past, I saw his eyes shine in a way I had never noticed before. Whiskers formed at the outer corner of his eyes as both rows of teeth gleamed at me, then shyly toward the window. He giddily shifted around in his seat and laughed until his eyes moistened, and my eyes couldn’t help but water as well – mostly because I wished that this were the Ba I had the patience to get to know growing up. Once I mentally slapped myself to remind myself to enjoy the moment for what it was, I straightened myself out and continued to engage in his company.

The rest of the day consisted of us motorbiking around town, and exchanging stories every time we were reminded of something to tell each other. Something that stood out to me in our conversation was his recognition of his talents and his weaknesses.

“You know,” he spoke toward the traffic as we maneuvered between other motorbikes and through traffic lights, ”I could’ve been a famous singer. I had the voice for it, and the charisma. But God gave me poor health.”

I thought a bit about his last statement, and then spoke in the same direction over his left shoulder. “Well, if you became a famous singer, you may not have had the opportunity to have two wonderful daughters.”

“That’s true,” he responded without pause. “Things happen for a reason.”

Besides finding out how much pride he actually took in his singing (the CD he recorded and distributed to our relatives has yet to make my iTunes), I was surprised to hear him talk about his health that way. If there’s anything that my sister and I get from our dad, it’s our pride, and we’re not usually one to admit our weaknesses so willingly. But to hear him say that really allowed me to experience a side of my dad that I feel like I rarely experience: vulnerability. And yet, his willingness to share that with me further affirmed my admiration for his character.

Today was just the first day of the few that I will experience with my father for the next week. Tomorrow, we will hang out in Da Nang again, and then he will catch up with me in Hue later on in the week. If this foreshadows what I will continue to learn about my father, I have much to look forward to this week.

The Story of Banh Canh Ca Loc

In being asked to describe a Hue goody, I came up with this story about one of my favorite Hue dishes:

After spending six hours lesson-planning in the Indochine café, I was craving the outside world. My stomach called out for some type of substance, while my mind was set on a type of food I could order from my chi or co – something that would bring me back to Hue civilization after a day of Western comfort.

Dark clouds sponge-painted across grey and pink skies threatened to beat me home. I jumped on my bike and sped down An Duong Vuong, determined to make it Ho Dac Di, the college-student food mecca, before the clouds would pour and force me to acquiescence to my typical routine of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Dragonflies flew low, their wings whispering into my ears, as xe may horns blasted through bicycles, motorbikes, street vendors, and pedestrians.

Just as voluminous clouds blanketed the sky, my bike rode up and stopped next to the unlit sign that read “Banh Canh Ca Loc.” The alleyway restaurant was safely covered by blue tarp in case the rain decided to interrupt the patrons’ meal. At this hour, couples and students on break before their next class sat at small plastic red tables and stools. One table was open, so I made my way down the ramp, requested “mot to banh canh,” and sat my laptop bag and myself on separate stools.

Before me sat a plate of 10 quail eggs, a plate of clumped salt and pepper, fresh ground red chili, and cut peppers swimming in nuoc mam. My stomach wanted to get a headstart on the quail eggs, but my tongue knew that would ruin the overall experience.

The banh canh ca loc came in a medium-sized white bowl, steaming into my nostrils and under my palms as I warmed up my hands before grabbing the spoon. After wiping it clean, I set it down to peel the eggs and marinate them in the soup. As my hands worked around the shell, my eyes stared at the yellow-orange broth and mix between clear and white noodles, as the noodles are handmade and prepared on the spot. I smoothed my fingers around the white of the eggs to catch any remnants of the shell, then dropped them in the broth. I added a half-spoon of red chili, recalling that the last time I had a full spoon, I was too busy sniffling to fully enjoy my meal.

I spooned around the noodles, counting the ca loc to keep in mind how many bites of noodles I would take in ratio to the amount of fish present in the bowl. Then I divided the eggs in half and watched the broth swarm around the yolk to distribute it around the bowl. It was ready. With one shallow scoop of three noodles and a piece of ca loc, I took my first bite. All of a sudden, the six-hours of isolation from the civilization, the strenuous bike ride home, the work behind peeling the eggs was worth it. My stomach churned – whether it was upset with how much chili was present, or fighting to evenly distribute the first bite, I’m unsure of, but I continued to consume it to ease the tension either way.

After all the noodles, fish, and eggs were gone, I couldn’t tell if I was sniffling because it was so spicy, or because I was sad that the experience had ended. Before I handed over 12,000 (10,000 for the bowl, 1,000 for each egg), I lifted the bowl to my lips until the only thing left was black pepper resting at the bottom of the bowl. Resisting temptation to buy another, I left the alleyway with a quick nod and smile to the cook, who squatted over a red plastic stool with a giant pot of banh canh to her right – big enough to bathe in – and rolled-dough in front of her. With a renewed appreciation for my chi's labor, I jumped back on my bike and whizzed through the cold, warmed by a full stomach and a heavier heart.

Where's the Meat?

During our last conversation, Robert (one of my best friends from San Jose) pointed out that I rarely talk about the details: What do I do? Where do I hang out? Who do I hang out with? How do I get around? What do I eat? How’s the weather? So on, and so on. Very good questions, and I will take on the challenge of answering them.

The awesome guy who inspired this update, and just inspires me in general. =)

This semester, I teach 8 groups under the English Department: 4 groups for American Culture, 4 groups for Speaking 1. In my American Culture class, I have an average of 70 students. In my Speaking class, I have an average of 40 students. I have prided in building relationships with my students as an elementary school teacher, and being able to remember everyone’s name after the second day. But with such a big group, remembering the names for all 440 students is a daunting task. I have been able to develop relationships with some of the students who like to ask me out to go eat, or hang out every now and then to practice English while I practice Vietnamese, or go around exploring Hue.

I taught two make-up American Culture classes on Vietnamese Womyn's Day (on a Saturday), and all of them came and gave me flowers as a class gift. They are adorable!

Outside of class, I hold an English Speaking Club for first year students in the International Studies Department. We met Monday and Tuesday nights, but since it’s voluntary, less people have been coming and now we’re switching to Tuesdays. It’s really nice being able to facilitate this group. Since I’m not responsible for their grades, we have a more relaxed environment where they are more likely to ask questions for clarification and be willing to make mistakes.

I also volunteer teach with Friends of Hue on Wednesdays and Thursdays, as mentioned in one of my previous posts. Currently, the assistant director Chi Dung and I are trying to work out how to develop a consistent curriculum where the students are not getting taught the same thing over and over again in case there are new volunteers who come into my position. Sure, back in America, I’ve been handed curriculum where I have standards and textbooks to work from. But here, I just have an intermediate grammar book that doesn’t match the students’ English level. This weekend is going to be a busy one.

On Wednesdays and Fridays, I take Vietnamese lessons with a fellow teacher in the International Studies Department, Phuc. We refer to my "Vietnamese Survival Book for Foreigners," which has been really helpful. She mostly helps me with my pronunciation and teaches me words that are not explained by the book. She also helps me put the lessons into context. For example, in our lesson about “Family Reunion,” we talked about our goals for the future, about having family, and about our personal lives. We used the words from the book, and she taught me more in case I need to know them for future conversations. I use these lessons to study on my own, as I write all the Vietnamese words into little books I use as my index cards, separated by parts of speech and phrases. Learning Vietnamese definitely puts into perspective the struggle my students have in learning English, a language they are barely able to practice outside of class.

Another important part of my schedule is working out. I HAVE to work out, or else I’ll go crazy. I have a gym membership at this snazzy hotel called the “Indochine” (not a name I agree with), which is where foreigners and locals go if they want access to cardio machines, weights, mats, a yoga ball, and air conditioning. I go three times a week – Monday, Thursday, and Saturday. I also have access to their beautiful pool, but I’m not really a big fan of swimming. I used to be a great swimmer when I was a kid, but once my vision got worse, I stopped swimming at the pool altogether. (Being out in open water, like the beach, I can do since I’m more motivated to enjoy the scenery.)

Outside of planning, teaching, and working out, I do a variety of things: hang out my ride-or-die homies Steven and Jenelle; bike around the town; reflect with Nhuanh at new cafés; videochat with Robert or Rabiah back at home; hang out with students; make new local friends; gather with my ex-pat and local NGO friends; karaoke; e-mail/message friends… the common theme with all these activities is that I am able to form meaningful connections with the people around me while learning more about Hue and Vietnam. Also, I have the time to reflect and relax, giving myself the quality time that I need to push my personal growth.

My ride-or-dies, Jenelle and Steven, on Halloween. I'm Kobe Bryant, Jenelle's wearing Halloween colors, and Steven is a beautiful womyn wearing my dress and cardigan.

As you might have seen in previous posts, I get around on the bicycle I borrowed from the university. It is a wonderful red, single speed bike that has a basket hanging over the handlebars, a backseat for the daring, and “martin” stickered on in shiny, rainbow colors along the body. I initially wanted a motorbike, but after reflecting on the risks and how much control I’d have on my bicycle over a motorbike, I chose to stick to “martin.” Also, with the rainy season, the flooding is more likely to ruin a motorbike; Hue citizens are often seen pushing their motorbike through a flooded area because the water gets into the exhaust pipe and puts it out of commission until you can take it to the shop.

The beautiful Minhchau modeling the motorbike poncho and how it should be properly worn -- beneath the helmet.

Speaking of the flooding season – it hasn’t happened yet! It’s supposed to be rainy season from October to February, but it’s December, and it’s hot and humid outside. (Blame it on global warming.) I initially feared the flood season, but it’s not so bad. On rainy days, everyone busts out their giant ponchos that cover them from their heads to their bike seat and basket, and they usually come out 80% dry. But I only had to use mine a handful of times. These past few days, I’ve been able to enjoy a nice cool evening breeze as I bike around town. I’ve been able to wear my Nike sweater (which friends and family at home know I love), so I’ve been a happy camper about the evening weather.

A beautiful day in Hue on the street perpendicular to my school. Here, two tiny boys are making their way home from school for lunch.

And last but not least – THE FOOD! I’m telling you – no matter where I go in Vietnam, the food is not as good as it is in Hue (unless it was made by my relatives). You have so many special dishes here: che (Vietnamese dessert), bun bo (Hue beef noodles), banh canh ca loc (handcut noodles in soup with snake-fish), com nieu (claypot rice), banh beo, banh loc, banh uot, bun thit nuong, nem lui – I could go on and on! (As you can see, my translations can’t keep up with all the food I’m thinking of.) Perhaps my favorite food is what I get at least every other day – banh mi trung ca (Vietnamese sandwich with egg and dried fish). It’s a good source of carbs and protein for the day, and when I get it nice and hot in the morning… mmm. I also often end my nights with che thap cam (che with everything), which has me going to bed with a huge smile on my face.

Oc (Snails) sauteed in bail and other wonderful goodness

However, since I feel that loss of control will lead to significant weight gain, I’ve been keeping a food journal to help me 1) track what I eat, 2) practice my Vietnamese writing skills, 3) know what I ate so I can go back there and eat it again! I write it all in this small book that fits into my wallet, so it can go everywhere with me. I would take a picture of it to show you, but my camera recently died in a battle against water. Water always wins in a battle against electronics. Get a reliable water bottle, folks, or else it’ll open up and spill all its contents in your purse, where you have your phone, camera, tissues, and all other goods that are incompatible with water.