Just got off the phone with both Chu Ngoc and Linh, his daughter. I had called him earlier in the evening to say hello, and he said he was sitting at the very table where I had a drink with him last week. I said that I'll have to go out and buy a bottle of gin so that when I call him, I can pour myself a drink and he can sit at his bar, and we can have a drink together.

Chu Ngoc asked if I had called his house yet (he gave me his home number last Friday so I could contact his family) but I didn't have the chance. After getting off the phone with him, I tried, but the line was busy. Then he called me a couple of hours later on my phone to see if I'd called. I told him I had tried, I just called again, and spoke to his daughter Linh. Very sweet. Chu Ngoc is really enthusiastic about me meeting his family. I suppose our affinity for each other is mutual. I told Linh that her dad will probably call her one more time this evening to check that I had called, and she laughed and told me he said good things about me, but one word caught me. She said he said I was "deu dang" (I have no idea how to spell it), but I think it means gentle. And the funny thing is, all I could remember is telling him how when Vietnamese people say "fax" it sounds like "fuck" (which I also translated for him in Vietnamese). Not very gentlewomanly. Hey, I'm whatyousee is whatyouget.

I think I’ve reached my threshold for consuming Vietnamese food. Who would’ve thought it? It’s a good thing for me that Dong Du Cafe has Italian fare – fresh homemade pasta, and really great pizza. The only problem is that I don’t get there often enough. I’m beginning to think in terms of VND – is that good or bad? Somehow, the $24,000VND roundtrip cabfare to Dong Du at lunchtime doesn’t seem worth it ($1.70USD). And the people at work think I’m extravagant because I eat there fairly often – a few times a week. Daily specials (main course, salad, iced tea) cost about $38000VND ($2.50). The people I work with eat for about 50 cents a day at lunchtime. One meal at Dong Du is a week’s worth of lunch.

Is this perspective enough for poverty? It’s actually not poverty – one can eat relatively well for a dollar a day. If you consider that medical doctors make $100USD a month, then working at Nike for $2.50 a day does not seem so bad, does it? If you figure the wages of a regularly salaried employee (in a restaurant) of $50-60 USD/month, 7 days a week with 2 days off, that person makes about $1.70 a day. The people who work in offices make about $200-300/month (they make so much more because they are college educated and not employed by the State like doctors are). They work 6 days a week, just over $11 a DAY on the high end of the scale. Puts exploitation of labor in a different light, I guess. We should be thanking foreign companies for the employment they bring.

Tomorrow Thanh comes back to the city. I’m going to ask him to take me riding on the Honda after work – it’s what people do here. Rainy season has just begun, though. For the last 3 days it has thunderstormed in the afternoons, even if only briefly. Soon we’ll be getting rain ‘round the clock.

Day after tomorrow I leave for Hue early in the morning with Chuong. I won’t be able to write again until early next week, but I’m sure I’ll have much to tell, especially about my Hong origins. Chuong told me that he walked into a temple in Hue many years ago. The keeper took one look at him, asked if he was the grandchild of Hong Giu Chau (dad’s brother), and pretty soon, the whole town came out to greet him.

Have you gone to see the pictures I sent Souris for her saigon soldier site? I sent more yesterday.

Souris just posted some pictures to saigon soldier, her site if you want a quick view. I'll be sending her more pictures today as I'm able.

Sai Gon. March 26, 2001. I just wrote an entire page and a half long single-spaced typed letter to mom in Vietnamese. How cool is that, huh? I had no idea I knew how, nor did I know that I could read so well when I received mom’s email today (I thought, oh, man, she wrote a LOT). But then I read it and understood 99% of it, and was able to write back (hoping she can understand my writing). I suppose that is the benefit of a phonetic language – the ease of reading and writing. The problem is that I pronounce everything incorrectly and thus spell the way I pronounce.

I have just discovered from Mom’s letter that the people I met at Vung Tau, Mr. Bang, is the uncle of Mai Lien, the woman whose home I stayed in both times I visited Paris. Very unexpected connection!

Today Chu Mung, who works for my aunt, drove me to work & picked me up. He takes me when Thanh is off duty (2x/month). I realized suddenly, this afternoon, that my ride home would be a wet one, since it was raining out side and we didn’t have anything but the shirt on our backs to shelter us from the rain. Luckily, it was ony a light rain (huge drops, but few of them). I don’t think drizzling actually occurs here. There are two seasons – sunny season and rainy season. I think we’re beginning to enter rainy season.

FYI, family, Di 10 is in town and Cau Nhan (they both went up to Ohio to visit CauMo Tu). If you want to send anything to me, ask Cau Nhan (they return on April 5). Ciao.

Sai Gon, March 25, 2001.
Last Friday night, I got in touch with Chuong and I went to meet him at his tennis courts with his friends. There, I met two sons of one of my cousins who just passed away two weeks ago. I suppose children of first cousins are called first cousins once removed? Does anybody really know (if you do, please tell me)? My cousin, Hong Khac Dao, was a renowned film producer here in Vietnam, and someone who was immensly caring and altruistic, and I am so sorry that I never got the chance to meet him. Chuong was very close to him and reminisced with me for a short while. Said he’s not like any Hong I’ll ever meet. I don’t know if Chuong remembers Souris very well.

Spur of the moment, I went to Vung Tau on Saturday morning for an overnight trip to the beach with Chuong and his friend Khanh. To get there, we went by high speed boat – a sort of capsule that can carry around 100 – 120 passengers. Vung Tau is a nice little peninsula that is accessible by boat or road. It costs $130,000VND round trip (less than $10USD).

When we got there, I met Bac Bang, his wife, their four children (Hung, Chi, Thuy, & Do), grammy, and other friends of theirs in their hundred-year-old house. Hung was an old school friend of Chuong’s, and as it turns out, the father (Bac Bang) used to play cards with my dad. Dad used to fly them into Sai Gon from Bien Thuy (or something like that; it lies between Phan Thiet and Sai Gon) to play cards. Flying was safer than the relatively short ride because the roads were far too dangerous to travel back then. Mrs. Bang showed me a metal swivel office chair that dad had given them – four of them, she said. They still have 2 and the 3rd and 4th were given to Dr. Vien (someone who also knew dad, I think) and someone else (both of which were now lost, she explained). She mentioned something about Tableaux Noire – perhaps the place they used to go play? Very very very nice people, so hospitable, and kept us well fed. And they send their regards to dad.

We spent some time at their home, went to the beach, and I took a walk with Khanh to Bach Dinh (aka Villa Blanche or White Palace) where the old king used as a holiday home for his family. Standing up on the hill upon which it lay, I could look down at the Su trees (whose yellow flowers have a sweet aroma), onto the beach highway (reminiscent of Nice), and watched the sun set on the Pacific. Khanh and I then headed to a small beachfront cafe where we ordered ice cream. “What flavors have you got?” we asked. “Fruit, cacao, and coffee.” I ordered coffee ice cream and Khanh ordered chocolate. Out came two servings of coconut ice cream. Coconut? Yes. One topped with chocolate and the other topped with coffee.

We headed back to the tennis courts where Hung and Chuong and others were playing. A man we met briefly before our walk, Mr. Chi, a youthful 60-year-old who played tennis with Chuong, offered to let us stay in his home instead of at the hotel. We accepted, and went to drop our things off in his home. (Is this safe in America?) Chu (Mr.) Chi, the boys, and I all headed to a sports bar to watch the Czech vs. Ireland soccer game commentated in Vietnamese. The guy kept saying ICEland instead of IREland. A quarter of the way through, Thuy asked me if I understood the game – I thought, “I’m not exercising my eyeballs,” but I said “not the commentary, but I’m following.” (I am only amused by this and mean it not as a put down in any way whatsoever. This disclaimer is placed here for the future possibility that some Vietnamese person might one day read this and may not catch the Americanism of the tone). At halftime, we went to another cafe/sports bar owned by friends of Hung’s and watched the rest of the game – no commentary, just karaoke in the background. Imagine watching a soccer game with Power of Love (by Celine Dion) sung by a Vietnamese in lieu of commentary. Mr. Chi and I went home and the boys went out late enough to then catch the Romania – Italy game at 2:30 a.m. I got up at 5:30, cabbed to Mrs. Bang’s at 6:00, went bicycling with her to the beach, swam a few laps, biked all over Vung Tau with Khanh, ate and then ate again, and then caught our boat back to the city. So here I am.
Good night and good morning… H.

Sai Gon. March 22, 2001.

I finally have a moment to sit and write in peace. Last Friday morning at about 5 a.m., mom, di (aunt) 5, di 9, and I all piled into di 10's car and headed to Phan Thiet, their hometown. At our stop off the Pacific Coast Highway -- Highway 1 (and an adventurous trip) -- we pulled up to mom's old house (her first home) that was built and designed by ong ngoai (grampa). She and di 9 kept saying, "it's sooooo small! I remember it being so large!
And "Here's the window where we'd watch the neighbors argue."
"Here's the wall where I used to wipe my face and hands."
"Here's the spot where aunt 5 electrically shocked herself."
"This is the railing we used to slide down. It's sooooo short! I remember it being soooo long!" etc.
Then we went to Mui Ne resort, the really beautiful and great spot on the beach where we would stay for the weekend.

Friday afternoon we went to a restaurant down the street and ate freshly caught everything (nothing twitched this time). There is a special delicacy -- fresh cuttlefish half sun-dried and half grilled, torn into strips and dipped in tuong ot (Vietnamese tobasco). It's delicious. Afterwards, we went to visit the Cham temple. The Cham are the aborigines of Vietnam whose culture and people were virtually annihilated centuries ago by the Vietnamese. Legend says that the queen of the Cham people committed suicide by jumping off the cliff where the temple stands, by the ocean.

Departing the Cham temple, we encountered three children and their herd of very large pigs, so Thanh stopped the car, mom, di 9 and I hopped out, and borrowed the herders' staffs to pose for some silly pictures. No one knows how to use my Nikon, as it is a manual, so every picture of me that is not pre-focused by me (or a self-timered portrait) comes out looking like the way I see without my contacts on. From the pigs, we went to visit various friends and relatives of mom and di 5's. Every time I saw a cattle powered cart, I'd ask Thanh if they were oxen. He kept saying they're cows but I said they didn't have black and white spots. He said those are milking cows and these are cattle. But finally we saw two oxen on the side of the road so we pulled over and the cute old thing posed twice for me. Bovinity divinity. Off to Mr. Hai's house, friend of aunt 5's, who owns a field of thanh long cacti -- the plants I mentioned with the gorgeous pink pod fruit. I got a few pictures of those, too.

Finally, back to the resort where I took a walk with mom on the beach, then over to the pool to get di 5 & 9 to go to dinner. While waiting for them, I proofread the pool rules in English. Off again to dinner at another restaurant in town, and then had a most fantastic ice cream bar -- dau xanh -- which is a sweet green bean ice cream with a coconut ice cream outer shell (much like a creamsicle). Then back to the hotel where mom and I ran into the resort manager (and I informed him of the pool rule typos).

Next day, Saturday, up at 5:30 to get to the Phan Thiet sand dunes early. There are these huge red sand dunes in Phan Thiet that go on and on with the beach on one side, and more sand on the other (I did not venture far enough to see where it ended). Tens of children who are too poor to afford school follow tourists to help them up the dunes. At one particular spot, the sand formed a crater. At the top from which we stood, they would take plastic grocery bags and slide down the sand -- the same way we slide down trash can lids and sleds on snow, which these kids will never see in their lifetimes. Di 5 and 9 both took a ride, and the little kids ran down into the craters to help the old aunties up. Mom bought them breakfast and lunch and di 5 gave them extra cash.

Quick break back at the resort; the executive assistant whom I'd briefly met the previous day dashed up to me to tell me one by one, each of the errors on the pool rules and regulations he had discovered to have fixed.

Onward to Hai Dan, ke ga, the century old lighthouse, one of four remaining lighthouses in the world still hand lit by gas every evening. A harrowing mess it was to get there on dirt roads through salt fields (very cool to see), rice fields, and small villages, having to unload the car twice to push the minivan out of trouble. Two hours later, arriving at the beach spot from which we could view the lighthouse, Thanh, the most relieved of us all, discovered that a brand new paved road had just been finished ten days before that we could take on the way out. From the beach, we hired a small boat with a powered engine to get to the lighthouse, which sat on an island. To get on the boat, we were paddled over on six-foot wide baskets called thung, woven and then tarred for waterproofing. Up to seven people can surprisingly sit in one little thung. The trees around the island are beautiful and have a sweet scented white and yellow flower that mom says is renowned in Hue. Back on the mainland, our ride out on the new road was only 40 minutes and absolutely stunning, running alongside the beach.

Finally, back to the beach where I read one letter by Jack Kerouac to his dear friend Sebastian Sampas before losing the light and encountering Mr. Ngoc again, the resort manager. Mom went off to find her sisters, and I headed to the bar for a gin and tonic. I find Mr. Ngoc very endearing. Soft spoken and cheerful, he's a gentleman whose company I really enjoy. He discovered that I'm the same age as his son and that we are all three oxen, only I was born around 2 p.m., a time of rest for ox, and Mr. Ngoc was born at 5 a.m., a time of arduous work for the ox (which is supposedly reflective of our lives -- mine full of rest and his of much labor). He told me how his mother apologized to him for bearing him at that hour.

Sunday morning we went to Ong 10's (great uncle's) for brunch, then headed home and pit stopped at Thanh's house which lies about halfway between Phan Thiet and Sai Gon. I met his four darling children and his sweet wife who sent us home with mit (jackfruit) the size of watermelons, cashew fruit (from which the nut lies on the outside) and avocados grown in the neighbor's yard.

Sunday evening, we had dinner at Chu Minh's (uncle Minh, dad's younger brother) where I met four of my first cousins for the first time, and was reunited after 18 years with my first cousin once removed (? - my cousin's son) named Chuong, same as my dad. Chuong not only shares dad's name, he shares his looks. He has a son who I'm told by mom, is also dad's mirror image. The resemblance is uncanny, especially because Chuong's son and dad only mathematically share about 6% of the same genes (Chuong's grandfather, my uncle Chau, is only dad's half-brother). So this lineage of men all look like my grandfather. Next Friday, the 30th, I go to Hue with Chuong for a few days. He's fortunately done mass amounts of genealogy homework and has discovered much about where my grandfather worked, who we are, and where dad was born. It'll be an enlightening and edifying trip that I'm looking forward to. Chuong talks about dad so vividly, having been born in '55, he remembers dad's glory years, about how dad was his idol, how dad used to take him along to bring flowers over to a girlfriend's house, and all sorts of anecdotal memories. It fills so many holes in my personal and familial history.

That was my weekend, and luckily there is nothing to tell of my week, except that mom went back to the USA on Wednesday so I'm officially on my own.

Keep writing. H.

Thursday night; 8:55PM March 15, 2001.
Sai Gon. Tonight a Vietnamese painter (from Stockholm) came by to paint Co Vy’s picture – Co Vy is my youngest uncle’s wife. It’s really fascinating to watch portraiture painting. The aunts and artist are all downstairs eating banh xeo, one of my favorite Vietnamese dishes. Xeo means “sizzle” and it’s a mung bean pancake that is filled with bean sprouts, mung beans, shrimp, onions and lots of other good veggies. I already ate my fill, and went off to pack for tomorrow – I get to go to Phan Thiet with mom and two aunts, to their hometown. It’s by the beach and there are red sand dunes out there. I’m hoping I’ll be able to wake up at 5 a.m. to get some good pictures. We’ll be there for three days (until Sunday afternoon), and I’ll try to scan in a few good shots to share.

Work has been incredibly busy, but we went to print and the books came out tonight. The printers did a lousy job, there are a million errors, but that is what happens when 50% of the book is rearranged two days after deadline, and the printers are only given 4 days to produce an 80 page book. Is there really enough time for the ink to dry?

There is a knocking outside the window. It’s the sound of mi go – knocking noodles. There are kids who walk around neighborhoods knocking a wooden stick to a bowl of some sort – with a very distinct tone – and they go on until someone pulls them aside or hollers at them to fetch a bowl of noodles. They take off in the direction they came and come back with a hot bowl for the buyer. I think it costs around $2000VND (12 cents) for a bowl of mi go.

I’m all right; everything is good, I’ve got cash in my pocket and food in my tummy. I leave for the beach tomorrow. Is there anything else a girl really needs?

Sai Gon, March 12, 2001
If you want to read a little about my aunt, she was written up in this week’s Time Warner’s ASIAWEEK magazine (I think March 8 is the cover date). Le Thi My Dung is her name (Le is the last name). Full spread photograph of auntie and her ice cream factory less than a kilometer from where I sit now.

Allison, Nellie, Randy, I got your letters.Still missing Kelly's.

Sai Gon. March 8, 2001. Phu Nu Day. Mom tells me that weÂ’ve discovered five letters awaiting at the house apparently collected from the post office, and the people working for my aunt have finally communicated the news to the post man to deliver my letters to the house. There is one missing, however, from Kaly, so I will ask him to double check for your letter, K (and Albert, did you send one from Nathaniel?).

I've learned a number of words in the last week, but especially funny is an idiom my friend Lan (in my office) taught me: "Co chi thi nen." It means "To have 'chi' is 'nen.'" Which in turn, I asked her, "why is having 'chi' 'nen'?" and she asked me, "well, do you know what 'chi' means?"

Sure, I do. It means lice. Laughter ensued and Lan finally understood my confusion. Chi is a homonym for 'will.' What she said was "where there's a will, there's a way" or, conversely, "If one has a will, one's life will work out successfully." What I had translated was "If one has lice, one's life will work out successfully."

Vietnamese is so difficult beyond the nuances in accents, tones, and even consonants because it is filled with subtleties in meaning or alternate vocabulary that is used precisely for the sense you are conveying.

The word "to wear" for example, has many versions. If you wear a hat, you say "doi." If you wear a shirt you say "mac." You also use "mac" if you say "to wear black" or other adjective. If you wear glasses or jewelry you use "deo." If you wear shoes or socks you say "mang."

The other reason Vietnamese is so difficult to learn is that the language itself is enriched with pronouns and words to use depending on your position, age, and/or status with others. This is why there are four words for uncle, four for aunt, and countless others for I, you, he, she, and we. Having this copious amount of pronouns also ensures that all people involved in a conversation can understand the relationship between the two people talking. My father's older brothers are called Bac, his older sisters Bac gai. His younger brother's are Chu, his younger sisters are Co. My mother's brothers are Cau and my mother's sisters are Di. To add to this, my father's sisters-in-law are called Tiem, his brothers-in-law are called Duong. My mother's sisters-in-law are called Mo, and her brothers-in-law are called Cau.

Then there's a list of pronouns that represent relationships for the generation above and the generation below. Add to that the pronouns you must use for friends and strangers -- there are several that all depend on how close you are to the person you're speaking with. On top of all this, one must remember certain words that are used with youth cannot be used for elders. For example, if I give my aunt something, I "bieu" it to her. If I give something to my friend or younger cousin, I just "cho" it to her. In this way, the language and its usage has created and withheld an amazing level of respect for elders -- it is ingrained in our language and hence, in our way of life. Back to the many ways of saying things, if I'm gifting something to someone, I "tang" it to them. If I am gifting something to someone's friend or other third-party, I "goi" it to them. Instead of messing about with the pronoun circus, I just speak in the third person (hey, it's acceptable here as proper speech)! Enough of Vietnamese 101 for an afternoon.

Today is Phu Nu Day – Women’s Day in Vietnam. It’s either a relatively huge holiday or the locals are great about celebration in general. Xuan Anh, one of the two who works for me (and one of only 4 males in our office) gave all the women roses today which only encouraged the young singles to swoon a bit more than they already do. The entire office is under 30. There are only 3 people older than me. The print shop works all night tonight and tomorrow morning we check films… Crossing my fingers that all has gone well.
Keep your letters coming! H.

To my great disappointment, I discovered yesterday when receiving a post card from my friend Maggie, that letters had been delivered to the house for me, but the young girl who works for Di 10 who met with the postman told him that no one with that name lives here. It was a combination of confusion, illiteracy, and my odd name. So if you’ve mailed me, I haven’t yet received your letter, but Thanh assures me that letters are kept at the post office (if they are undeliverable, they are sent back there and apparently sit there, though are not thrown out, I HOPE). I have been expecting 3 letters and if you’ve mailed and I don’t know, then let me know so I can be sure to ask the postman for your letter. Keep emailing too, at hanihong@hotmail.com
xxoo.

Sai Gon. March 4, 2001.
Things are continuing to go well, and I’m learning lots day by day. There is a lot about VN that I like, and there are things I don’t like. For one thing, people don’t always say what they mean. They also avoid saying things that will make them lose face with outsiders – the Vietnamese care much about what other people think about themselves, and I find this a rather annoying. I let it go, but I also think, “who cares what other people think?” I guess I just have to accept that it’s something they do. Another thing is that the Vietnamese do not have mind for personal space. You are often bumped and pushed around and in restaurants, waiters lean across and into you without mind. The American in me takes note. The Vietnamese in me discounts the invasion.

The most bothersome trait is that the Vietnamese take things personally. Mom says I have to be careful of what I say because people interpret my comments regarding a dislike for something as an insult to themselves – in the sense that I am playing a superiority card against them. So I have to keep my mouth shut when I don’t like something because I might hurt someone’s feelings. I have come to realize how American I am in that I say what I think, and feel that my voice is restricted here.

There is another thing about Vietnam that is not easy to see, and it is the incredibly large number of people who roam the streets with missing limbs and people whose bodies are completely deformed, born after the war and now adults, whose defects are the result of chemical warfare. They find innovative ways to be mobile, though they have little by way of self sufficiency and no work.

Despite all this, the Vietnamese have an incredible joy and passion for life and living. They understand it deep into their souls, and they love sharing this love of life with others. They enjoy simple things, good food, music, and dancing. In the evenings when the temperatures are cooler, the streets are packed with Hondas because the locals are out driving aimlessy about for the joy of riding. They park around the numerous traffic circles and landscaped squares to converse and kiss and sometimes stop into clubs (where there is live music) and glance around for a few minutes before continuing on to the next entertaining site. I find that the locals I’ve met, no matter what their social status or background, are happy people.

March 2, 2001
We go out for a celebratory dinner again tonight - to Caravelle Hotel for an all you can eat seafood dinner. Per person, it's only $18USD - 2 weeks salary for most people. I got paid at the end of the month which makes me an instant millionaire in Vietnamese dollars.

It's pretty hot here still, and I'm considering a trip back to the US in July, when my return trip air ticket expires. Mom says I'll probably need a break from the city by then.
All kids who are in school get out about the same time - all students in Vietnam are required to wear a uniform. This way, they get caught if they're playing hookey (sp.?) since they leave home in uniform and their parents would know. Public school here requires payment (yes, it's supposed to be a socialist republic) and so there are plenty of poor kids who roam the streets growing up uneducated and uncared for. Healthcare is also a problem, because doctors are so underpaid (about $100 USD per month) that they will do work under the table for cash (hence, only the rich can afford proper care). Not that healthcare is any better in the US.

Work is going well. I'm almost finished and hope to go to Phan Thiet next week where mom's from; home of a beautiful beach and red sand dunes.
ciao. h.

March 1. Sai Gon I’ve been busy at work because we go to print on Monday. I have sent some pictures to my sister, and she’ll be posting them on her site at www.saigonsoldier.com where you can view them.

Lately I haven’t been getting much sleep, and now all the aunts have returned from HaNoi and HaLong. Last night I went to a birthday dinner for a famous Vietnamese composer whose name I can’t even recall since I’m a numbnut that way. Tonight we go to dinner for my aunt’s birthday – perhaps we’ll go to 2 or 3 restaurants an evening, which is what I’ve been doing for the last 3 days – EATING as always.

I’ll cut short, as I’m about to get picked up.
h.