Vietnam: The Good, the Bad and the Bizarre
One year has now passed since I moved to Vietnam, and if there's one thing I know when I wake up every day, it's that I'll see this at least once: A woman in a conical hat, a kid on a motorbike and a guy peeing on the side of the road.
Seriously.
But not all of my time spent in this part of the world has been predictable. In fact, just as frequently, it's been unpredictable. And I've enjoyed that. As I've enjoyed the fact it is: home to Dalat Palace Golf Club, one of the greatest courses -- and best-kept secrets -- in all the world; and close to family in Australia, which Claire and I have managed to visit twice -- first over Christmas and New Year's, then last month when we went camping in the Outback so that she could take 17,542 photos of crocodiles. (And anything else that moved.)
What hasn't been so great? Well, there's what you would expect of a SE Asian nation: traffic, pollution, and the language barrier. But more unpleasant are the things not everyone talks about when they leave this colorful place and go home to tell their dreamy stories. Such as those moments when you are walking down the street, and a little old woman decides to hack up a lung and spit half of yesterday's pork ball at your feet. Or when it is 8:45 in the morning, and Claire has to be at the gym in 15 minutes to teach spinning or yoga, and the taxi hasn't shown up yet despite the fact she's called four times. No fun, either. Because let me tell ya: She hates being late.
Then there's the flat-out bizarre characteristics you are constantly trying to get your head around. Like traffic cops. As in, what's the point of 'em? You see these dudes everywhere, especially in Ho Chi Minh, and they stand there, in the middle of an intersection, waving their wands or batons, maybe blowing their whistle. Meanwhile, a car has just passed a motorbike on the sidewalk, or a truck has gone barreling through at Mach 1. All good.
Even more puzzling, though, is the sense of style that exists here. Could be furniture, could be clothes, could be a building's structural or design elements. We are about to move into a new house. It had a patchwork of fake stones plastered on the wall, in one corner of the dining room. Our current house has about seven different kinds of cabinets in the kitchen, as if the store they came from was down to just one of each.
But it's cool. Because one day I'll probably have to stop on the side of the road to pee, and I'll think about my days here, and I'll laugh. Speaking of laughing, here's a picture of Claire cackling with her barramundi in Kakadu:
Seriously.
But not all of my time spent in this part of the world has been predictable. In fact, just as frequently, it's been unpredictable. And I've enjoyed that. As I've enjoyed the fact it is: home to Dalat Palace Golf Club, one of the greatest courses -- and best-kept secrets -- in all the world; and close to family in Australia, which Claire and I have managed to visit twice -- first over Christmas and New Year's, then last month when we went camping in the Outback so that she could take 17,542 photos of crocodiles. (And anything else that moved.)
What hasn't been so great? Well, there's what you would expect of a SE Asian nation: traffic, pollution, and the language barrier. But more unpleasant are the things not everyone talks about when they leave this colorful place and go home to tell their dreamy stories. Such as those moments when you are walking down the street, and a little old woman decides to hack up a lung and spit half of yesterday's pork ball at your feet. Or when it is 8:45 in the morning, and Claire has to be at the gym in 15 minutes to teach spinning or yoga, and the taxi hasn't shown up yet despite the fact she's called four times. No fun, either. Because let me tell ya: She hates being late.
Then there's the flat-out bizarre characteristics you are constantly trying to get your head around. Like traffic cops. As in, what's the point of 'em? You see these dudes everywhere, especially in Ho Chi Minh, and they stand there, in the middle of an intersection, waving their wands or batons, maybe blowing their whistle. Meanwhile, a car has just passed a motorbike on the sidewalk, or a truck has gone barreling through at Mach 1. All good.
Even more puzzling, though, is the sense of style that exists here. Could be furniture, could be clothes, could be a building's structural or design elements. We are about to move into a new house. It had a patchwork of fake stones plastered on the wall, in one corner of the dining room. Our current house has about seven different kinds of cabinets in the kitchen, as if the store they came from was down to just one of each.
But it's cool. Because one day I'll probably have to stop on the side of the road to pee, and I'll think about my days here, and I'll laugh. Speaking of laughing, here's a picture of Claire cackling with her barramundi in Kakadu:
Comments
And Claire is so brave for holding that huge fish. It makes me cringe just looking at it, although I do love to see that girl's smile! So pretty.