Two days ago, I visited for the first time the Thu Vien Quoc Gia (National Library). On the map, it is a tiny blue dot that sits on the corner of Le Thanh Ton street and Nguyen Trung Truc, very near Cho Saigon. I walked through the vendors and shops and all the xe om guys, expecting to see a large edifice jutting into the sky, and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible--a hard feat for someone who looks so obviously foreign. Several of the xe om drivers spoke to me in English, thinking I was some non-Vietnamese speaking foreigner. There was little point in pretending I was a local, so I asked a xich lo guy where the library was, and he gave me directions, half-expecting, I think to get something in return. I feel a bit brusque for not offering him a coin, but I needed it for the ride home. // The library is in itself an unimpressive structure. Squat and wide, the white stone building sits rather heavily on the corner of the street. It doesn't even appear imposing, as I imagine a library would be. The main gate was locked, as it has been for a while now, I think, and I noticed that people only used the side door, as if they had to surreptitiously slip in and out of the library. Inside the gate, but in the front foyer of the library, is a garden lined with benches. I noticed that many students sat outside to read and study, without caring about the heat and humidity. But it was no better inside b/c the un-conditioned air was stifling. There is only one main building, and you have to go into Reading Rooms that are separated by subjects. Materials on Politics, Economics, Sciences, and History, among others, all fit into one room. There were so few books, and I was amazed all these histories could fit into one room along with all the other subjects. In the second reading room, was Culture, Education, Literature, and others. I didn't see any other rooms, and was shocked so see that these rooms were not even lined with bookcases. There were more reading tables and chairs than there were bookcases. // Seeing this made me remember all the other books that I saw in the libraries in Wilmington and in Berkeley. There were more books in those libraries than there were in this one, this which is the only library I could see on the map of a city of 8 million people. How precious it seems to have books. Now, more than ever, I miss the books on my bookshelves, b/c they are nowhere to be found here. // Reading here is as precious as anything. Literally, here, public library does not mean the same thing. I don't remember having to pay for a library card in Berkeley or in Texas or in NC. But here, you have to pay for a Reading card and a Lending card. You must have the Reading card in order to enter the library and the Reading rooms. And you must have a Lending card to borrow the books. Essentially then, I pay to peruse those books. It's money for knowledge. Then again, if I look at it another way, it means that no common citizen "owns" these books. That is, in this library, intellectual property can't be purchased by the private citizen, or rather, it is parceled out a little piece at a time. I miss my books! Books that I can hold in my hand when I'm at home; books I can dialogue with and write on inside; books I can lug around in my book bag for ages and not have to pay a fine; books I can read in English. The last time I looked up every other word while reading a book was in my French IV class, reading Les Miserables. La langue d'art est tres difficile! C'est la vie!

I've survived the first week in Viet Nam in tact. Nothing lost yet exept for my sense of navigation and perhaps my confidence. I've been living in Lien Phuong Hotel since my arrival and they're rather nice--as best as can be when dealing with tourists, I suppose. The food is mediocre at best b/c I haven't been to any really good restaurants or eateries. My stomach seems to dealing fine with the food; I've had no problems yet, and I ate banh tam bi the other day, too! Last night, I went out to eat with Anh Thien Long and company. They were surprised that I was drinking iced tea, but I've been doing OK so far. The first day I arrived, I went to the bookstore and loaded up on all sorts of maps to familiarize myself with the streets. Yesterday, after church at Hoi Thanh Saigon, I took a taxi back to the hotel. It's a short distance, and I knew which streets we were supposed to take (straight through Tran Hung Dao and Le Loi), but of course I looked like a viet kieu who didn't know anybetter. The driver took a different street (Ham Nghi) and brought me out to the river. When I asked why he didn't take the other street, since my drop off point was in the opposite direction, he made up excuses, saying that he thought it was down by the river, that he didn't know if the street construction was done (there was none!), and that he didn't know the streets very well. He even behaved as if the streets were unfamiliar to him. So I promptly told him to pull up at the gas station and let me out to take another taxi. I can't tell you how terribly exciting it was to catch him red-handed, particularly b/c I knew the streets, and knew that he was playing me for a fool. Sadly, though, I still paid him. Had I more courage, I'd have demanded an explanation and my money back. But not this fool! :)

First days

I arrived in Saigon two weeks ago when the rain season had already passed, leaving the dry, dusty air to cling to my skin and settle on my clothes. I've succumbed and have started wearing long sleeved shirts, decked out in full gear--face masks, flopping rimmed hat, and long gloves (much like the ball gown gloves at prom). At night, I wash dust from my hair in rivulets of dark, brown water, and my face is a shade lighter after I wash off the grime. Even with a mask, I can feel my throat constricting because of the pollution; in the evenings, my voice goes hoarse and I sound like I'm chronically ill. I go walking in the midst of the bustling city downVo Thi Sau and Hai Ba Trung, with the noise of the bars and restaurants, the motorbikes and the pedestrians falling around me. The xe om guys line the streets talking and chatting, purportedly doing nothing until they see me coming and clamor to get my attention. Some ask me in English if I "go somewhere?" and some just nod to catch my attention. Normally, according to a certain standard of normal daily interactions in the States, in my estimation, refusing to make eye contact seems rude and impolite but it's more common here than I'm used to. If I don't want something, I simply put my head down, walk briskly, and ignore the people around me. And this what I've resorted to despite the fact that I'm here to observe, to interact, to record. For two weeks now, I've become the observed. Waiting for the walk signs at street corners, I am the one scrutinized. At the gelato place on Nguyen thi Minh Khai, in our zealousness of meeting other Fulbrighters, my friends and I become the topic of conversation for talking in English. One of the waiters (a young high school student perhaps) sat a few tables away with what looked like a dictionary.

Election Woes

Being outside of the U.S. during this time of the political season makes me more and more conscious of how much other countries know about American politics, and how little I know of theirs. For the past few days, I've heard so much talk (granted, there was little discussion) about American politics, about the future president and the election's global impact; yet, it's only recently that I've listened carefully to the discussions outside of the States. Despite a few years of higher education, I've become another college-educated person who is practically ignorant of the global issues--being mostly absorbed by "me/us" mentality. What's the impact of Bush's re-election? Aside from domestic policies, how will foreign relations change? // Not surprisingly, a lot of American businesses in Vietnam are pleased that Bush is back in the office--especially b/c of their interests in burgeoning markets in Vietnam. Yesterday, while watching the election at the U.S. Consulate Pubic Affairs Office, I overheard a caucasian male businessman talking to a Vietnamesse lady. Although I was not intent on listening to their conversation, they were seated right behind me, preventing me from listening to the CNN news anchor; unwittingly, I was a silent participant. Businessman said he didn't want Kerry to win and Lady responded by asking what does Bush offer that Kerry doesn't. I silently applauded the question, thinking that such a question is often left unasked and unanswered. Businessman proceeded to explain in his slow and cumbersome way (as if she couldn't understand him--but on the contrary, through hearing her questions, I gathered she was good with her second (?) language, which I'm sorry to admit, I assumed he didn't even have) that Kerry doesn't support small businesses, and that Kerry would raise taxes or eliminate tax cuts. She asked what the current tax rate was, and what Bush offers in terms of taxes, suggesting that tax was already rather high. Businessman had to agree, but insisted that Kerry would do worse. In those brief moments, Lady's questions confirmed for me that most people, me included--in whatever regard, in whatever situation--often forget to breathe the questions and live inside the answers in order to truly know, to live, what they are thinking and saying. // "Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer." --Rilke, Letter Four, Worpswede, 1903.

Only in America

On my way back to the hotel from the U.S. Consulate Public Affairs Office (after an exhausting day following the US election), I hailed a taxi that took me from Le Loi to Hai Ba Trung. On the way, the driver (I couldn't see his face very well) asked if I was from somewhere else visiting the city. Does it count as a fib if I said, in response to his many questions: "Que nha o Long Xuyen; I'm working in the city, affiliated with the college KHXH-NV on Dinh Tien Hoang; recently arrived in the city, and have family/relatives in the area." They're not so much lies as half-truths, right? It's more like self-preservation, like "bao thu" so that people don't find out too much.

Chi M.once tried to articulate for me the difference between ignorant people and insensitive people. There must be too many of both kinds b/c few (that I've met here so far) seem to understand the implications and connotations of silence. Non-verbal cues are lost most of the time or are misunderstood. When I'm silent in the taxi, it means I prefer not to talk, which usually means please don't ask questions. When I'm silent after being asked a rather difficult question ("Why are you so fat?"), the very pregnant pause should indicate my unwillingness to respond, my shock, and/or my insufficient, limited Viet vocabulary that ill prepares me to answer respectfully and with poise. Most will either blithely breeze right onto the next question ("Isn't there medication in America to help reduce your fat?" little shop girl at Tan Tien Giay shoestore on the corner of Vo thi Sau and Hai ba Trung streets); or they will proceed to suggest certain remedies for my fat ailment. In the case of the little shopgirl and her mother, they couldn't understand why someone young as me could be so fat, and they couldn't understand why someone from America isn't skinny; therefore, they could offer no words of advice. In my defense, I said "In the States, if you have money, you can do whatever." I just didn't know how to respond. I wasn't trying to be elusive or evasive (well, maybe I was); it just seemed I didn't have enough words to say what I meant. In the words of the girl, "the question is, does it work?"

I went back for dinner at the same quan an and ordered banh canh instead of bun rieu. This time, the couple were interested in my "story" and were asking questions about my work, my single status, my accommodations, life in the States, in general. Tentatively, they probed and I offered answers that were vague but specific, if that makes any sense. Suffice it to say, my answers pleased them, or at least appeased their curiosity, and they were friendlier than before.

The woman (neighbors refer to her as Co Ba) invited me to sit across from her at the table and, after making my bowl of banh canh, proceeded to fan me with the tattered, purple paper fan sitting in the chopsticks container. At this point, we had barely exchanged any words, just a few pleasantries, but there she was, fanning me with this silly paper fan. Nonchalantly, always facing out towards the main street as if she couldn't, wouldn't, bother with a strange (not for long?) patron. But then they started talking to me, without my asking anything in return, and I joined the conversation. They asked about where I normally eat and how long I'll be staying in the country.

Usually, by this time in conversation with others, my backhairs are raised, and cautionary flags are going up everywhere, and my Vietnamese begins to stutter. But for some reason, this couple (the thought did cross my mind that they were CB lookouts) didn't threaten me in any way. I'm normally on guard, to try to be, but the truth is, Co Ba was sitting there fanning me b/c sweat was dripping down my face. Then she touched my bowl and asked if it was hot enough--normally a very casual gesture--but for total strangers, that question and action seemed to bridge something between us. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but I didn't pick up any sense of invasiveness or pushiness from her demeanor. They seemed--could it be?--concerned that I was eating out a lot, and that I didn't have home cooked meals, and briefly mentioned that there are other affordable places to eat (com binh dan).

Of course, the meal tonight included complimentary iced tea (courtesy of the husband while the wife was making my goi cuon) and parted from me not 8000 vnd but 6000 vnd. Not so bad. On my way out, she invited me back (why not? I was bringing them business!). Maybe tomorrow will bring something different.

Looking for a place to stay--any place--is not hard. Looking for a place safe enough, private enough, most accomodating--that's a different matter. I looked in several places and yet none seemed to my liking. It seems that I have to forgeit one thing or another wherever I go. I've finally decided to stay at the Thorakao place: situated on the corner of Cach Mang Thanh Tam and Dien Bien Phu, it's centrally located and is within walking distance of many places. The Thorakao building is owned by a close (?) family friend, Co Nguyet, who owns a rather large and expensive cosmetics company. She kindly offered her place, insisting that what appeals to her in this situation is the fact that I've been raised in a decent family and that she can look out for me during my stay. I've grown accustomed to the fact that family members and friends of relatives will readily direct me to live where they think I should live and do what they think I should do. It's rather like walking a tightrope--finer and more stressful than in the States--when deciding how to state my case firmly and concisely without being abrasive, rude, and disrespectful. It's not because in the States there aren't pushy people; those people are everywhere and will inflict their opinions into everything I do, on everything I say. The situation is more stressful here b/c I find myself floundering when trying to articulate my ideas, the self that needs to be expressed.

Love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain

"Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away, you write, and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast. And if what is near you is far away, then your vastness is already among the stars and is very great; be happy about your growth, in which of course you can't take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don't torment them with your doubts and don't frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn't be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn't necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust." --Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

About two, three days ago, I stopped by a street vendor (quan an) on Hai Ba Trung Street to try some bun rieu. It's really just a rollaway cart that a couple had set up on the side of the alleyway, set in a bit from the main street. There were just 4 tables and plastic chairs lined along the wall, and I was the only customer. With lots of faith I ordered a bowl; the noodles were not spectacular, as I've had better cooking from mom's own kitchen. Perhaps it was because I hadn't had any bun rieu in a while, and I wanted to make conversation, so I told the cook it was good, that it was my first bowl of bun rieu in quite a long while. She smiled pleasantly and said it was 8000 vnd. I thought it was a fair price, but after I left, I couldn't help but think she was smiling pleasantly b/c she probably overcharged me for the bowl. Well, today, I stopped by again, and the husband was bustling around waiting on the tables while she was cooking and I ordered the same thing. Lo and behold, this time, it was only 6000 vnd. Surprise! I'd like to think that maybe the late hour reduced the price, or maybe it was because I'd complimented them last time. Who knows?