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.