In pursuit of a dwelling place. . .

Well apparently I got here just in time for the expat real estate boom in Saigon. Hoorah for me.

I backed out on the last apartment b/c it was so damn far away. Now I’m sucking it up and saying “ok, fine, I will pay more than $200/month for a place. For heaven’s sake I’m from Chicago, when did $300 start sounding expensive to me??”

Oh right, when the economy went to hell in a handbasket.That’s it.

I was just talking with Mr. Jon, the guy who was showing me apartments this morning. He said he’s heard that finding an apartment here is like finding a job. I can attest to the fact that, no, it’s much harder. A job only took one day. This has taken two weeks going on three.

Mr. Jon lived in California for 16 years working in real estate and banking. He moved back here to do this two years ago (talk about riding the waves, friends). Everyone told him he was crazy for coming back.

I’d say he outsmarted us all, in almost perfect fashion.

A couple thoughts on Day 1, with rose-colored glasses apparently still on . . .

Well, I made it through! This day that was so daunting to me just 24 hours ago proved to be one of the most satisfying days I’ve had in a long time. I taught three classes of Juniors today, which means kids between the ages of 6 and 10 I think, though some seem to be older.

The first class was a challenge – as it was beginners (both teacher and students) – and I was quiet literally sweating by the end of it. The second got a little easier, as I got more comfortable and the students got more advanced. This evening’s class was, hands down, the most fun I’ve had since I’ve been at this whole thing. It was simply splendid.

(More importantly, I didn’t get booed out of the classroom or have erasers thrown at me. Not even a blank stare. These were the real phobias.)

Here’s the thing – I can see how teaching would be a huge headache if you have too many students, too few resources, or unmotivated students. I know many teachers who have faced all of these problems at once and still kept at it, and I simply don’t understand.

We’re super lucky though. We teachers at this school are absolutely swimming in fabulous resources, and we’re surrounded by people who have done this for years and done it well. And even though the students are all kids, many of whom I’m sure are there of their parents’ volition and not their own, they know exactly why they’re there, and desperately want to learn this language as well and as fast as they can. Could a teacher ask for more?

(Side note: I also love the level of sheer dorkiness I’ve seen in many of the students so far, and I’m talking physical dorkiness. Big thick glasses, pants up around the waste. Think Steve Erckle. It. is. FABULOUS. And I’m really not making fun, it makes me so very happy.)

At 7:00 this evening, as my last class ended, I really just wanted to squeal with glee. It was weird. As I went back to the teachers’ room and then walked home, I tried to figure out why I felt so durn good. I think it’s simply this: I can see exactly why people do this, and I know why I’m doing it. I get it – the motivation and the desire and the energy – I can see where it’s coming from and it’s all headed in the same direction. Though I loved many things about my last job, I never felt like our motivations or even our goals were this aligned. I think it’s just that simple.

Tomorrow’s another day – all the same classes I had today. (Also, if all goes according to plan, I’m moving and potentially purchasing a motorbike on Monday, at which point I will have completed all the major tasks required to feel a little more settled . . . fingers crossed thumbs held!)

The adventures of house hunting . . .

Well friends, for a while it was all just too easy. A month in Costa Rica – piece of cake. Getting to Vietnam -  a synch. Job – done. But finding housing has been a bit of a hangup (I’ve been at it for three whole days now, goodness be patient Katie). I keep hearing that it’s possible to find something great that’s close to work and really cheap, so I keep holding out. But I did have great fun on the hunt today.

I found two kids (an American guy and an English-speaking Vietnamese girl) who were looking for a third for their house, but I didn’t realize just how far away it was. So this afternoon I went down to one of the motorbike taxi guys who’s always hanging out on the corner, and asked him to take me there.

(Preface: So far every place I’ve gone has taken no more than 5 minutes by motorbike)

So we take off.

10 minutes in he stops to ask for directions. Although I don’t speak Vietnamese, I’m pretty sure the response was something like “wow, that’s a really long way, just keep going and going and going.”

So we went and went and went.

At which point I think “I’m probably not going to live here.” Reason being: I’m pretty much taking for granted that one minor motorbike accident while in Vietnam is inevitable. They’ve happened to everyone I know. But if I’m on a motorbike ten times more than I’ve been planning on with this commute, that’s TEN accidents, and a lot of sucking on exhaust fumes. So I’ll just go for educational purposes – to help me see what I should really be able to expect for the money.

Traffic is too congested so we off-road it for a little while.

Stop and ask for more directions, receive more or less the same response as before. Repeat 14 times.

Blow through a red light with no less than 75 oncoming motorbikes. And again. And again. This makes the driver chuckle heartily, and me too for some reason. And every time he gives me the thumbs up and says “very good, very good.” (Regretably, I didn’t have my camera with me, but I took a few representative photos upon my return, to give you a sense of the chaos that is Saigon’s traffic)

Yep, he's perpendicular to the flow of traffic.

Stop for gas.

Drive and drive and drive.

Arrive at house, check it out, realize that both the house and the inhabitants are really very cool, but I just. can’t. handle. that drive.

Hop back on motorbike and begin return journey.

Accept a cigarette from the driver (whose name is Hae, we’re friends by this point, and are finding one another highly entertaining). Would have been rude not to, right?

Then eat the thing he gives me, the remains of which I have pictured below. Tasted a lot like a sweet potato. Probably was – wouldn’t know. I’m sure it was a health hazard, but will speed the adjustment of my immune system, so I’m all in support.

Stop at a random juice stand on the side of the road and sit for about 10 minutes to have some juice (because you’re in the middle of a taxi ride home, this is all very logical).

Again, this post is all about representational images. But the chairs especially, here and everywhere, are all the same.

While at the juice stand he pretends to read the Louise Erdrich novel that I have for some reason brought along, occasionally pointing at the woman on the cover and then me going “same same.” Surely you see the resemblance, right? I know I do my hair like that all the time.

We eventually arrive safely home. In the meantime I have seen the following people on motorbikes:

• A woman with an infant, and I’m talking newborn baby, on the back
• About 45 grandmas at the wheel
• And a girl in stiletto heels, driving the thing like a BMXer. See, one element of driving these things is that, every now and then, you have to stick your foot down and scrape it along the ground to help keep balance. I found this action in stiletto heels to be profoundly funny.

Oh look! I found another one . . .

I’m lovin’ it.