"Dress nice..."

The long (and not winding) road to Danang

With those words echoing in my head I mounted my trusty, rusty one-speed-wonder and rode her all the way to Danang and back today.  "Dress nice..." were the orders from the director of the language school in Danang where I have just signed a contract to teach English three afternoons per week.  First I wondered whether I should take his suggestion/order personally.  I looked myself over...skirt with leggings because I had arrived on a motorbike, colorful top with a small rip in it which I had carefully obscured with the fleece tied around my waist, windblown ponytail, flip flops.  It was my typical teaching attire - casual and comfortable but not too relaxed.  Then I wondered if my flip flops smelled rotten.  I have noticed a bit of an off-stench when I close them in the bedroom with me at night. 

In all fairness, the job I have just signed on for is a big deal for this language school.  They have just received a US State Department grant to educate 25 "underprivileged" Vietnamese teenagers.  I'll be launching them into the wonderful world of English, but we can't get down to business until we've had the proper "opening ceremony" with the US Consulate.  Thus the "dress nice" suggestion.  I think smelly flip flops and windblown hair will typically be just fine, but I do have to upgrade for this one special occasion. 

So off I pedaled to the big city of Danang for a shoe upgrade.  I was actually looking forward to making the trip under my own pedal power.  This job is going to entail riding a motorbike to and from the city three times/week. The only thing that terrifies me more than riding a motorbike in Vietnam is riding a motorbike in traffic in Vietnam.  I have yet to see a city without traffic, so it is time for me to buck up, get some courage and figure this motor biking culture out. Quite frankly I am petrified.

The first step in figuring out how to deal with this transport trauma was to figure out exactly where the school was.  The thought of trying to ride a motorbike, read street signs and deal with the carnival (aka traffic) was enough to put me over the edge.  So, when I went to Danang earlier in the week, I hired a Xe Om - a motorbike taxi.  I white-knuckled it all the way to Danang - not because I was afraid of falling off, but because I was afraid I would go crashing into my driver every time he hit a bump.  I held on to the back bar for dear life to avoid the uncomfortable co-mingling of our "seat bound" body parts.  Riding on the backside of a motorbike begs for a big hug - to stay warm and to stay safe.  My Xe Om driver was a nice enough guy, but (call me a prude if you must) I really had no desire to hug him tight.  So, I focused half of my energy on maintaining respectable personal space and the other half on memorizing the route through the city to this school.  He lost me at the second roundabout.

Danang is a city full of roundabouts without rules.  I struggle with Vermont's one roundabout in a parking lot full of big box stores, and that's a rule-governed roundabout (don't quiz me on the rules).  Roundabout rules in Vietnam are "gun it and pray for self-preservation," and "bigger is better."  To complicate matters, traffic typically flows in both directions at the same time.  I think my coping mechanism was to just black out.  I have no recollection of how we made it through the roundabout or which way we turned.

Today on my one-speed wonder I was determined to take on the roundabouts at my own speed and figure this whole traffic thing out. The first thing I noted was that you don't see a lot of bicycles in the roundabouts.  Tourists on bicycles are even rarer.  I'm not sure if people felt sorry for me, or if they just slowed down to rubber-neck at this whack-job biking in a roundabout.  But, either way, I somehow made it through unscathed.  With the knowledge that I could stop on a dime and that I didn't need to worry about tipping over or burning myself on an exhaust pipe, I felt tons better, and I successfully negotiated my way to my destination.  The simple solution would seem to be to just ride my bike to this new job.  Sadly the forty mile round trip on a windy beachside road used up three and a half hours of my day - a fine Sunday recreational opportunity, but not such an efficient commuting option.  Next week I must conquer my fear and embrace the motorbike (or it will be a long few months of trying NOT to embrace motorbike drivers).

Having successfully tackled one of today's task, it was time to rectify the respectable shoe situation...at the grocery store.  I really am more of a flip flops or running sneakers kind of girl (which would explain the need for this shopping excursion), and shoe shopping is not my forte.  Couple that with an Asian setting where the largest women's shoes are big enough to cover about 2/3 of my foot, and shoe shopping moves further down my list of fun things to do.  By shopping for shoes at the grocery store I was at least able to console myself with a nice chocolate bar when the ordeal was over.

The options were slim.  Most of the men's flip flops did not meet the "dress nice" criteria, and the women's shoes looked unbelievably tiny.  Then I found them...the answer to all of my troubles...the rubber "dress" shoes.  They stretched just enough to squeeze my feet in.  They appeared to be made from recycled tires.  They are black (classic right?).  They don't smell yet.  They cost five dollars.  And, most importantly, they fit the "dress nice" criteria because they have a nice little heel on them that will make me tower 9.5 inches over my hosts and hostesses (rather than the usual 8 inches).  So much success in one pair of grocery store shoes...I could barely contain my joy.  To celebrate I tossed my new shoes in my bike basket and hopped back on my bicycle and pedaled against the wind for 20 miles back to Hoi An in the scorching sun.  A short hour and forty-five minutes later I was delighted to find that my new shoes had not melted en route (although they did smell kind of funny).

So incredibly stylish!

Here's hoping that whomever the US Consulate sends to this ceremony is super tall and has no fashion sense whatsoever.  I will be treating myself to one more Xe Om ride to get myself to that opening ceremony in one piece - windblown and tense from trying not to squeeze my driver but hopefully with both shoes intact.

Ode to my new shoes courtesy of my friend Paolo

Vietnam war era US air base en route to Danang

Foster and Mr. Dimples at the beach