I have just one week left at school with this amazing bunch of kids who have wormed their way into my heart. We have been celebrating (and mourning) many "lasts" over the past few weeks. I don't feel the elation that June usually brings. It's not just end-of-school year good-byes that we'll be facing soon, but we'll be saying much bigger good-byes to a tight-knit group of friends. It will be sad. Very sad. Foster, Nolan and I are plotting our first return visit. Brianna is still holding out for never leaving the state of Vermont again. I hope she too will come around on that first gray, frigid day in November when I pull out the Vietnam photo album and look at pictures of us on the beach in November of last year (and December and January and February...). For now, though, the goal is to enjoy every last moment that we have.
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| Monkeys in a tree at the Cham Museum in Danang. |
It's a lofty goal with all that awaits in Vermont. It seems irresponsible to not think about life after Vietnam. I really do need a job, and I devote some time every day to the pursuit. Resumes and cover letters are floating in cyber space. I know it's a necessary evil, but it's distracting me from "the moment." If only that multi-million dollar contract with a company that pays me to travel would materialize. Then I could truly relax. Please keep me in mind if you have one of those jobs available.
In the meantime, we continue to pack in the adventures, and I remind myself to embrace all that is unique about Vietnam. I have to remind myself to take pictures. All that was so strange and new just a few months ago now seems normal. In just a few more months it will become a memory. This is my chance to preserve it.
As I write this, it's 4:45 in the morning. I have come to love early mornings in Vietnam. This is a sleep pattern that was forced upon me by my environment (loud speakers, roosters, dogs, neighbors that get to work before the sun rises, and a wee bit of stress in my life), but it's one that I now enjoy. I like being up before the sun. It's quiet. It's cool. I'm productive. I get to watch the river come to life outside my front door: the fishing boats come and go; the trash fires start burning; men and women crouch in the shade eating noodle soup for breakfast; the guy next door hacks coconuts from high in a tree with his machete and a set of ropes; the mangos fall off another tree into my yard; the gardener arrives to sweep(?) the garden; the kids in uniforms double ride each other on their bikes on the way to school; and the cows meander past. Vietnam is waking up, and I have a front-row seat.
As I bicycle down Cua Dai (the main road into the Ancient City), I have to remind myself to appreciate the humor in everyday life here. It seems as though this road has been under construction for most of this year - apart from rainy season when potholes the size of moon craters were born, and it was simply unbearable to negotiate the two mile ride into town. For the past month, a long stretch (perhaps 3/4 mile) of the road has been completely torn up and closed to traffic. At home this would necessitate a detour to an adjoining street. Not in Hoi An. Traffic just simply moves up onto the sidewalk. Rather than trying not to get killed by a motorbike on a 12-foot wide road, I now have 18-24 inches of sidewalk space to share with these crazy drivers. On one side is a four foot drop into the torn up road bed. On the other side of the two-foot span are store fronts. Add in random motorbikes parked on the sidewalk, trees, dumpling stands, treacherous missing sidewalk cement (with a drop into a black abyss), and people just trying to walk (the nerve), and this commuter route becomes a three-ring circus. What can I do besides shake my head and join the parade of impatient commuters trying not to fall into the abyss? It's easy to get caught up in the frustration of the moment and forget to appreciate the oddness of it all. The acrid smell of hot tar and smoke reminds me embrace the experience. I pedal by four large oil drums stacked upon an enormous wood fire on the side of the road with men and women shoveling hot tar by hand onto the surface. Someday this road will be smooth again (not likely before we leave), and I will have a true appreciation for what it took to make it that way.
This week, as I strive to soak up every little bit of "difference" that this country has to offer, I will work to take more pictures and appreciate the little things - to try to see everything as we saw it ten months ago when we first arrived. I'll try to figure out how to live "responsibly" in the moment - how to balance planning for what lies ahead in Vermont with squeezing the last drops out of Vietnam. Stay tuned...
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| Patches - growing up so fast |
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| La Plage |
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| Bath Water! |
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| Typical Vietnam - girls work and boys play... |
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| Catching a wave |
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| Sunset in the rice paddy - another beautiful day in Vietnam |
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