Week 15: Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, as it seems to be the only holiday not completely completely overrun by Hallmark consumer madness (well, maybe in terms of food, but people have to buy that anyway). Growing up, my parents used to host a HUGE thanksgiving meal that was part-American part-Vietnamese. On top of the turkey and stuffing, my mom would cook spring rolls and Vietnamese shrimp salad. For my immigrant parents, Thanksgiving was a particularly poignant holiday. It allowed them to give thanks for their new life, as well as take part in a distinctly "American" custom and assert their new national identity. Much of the time I have to remind myself that for my parents, the "American Dream" remains a vivid and persuasive image. On my part, I love what Thanksgiving for what it does: gathers family together for a meal. In the throes of modern life (with its fast-paced life, never-ending desires and insecurities, perpetual consumption, and tightly-packed schedules), one has to stop, look around, and be grateful for what one has every once in a while.

I love Thanksgiving, and this year is no different. L and M threw a Thanksgiving dinner, complete with turkey, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, catered by a local restaurant. About 10 people came, all slightly-homesick Americans, except for MR's Italian friend A, who spent her first Thanksgiving with us (MR is N's comrade-in-arms in the Ho Chi Minh Trail documentary project). After weeks of the poultry ban in Vietnam (can't even get eggs here), the imported American turkey tasted fantastic (and was beautifully carved by MR). The only tradition missing was American football--instead, we all collapsed in the living room and watched highlights of the English Premier League Football (that's soccer to you, gringo) and played board games.

I have a lot to be thankful for this year--I am healthy, in a really good place in my life. I am thankful for the continued health of my family and friends. I am making progress on my dissertation, and embarked on a overseas adventure. I spend most of my time thinking about what I don't have, and forget just how good I have it. My parents are still happily together, I have really great friends on both sides of the world, and I have a great relationship with my sister. Not many people could boast all that. Things are looking well.

After dinner, I received a phone call from my mom, wishing me a happy Thanksgiving. Because my sister and I were on the other side of the pond, my parents didn't throw their usual turkey bash. I felt a little homesick, and missed my mom and dad. They've been taking our absence particularly hard, especially my mom. Holidays can be difficult to deal without family. I wonder how I will get by when Christmas rolls around...

My oldest friend in Vietnam, Anh Tang, got married on Tuesday. (Weddings in the US normally take place during the weekends, but in Vietnam, more traditional couples would marry on the "most auspicious" day according to a geomancer or fortune teller.) The wedding itself was small, so I felt like part of the family. I travelled with the groom's family with gifts to the bride's house to officially ask for her hand. The Vietnamese secular ritual lasted 5 minutes (even shorter than an American justice-of-the-peace ceremony)--the bride and groom bow to the ancestors, bow to their parents, and then bow to each other. They both looked so happy--no one deserves it more than they. All their family and friends came to wish them well, and after the ceremony, we all celebrated at the reception held a the Army Hotel. Call me a closeted romantic, but it makes me happy to see people find each other.

To all my friends and family everywhere--Happy Thanksgiving, and I miss you all!

Week 14: "I'm sorry, ma'am, but your reality check bounced."

Took a fantastic trip out of Hanoi this weekend—lots of stories to tell. After about 3 months in the city, this city dweller needed some fresh air and nature. Went to Ba Vi National Park, about 61 km to the west of Hanoi for two days and a night. Despite my fears for my safety, (see week 5) my companions and I took motorbikes (helmets included, of course!). We drove through the Vietnamese countryside on two oldschool Belorussian Minsk (or Минск in Cyrillic) bikes--L and I on one, and my friend N (who looks like Daniel Day-Lewis but more handsome, and is working on a documentary on the Ho Chi Minh trail) and M on the other. We all set off at 2 in the afternoon, after waking up hung over and frantically trying to get our act together so we could leave at a reasonable hour. The foggy and chilly weather of late-autumn Hanoi had us all bundling up for the trip. As we headed west, all I could think was, “Whoo-hoo!!! I’m getting out of Hanoi!!”

After a 2 ½ hour drive and a Minsk breakdown (the culprit: a dirty spark plug), we arrived in Ba Vi. The air smelled great—a welcome change from the smoggy polluted air in Hanoi. Ba Vi Mountain towered above us, and I could see glimpses of the winding road peeking through the deep green foliage. We came across a cactus greenhouse, and spent some time looking at hundreds of species of spiky plants and chatting up the overseer (Unfortunately for L, no peyote plants in sight).

Went for a drive up the mountain after visiting the cactus greenhouse. I felt the temperature drop the further we rode up the mountain. After realizing that there were no guesthouses further up the mountain, we decided to turn back. Going downhill, N and L turned off the motors and we coasted on neutral all the way down. There was just enough light to see, and my eyes had to adjust to the increased dusk. Without the noisy clickety-clack of the Minsk motor, everything was completely quiet. I felt like we were the only people in existence—gliding around in the foggy dusk. I spoke in a whisper, so as to not ruin the sacred silence of the forest. I don’t think I’ve ever been so “in the moment,” nor have I enjoyed silence so much.

By the time we coasted down the mountain, nighttime had fallen. We checked in a small guesthouse on the mountainside. The clerk led us about 100 yards away from the reception office to a bungalow that looked like something out of the Shining. The rooms had no heaters, so we asked for extra blankets. After dinner, we ordered a bottle of rot-gut Gold King whiskey and 8 beers from the receptionist. She looked absolutely horrified, seeing as though we already finished at least half a case of beer at dinner. Carrying our booty back to the bungalow, we settled down for good old-fashioned drinking card games. (I know, I know, we were supposed to have a detox getaway and all, but what else are we gonna do on a Saturday night on the side of mountain? Besides, it was really cold.) We sat under layers and layers of blankets, ate junk food and played cards by candlelight. When the Gold King was ¾ empty and the beers completely gone, L and N started freaking out about the rapidly depleting alcohol supply. They debated waking up the poor pregnant receptionist to procure more booze and collectively decided that supplementing our buzz was the utmost priority. So L and N set off for the reception office in the middle of the night, crusaders for our ethanol cause. They came back with a box of 16 beers (woof). Things got progressively sloppy after that. At some point in the night (and I don’t remember how this happened), L decided to show off his latest breakdancing moves on the floor. Have posted pictures of the famous L-Stall.

We all woke up the next morning, hungover and the room in ashambles. While cleaning up the room, L nearly got mauled by some local monkeys. While throwing out the beer bottles, I looked out the front door and saw about 6 monkeys running around on the street. I called to L, and he emerged from the trashed room, carrying leftover glasses of whiskey from the previous night. He then had this great idea of feeding the whiskey to the monkeys, and walked out to the street and placed the glasses in front of the monkeys. They actually drank the whiskey, which probably accounted for why they went on a rampage and chased after L. (That and the fact that he looked them in the eye—a direct challenge in the animal world.) As L ran for the shelter of the bungalow chased by a gang of monkeys, I threw open the door to let him in. Once inside, I slammed the door shut in the monkeys’ faces. Perhaps slightly intoxicated, the monkeys left and continued their rummaging of the trash can.

After restoring some semblance of order to the bungalow (nothing could be done about the stench) we all took a long ride up to the top and visited the temple at the summit. To get to the temple, we hiked up what seemed to be at least 1000 steps. I was expecting this ancient temple dating back from the Ly dynasty, where the great Buddhist kings would come and offer prayers to the Bodhisattvas. Instead, I was a little disappointed—the temple was built in 1997!!! The temple itself was dedicated to Ho Chi Minh, and had a guard up there 24 hours a day. On both sides of the huge bust of Uncle Ho hung two humongous bells. After asking for permission, we all took turns wailing on the bells with huge battling rams. The experience was hugely satisfying--the sound resonated all over the mountain.

Coasting down from the top of the mountain, we found our way to a 70-ft high observation deck. After asking for permission from the overseer (we would have never got permission in the US—too many potential liabilities), we started climbing it. Built almost entirely out of metal, the tower seemed sturdy enough—until we got to the top deck. The floor was made out of rotten wooden slats only an inch thick, with only one metal beam supporting the entire floor. To top it off, the tower swayed in the wind, and I was already eyeing the branch I will grab if it did topple over. I’m terrified of heights, but I derive this weird pleasure from the vertigo. I guess that’s why I like rock climbing so much—it allowed me to face my fear without being in any immediate danger. Such a great rush! The view was incredible—one could see for miles around.

After a quick stop for fresh goat’s milk, we headed back to Hanoi. Along the way, we came across an abandoned theatre. Built in a horrible 1980's Soviet-Futurist architectural style, the theatre had the same sad emptiness that one sees with abandoned drive-ins in the states. Pretty soon, some local kids noticed us, and invited us to play a game of pickup soccer in the gutted theatre. For about 20 minutes, the neglected theatre served a purpose again--as a children's playground.

Driving back into Hanoi, I realized just how congested and crowded Hanoi really was. It was not until I enjoyed the tranquil silence of the countryside that Hanoi's lack of space and relatively urban pace became apparent. Its amazing how ensconced I was in my life--I didn't even notice my own city, let alone the world outside. I had to pull myself out of the pastoral rural vacation back to the jarring reality that was Hanoi. My reality check bounced, and I was mentally yanked away from the idyllic natural beauty of Ba Vi.

Week 13: Burnout (and a Treatise on the Nature of Vietnamese Capitalism)

Ok, so my "work hard, play hard" lifestyle is starting to grate on me. I am definitely not 19 anymore, when I could show up for a 9 AM lecture after going out until 7 AM. I remember once, when I was still at Northwestern, showing up for my French final hungover and still in the clothes I wore the previous night. Now, at the ripe old age of 27 and a week, it takes me at least a day, sometimes two, to recover from an evening of mild debauchery. I need to get out of Hanoi, at least for the weekend. Detox and nature hikes is just what I need to rejuvenate myself. I'm thinking of heading up to Cuc Phuong National Park, where the government has set up a primate reserve--I think hanging out with some monkeys will do me good.

Work is still going. I am really sick of digitizing, and am anxious to actually start reading some of the newspapers. Still not done with digitizing--Mr. Thang in the periodical office found two volumes of Ngay Nay that I thought was missing. While that is great news in the long run, I'm afraid it will force me to keep digitizing for at least another week. In an attempt to get away from this mindnumbing clerical work, I tried to get into the actual archives yesterday, and was told to provide a "plan de recherche" in French!!! My French is barely good enough to order a croissant, let alone describe my dissertation topic. How do you say, "The nature of northern Vietnamese Intellectualism in the 1930s and 40s, as seen in the journalistic writings on modernity and nascent nationalism, begs a refutation of its historiographical label of bourgeois romanticism and reckless individualism. " in French? Argh!!!

Getting pretty tight with the staff at the National Library, especially the women who work in the periodical room. We go out for lunch often, have coffee breaks, and talk skincare. Most of them are older, single working women. (Older meaning mid-twenties, remember?) The topic that occupies most of our discussions--dating. (Its kinda sad, I know, that single, self-sufficient women cannot find anything else to talk about.) They all want to know if I am married (no), do I have a boyfriend waiting for me in the US (no), if I like Vietnamese men (not really), and why or why not (patriarchy, fragile masculinities, feudal notions of gender roles, casual view of infidelity). They find me amusing, and I get to see all the original documents I want. I think its a good working relationship.

A drive in Hanoi's Old Quarter got me thinking about the nature of Vietnamese capitalism. The Old Quarter itself is made up of 36 streets, each named after a particular commodity that was once sold along it. Some of the streets include, Silver Street, Smoking Pipes Street, Flower Street, Bamboo Screen Street, Noodle Street, Fish Sauce Street, Tin Street, and Charcoal Street. Nowadays, the street names hardly reflect what is sold in the stalls: Smoking Pipes Street is now a slew of linen and bedsheet stores, and Flower Street is now where tourists go to buy chintzy silk and cheap lacquer. But the nature of Vietnamese capitalism remains--clusters of stores selling the same product along the same street. To anyone remotely versed in western economics--Adam Smith, laissez faire, competition, invisible hand, blah, blah, blah--Vietnamese-style capitalism makes absolutely no sense. It violates the principle of western economics about finding a market with high demand and scarcity of supply (these clusters of businesses seem to do the opposite--too much supply and little demand). How on earth do these shops manage to stay afloat with so much competition around them? Wouldn't the fierce price wars from the other shops create an economic darwinism, which weeds out the weak and champion the strong?

I think the answer lies in Vietnamese interpersonal networking and consumerism. In the States, we rely on our trusty weekly newspaper inserts for good deals on stuff, which impersonalizes shopping. In other words, it doesn't matter where we get the goods from, as long as we get the best price. It actually works against retailers when too many competitors are around (especially if the product is not unique). When Vietnamese have to buy something, they rely on their trusty friends and relatives, who point them towards a shop owned by a friend of a friend. When one trusts that they're getting a good deal because of a personal connection, one is less likely to shop around. And plus, if they don't buy from the recommended vendor, the person who referred the vendor will look bad. On the flip side, if people don't have a recommended vendor in particular, they can easily go to the street with an array of stalls to shop around for the best deal. So this creates a situation where the clusters of competitors are actually desirable--while the retailers are getting word-of-mouth business, they are also getting residual business from people who actually shop around.

So how do these clusters emerge? My theory has something to do with a strange sense of Vietnamese brand association. Clusters of competitors emerge around a previously-established, successful business, hoping to steal some of its customers and capitalize on its name. Its as if a bunch of fast-food joints opened up around a McDonald's. To illustrate, I will use a case study of a famous slew of escargot restaurants in Hanoi. Almost 20 years ago, a fantastic restaurant called "Ong Gia" (Old Man) opened on the northern shore of the West Lake. The restaurant boasted an amazing view of the lake and served all sorts of snails (steamed with lemon leaves, chinese herbal medicine, lemongrass, you name it). Rather than opening up "Old Man" style restaurants in other lakes of Hanoi, competitors did what Western capitalists would strongly discourage--opened an snail restaurant next door to the original. Not only did this copycat flourish, but restaurants serving the same dishes popped up in the vicinity. Interestingly enough, these newer restaurants capitalized on a brand association not their own for their success, without having to build a strong brand for themselves. Today, the original Old Man and its copycats exist in a strange economic symbiosis: the copycats rely on the Old Man brand association for their survival, while the Old Man needs the copycats to attract a greater magnitude of customers than by itself. Funny how that works...

Anyways, enough about Vietnamese economics. Have posted a picture of me on my 27th birthday. Not bad for a granny of 27, n'est-ce pas?

Alors, je m'en vais. Il faut que je fasse mon plan de recherche. J'ecrirai plus tard. Bisous!

(Sorry, had to practice my French a bit before I started on my Archive application.)

Week 12: Birthday Proust Questionnaire

In the States, I looked forward to finding my copy of Vanity Fair in my mailbox every month. After reading the entire issue slowly, savoring Annie Leibovitz's celeb photos, Dominick Dunne's chic social diary, and well-written articles, I would reach my favorite portion of the magazine--the Proust Questionnaire. Every month, a well-known cultural figure or celebrity would answer the same questions about themselves. Based on a 19th century parlor game, the Proust Questionnaire is named after the French writer whose answers to such games have been preserved. Marcel Proust took two similar questionnaires, at 13 and 20--the answers reflected the changes in his life over the years.

I turn 27 today. The fact that I am officially in my late 20s has sunk in, which created a mental state conducive to the reevaluation of one's life. I don't forsee Vanity Fair asking me to answer their Proust Questionnaire just yet, but that doesn't mean I should deny myself the sheer indulgent pleasure of self-introspection and reflection. A caveat: this questionnaire does not reflect my life in its entirety, but serves as a mere snapshot of me at a particular point in my life. Who knows--my answers may change in a matter of years, days, even hours. I suppose that's the cool part of being a work in progress. For all you visual people, I've posted a picture of myself soon after my 21st birthday. What a difference 6 years make, especially on my coiffure.


What is your greatest fear?
Mediocrity.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
The physical health and emotional well-being of my friends and family.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Lack of punctuality.

What is your most marked characteristic?
My resonant voice.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Being financially self-sufficient.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Nhat Linh and Madame Nhu.

Which living person do you most admire?
My parents—it takes a lot of courage to start all over in a new country.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Atticus Finch, the Marquise de Merteuil, and Calvin (from the comic strip).

Which living person do you most despise?
I can’t be bothered with hate—its such a waste of time and energy.

What is your greatest extravagance?
My bed—how can you possibly work without a good night’s sleep? Oh, and international travel.

What is your favorite journey?
The one that I’ve been on for the past 27 years.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Patience.

What qualities do you most admire in a man?
Strength of character, sincerity, wit, intellectual curiosity, fairness, compassion, ability to listen, deep fidelity.

What qualities do you most admire in a woman?
Strength of character, sincerity, wit, intellectual curiosity, fairness, compassion, ability to listen, great shoes.

On what occasion do you lie?
On Sundays, when my mother asks if I’ve been to mass.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?
Its ability to attract emotionally-unavailable men.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
“I can’t be bothered.”
“I’m at the point in my life when…”

What is your greatest regret?
Not holding my 95-year-old grandmother’s hand while she was in the dentist’s chair and in a lot of pain.

When and where were you happiest?
As a child, playing with my sister. As an adult, on the dancefloor.

What is your most treasured possession?
My gray matter—I try to exercise it everyday.

Where would you like to live?
Anywhere where I can do what I love.

What do you most value in your friends?
Thoughtfulness and a bendable ear.

How would you like to die?
Laughing.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
A man.

What is your current state of mind?
Wistful yet hopeful.

What is your motto?
Fuggem.