Butt hurt.

   Why do I always get butt hurt when locals think that I'm a local too? Perhaps it's because they treat me like shit when they see me with white people? I just came home from a nice little BBQ get together at a friend's hotel building where I asked the motorbike parking attendant about the building's curfew and he turned around to tell me that only foreigners were allowed to live there. Why should I be butt hurt? I look like a local don't I? Especially here in Saigon... it's sometimes impossible to tell who is a VK and who isn't. As for me, as soon as I open my mouth the locals should be able to identify me as a foreigner. Of course they can not be sure exactly where I am from, but my Vietnamese accent is quite off says a lot of people here. I guess my mother has been lying to me all this time. She told me my Vietnamese is above average, yet living here and mingling with the locals have proven to be a different story. When I told the attendant that I too was a foreigner, specifically an American citizen, his entire demeanor changed. Suddenly a smile flashed before my eyes as his whiskers spread apart and he asked me why my Vietnamese was so good. When people think I'm a local, they treat me like shit. When they know I'm a foreigner, they treat me so differently and they remember to rip me off. I'm willing to accept that. It ain't right, but that's life. Life ain't right.

Just chillin'

  As some of you may know I'm currently in the progress of finding reliable housing here in District 1. Finding my own place has been a drag because of the unexpected two months deposit+1 month rent just to move in. Paying 6 million dong for a room in a busy and often times slutty hotel just doesn't seem smart to me. Renting my own place requires more commitment than what I'm willing to put out. Landlords often times want a year's contract or more with outrageous deposits. A small house would be affordable and perhaps cheap, but safety can't be guaranteed. The locals here think living in an alley is chaotic and troublesome - the Vietnamese are quite nosy, perhaps so nosy that they'll learn my work schedule and nosy their way through my belongings when I'm not home. Living on a main road with your neighbor across the street appears to be the primary goal for a lot of affluent people. These people are probably immune to the early morning wake up calls of roosters, automobiles, motorbikes, children, and children on motorbikes. God damn, the Vietnamese love to use their horns. A taxi literally honked at me for two whole minutes straight today as I headed home from work.
 

Drenched.

It's really important not to over work here in Vietnam. Sure, the hours seem minimal, but the dependency on mother nature sure creates a wasteful society. Class let out today at 4:30 and I didn't make it home until two hours later. Sitting in the teachers' lounge made me slightly homesick as the weather barely had an affect on my schedule back home. Here I was, sitting and doing nothing while waiting for the rain to forgive us and to ease its temper. Eventually it did break- but like other aspects of Vietnam, appearances can be deceiving. Figuring my manliness was in question, I decided against wearing a raincoat. That's right, real men don't protect themselves from water. Too bad I'm not a real man. The rain came down and it came down hard. My helmet with a front face visor protected me from the liquid shrapnel as it plundered vertically into the rest of my exposed body. Traffic was simply a nightmare. It was so bad that cops had to stand on the bridge (Nguyen Tri Phuong) in order to direct traffic in rain coats. Of course the chaos and confusion of the loud horn blasting- ear drum torturing cars and bikes mixed with the rolling thunder and flashes of lightning made it almost impossible to understand the police man's shouts. Even without all the other butting aspects I probably would have failed to comprehend his verbal directions. My Vietnamese is great, no doubt, but I'm having trouble understanding the locals here. Perhaps it's because Saigon is such a diverse place where all walks of life converge to find opportunity. So Saigon is just like America, but with more loose women. I see now. I understand things better now. Getting back onto the Nguyen Chi Phuong bridge was a nightmare. The police man kept on shouting at us to turn right when we wanted to turn left. Cruising down Vo Van Kiet made me feel so good. Motorbikes are not required to yield at the traffic lights here coming towards home, so it's easy sailin' all the way. Speaking of sailing, I was as wet as if I had gone sailing and had fallen off the boat. I was soaked. Every inch of my body was wet. My underwear was wet. My socks were wet. Hell, my laptop was wet and so were all my textbooks. I have to be smarter next time. I was just nearing the end of my cold and this episode probably set me back a whole week. Yo! Rain coats are NOT for sissies and women. Men wear rain coats too... even pink ones with polka dots. I should not be ashamed to wear a rain coat. I'm man enough. I'm man enough to wear a rain coat. Real men wear rain coats. Too bad I'm not a real man.

Fuck Tandem Bikes.

15 dollars

Da Lat was just miserable. Saigon was not as hot as I had previously remembered during this time of the year. In fact, I was still sweating through my clothes, but the heat and humidity wasn't a big deterrent towards anything at all. The bus ride from Bien Hoa to Saigon found its difficulties early on as there was virtually no room for me to place my backpack. My first objective was to meet up with John, another Viet kieu expat whom I've actually been staying with for the past few weeks and my second objective was to pick up my college friend, Kevin. This was Kevin's first time in Vietnam, though he's been back to his native Cambodia plenty of times. Knowing this, I wanted to avoid the cliche Mekong Delta- so on wards to Da Lat and Nha Trang we went.

A survivor

Da Lat is also famous for its numerous waterfalls and tourists and their bad poses

I never like to plan out which hotels to stay at because I always end up staying at something completely different. So upon arriving in Da Lat we just wandered the streets as we were pestered by men on motorbikes nonstop. Likely we over paid slightly- though at 10 dollars a person, I wasn't about to complain too much. I've been to Da Lat twice prior to this trip and I probably saw more this time than both prior trips combined. I knew exactly what I wanted to see and do. The agricultural aspects of Da Lat was important to me. Seeing lettuce and cauliflower grow in Vietnam was a huge deal. Yes, the Vietnamese can grow something aside from rice. The cable car was another big deal to see. The first time I was in Da Lat years ago with my family, the driver actually drove us here but the elders refused to go on fearing safety. It's good to say that I'm alive and well. Da Lat is also known for the opportunity to ride various animals. Ponies, ostriches, and elephants are the norm.

Heaven

Heaven in my mouth

  I hate to admit it but the rain made Da Lat a rather harsh and cold place. That's right, I was cold in Vietnam. It was likely no colder than an autumn day in So Cal, but the constant slow drizzle of rain dampened the ground and our souls. Like other touristy cities, the vibe in Da Lat, especially the atmosphere of the night market was primarily desperation. The pleas and cries of the street vendors tugged at my heart. The outdoor portion of the Da Lat night market was great for people watching. It's a controlled chaos that transcends the bitter chill that plagued its residents and the marred tourists from Saigon. It was purely art. Except for the tandem bikes. The mutha sucking tandem bikes. What's the deal with tandem bikes? Is there such a useless invention? The tandem bike usefulness is equivalent to owning a pager now a days. Also aside from its hideous construction, the imagery of two people relying on each other to peddle such a device is appalling. The rear rider might even take advantage and not peddle at all. Remember that scene from The Simpsons when Smithers was stung by a bee and Mr. Burns still refused to peddle? So couples who happen to end up in Da Lat because they think it's Le Petit Paris or some shit like that, think again before you fork over money to rent a piece of shit. Sitting behind a horse's ass in a carriage is definitely more romantic. Paddling those swan boats into one of Da Lat's equally polluted lakes is definitely more romantic. Strolling through the dark crevices of Da Lat while avoiding rats and beggars... definitely more romantic. Ya... I'm just resentful because I have no one ride a tandem bike with.

Supposedly these drinks were supposed to cure my diarrhea (Bao Loc rest stop) 

In the end, I don't think I'll ever return to Da Lat. Sure, my body felt rich and warm while slurping the juices off of a balut egg in the night time breezes, but the rain just simply made it too cold. I never want to be cold in Vietnam. Enjoy the video below.

Tired.

Two days in and I'm already burnt out. 6:30 PM, the sun bid us farewell ages ago as rain poured down Saigon with a vengeance. I'm talking about vertical rain and flooded sidewalks with instant lakes. Crossing the street? No you better swim across or row your canoe across. Once again, 6:30, after leaving school on the back of a xe om driver, (I still haven't gotten completely used to motorbiking yet- despite owning two bikes.) I was dropped off at some random restaurant where I overpaid for a bowl of pho. The pho was delicious and the bottle of water was as equally replenishing. By now the rain let off and a gentle pattern fell upon the ground litter and the make shaft blue plastic tarps- often supported by two bamboo sticks and some auspicious string. Water would collect and trickle down as I ate quickly ate my pho. It was the first real food I had all day. Prior to going to school I ate two fried up eggs with some soy sauce. I didn't have time to go out to buy breakfast because I was too busy lesson planning until the very last minute. This might reoccur tomorrow since I'm too preoccupied writing this. Then again, I'm exhausted and will probably drop dead asleep if I could. I'm sleep deprived no doubt.

The pho lady glanced over at me as she cried out how cold it was as I took my dress shirt off in order not to get it wet. I got up and thanked her, probably her first thanks all night, probably why she over charged me for the pho. Damn District 1 prices. I stopped by a chicken and rice stall just doors down at the end of Da Tham street to buy some white rice for breakfast. Walking even further down and into the thick of Da Tham's dark end and past the police station and towards "home" made me realize just how much I miss America. In America the rain wouldn't dictate my time. In Vietnam the rain is a total bitch that keeps people from being productive. I had to sit an hour or more at school until it was tolerable enough to leave. It feels pretty miserable to be soaked in the rain. Sure, rain coats are an option, but they aren't my style. I want to live closer to school so badly, but it just doesn't seem possible for the time being. My salary is far lower than what I had expected. The tax system here is shit. More on this later. Time to sleep now I guess. Having a cold doesn't help things much either. Don't procrastinate, things will only improve. Time time tme.

Vietnam.

So it's been almost two weeks and I have so much to write about, but I haven't found time to sit down and get my thoughts collected. In the mean time, enjoy the first installment of what's more to come.