Việt Nam Diaries, Pt. 2 - New Year, New Sports
Week 54
Sunday
I wake up early in an AirBnb in Tây Hồ, Hà Nội. The night before there was a Peace Corps Christmas party and I only got about three hours of sleep, but I have an early morning birthday party to attend online with friends. A video chat; the first I've really done with my friends back home. I walk to a Highlands Coffee (the Vietnamese Starbucks) and get a western-style, cold-brewed coffee and a cheese danish. Any weekend in Tây Hồ is a far cry from my daily life "at site" (the site of my volunteer service). For lunch, I wind up trying a new taco spot, and discovering they have delicious huevos rancheros with decently authentic-tasting salsas, and a view of the lake in its unfortunate hazy shroud of smog.
During lunch, I discover that the Hanoi Opera House is about to close for two years for renovations. In fact, they're totally shuttering their doors in only four days, and I haven't yet been inside it but there's currently a semi-guided tour running in it. It's expensive, but I change my plans to go see it.
I jump in a taxi and as we go I tell him that I'm studying Vietnamese. In English, he replies he's learning English. We have a good bilingual conversation, helping each other say what we're trying to say.
Not only is the Hanoi Opera House an architectural marvel, it's the site of several important events in history as well. One of the first public rallies of the August Revolution in 1945 was held on the opera's front steps, and the 1st National Assembly met there in 1946, ratifying the current government's first constitution. Its neo-classical style is an echo of the Palais Garnier in Paris, but with subtle details nodding to its country of origin and changes to suit local building materials.
The exhibit led us through each level of the opera house one at a time, with projections onto some of the walls. In the place where some of the windows would be, projections showed a simulated view of Hanoi with the rallies on the streets outside 80 years ago. The black and white tiles of the stairwells have been unchanged and restored since 1902. The tour finally led us back down through these stairwells to backstage, where the stage equipment was demonstrated and then the curtains were drawn back and the auditorium was transformed with music and projections into a light show highlighting the intricate architecture.
The tour was primarily in Vietnamese, but when I arrived an English-speaking guide introduced himself to me, and during the experience he translated for me and another family. The tour was really worthwhile and I was able to appreciate the architectural details and some of the history in a way that I wouldn't have if I had just visited during a concert.
When I got home that evening, I heard loud music coming from the newly opened part of the campus which isn't visible from my area. I walked up to the darkened third-floor hallways and crept over to see what was going on. I didn't want to disturb the students. I'm sure some of them would have shouted and waved to me if they saw me.
I was alarmed at first to see them all sitting in a circle with candles like some kind of dark ritual, but it was all part of a graduation photos party with only the students of one particular class. This class had invited me to come for pictures at 9:00am, but I had to decline since I would be in the city. Later, I was surprised to hear them capping their class party off with fireworks.
Tuesday
At 4:00pm, I'm leaving on my bicycle to go to the market when my principal pulls up on his motorbike in athletic wear. "Pickleball," he says, which is Vietnamese for pickleball. He's inviting me to play and apparently we have to leave right now. I follow him on my bicycle to a nearby village, famous for its craftsmen of musical instruments. I don't even have time to change into shorts.
Many of my students are obsessed with pickleball but I hadn't seen a court in my area until this one. Every village has a communal meeting space called a nhà văn hóa or cultural center. Larger villages have larger cultural centers, often with a spacious courtyard for playing games or sports. In this village, the building is quite small, and the courtyard has room for one court; previously for badminton, but now a pickleball court.
As we warm up, my principal phones a few people, letting a few others know that it's pickleball time. Soon there are five of us, rotating doubles. I make sure everyone knows its my first time. I'm soon able to serve pretty well, but my backhand is almost non-existent. I'm pretty surprised at how differently the physics of this game feel compared to tennis or ping pong. But it's also pretty easy to pick up and start playing.
Not that I'm good yet. When my principal tries to pair me with the best player for balance, the man decides he'd rather sit out this round. This one later asks me if I like dog meat, and I tell him I don't want to eat it. He gives me a look of mock indignation and tells me it's his tradition, to which I can only muster: "I know, I understand, I agree."
Later, during another match, the principal tells me to follow one of the other men, who leads me into the cultural center. He points to the other end of the hall.
"Oh!" I say. "Nhạc cụ." He nods.
The musical instruments I was seeking are arranged on the wall there, and they have price tags on each as well. Some are multi-stringed instruments for plucking, and then there are the monochords which are usually amplified and have an antenna like bar that modulates pitch. This one is more of a solo instrument that almost sounds like a voice.
Well, I was really hoping for a demonstration of their different sounds. But I've seen them. And learned that I could probably afford to buy one...
Thursday - New Year's Day
This is not the most important new year in Viet Nam, but as it is a calendar new year it is a national holiday and we all have off. Most people are staying home and just enjoying a nice day with their families.
I decide to go on a bicycle ride; the weather is still really comfortable. There is a nice atmosphere; everyone is out in the early evening playing games and having fun. One of my pedals is feeling slightly loose and I start to coast. My head is down while I'm fiddling it with my foot, when suddenly someone is shouting at me.
I look up and see a teacher from my school, Mr. D, a teacher from my department at the school who teaches geography. He's beaming from ear to ear and he invites me into his house.
He had been out front with his brother as they surveyed the construction adding a second level onto his home. He takes me on a tour of the half-built level and I comment on the great view he'll have from the room.
Then, we sit on the floor in his living room and have tea and his wife brings us pomelo to snack on. I ask a few questions that I know, and learn that she teaches geography too. Their 12-year-old girl is summoned, who takes English at school and Mr. D bids her to ask questions of me. She is very quiet but when I ask her questions she understands and answers very well. When we run out of things to say, I assure them they can call me anytime so she can practice her English.
Despite trying to refuse, because it will cut short my itinerary for the evening, I'm not allowed to leave without taking a large sack of pomelos and a smaller bag with a dozen eggs. And while we chatted, Mr. D's brother had fixed my pedal and tightened my brakes.
An auspicious encounter to start the new year.
Week 55
Sunday
In the last few weeks, a new cohort of Peace Corps volunteers was sworn in, and in my district and the neighboring one there are three new volunteers at different schools. We met up today and hired a driver to take us to a "hiking area" I had found on Google Maps.
As we got closer to the site, we found the area is a mining community, the tall karst mountains sometimes stripped of vegetation to get to the white limestone rock within. Dust often coats the plants at the sides of the roads.
The hike itself was very short, less than a quarter of a mile to a picturesque pond with several natural caves. We sat down on a stone platform to have a picnic of nuts, dried jujubes, snack crackers and banana bread. The morning was grey and a little chilly.
We were the only people there for a time, but soon a young couple also came to sit by the lake, and an older woman came to ply her trade: giving people boat rides into the caves. Not too far away in Ninh Bình, at Tràng An Scenic Landscape Complex, you can take boat tours like this on a much bigger scale, but it was fun to do it in a place most tourists would never find.
The cave was surprisingly large; we went clear through the mountain and had to turn around to return. There were bats inside and the temperature was warmer, sheltered from the outside elements.
Wednesday
During a big hotpot lunch with the teachers, one of the older physical education teachers, Mr. H., invites me to bicycle with him. He has invited me numerous times but never with clear plans, so I ask him what about tonight? He says okay, we'll go to my house tonight, I'll see you at the school.
At about 4:00pm he is at the school on his bicycle with several plastic bags slung from the handles. A bundle of green onions sticks out of one of the bags.
I bring my jacket with me but I'm wearing it open because it's cool but not very cold. He has showed me how far his house is from the school, and while it's a normal evening's bicycle ride for me, I'm a little concerned about driving back after eating a meal (and drinking wine) in the possible dark.
But we never make it to his house. He stops halfway at a quán bia hơi, a "fresh beer" joint hidden away on a small path in a banana grove amongst the rice fields. The one thing I miss out here in the village are opportunities to drink bia hơi, a crisp, light, sessionable lager. All of the beer-drinking joints around here seem to be hidden, in-between the villages, perhaps so it's not so easy to be seen by your family or neighbors.
Mr. H asks me if I want to drink beer or wine, and he laughs when I say beer. He hands the green onions to the proprietor who brings them back in a pot with broth. Mr. H then produces the contents of his second plastic bag. It's full of lòng lơn, the assorted pig intestines which are a local staple. He empties it into the broth. We nosh on this and roasted peanuts as various friends of Mr. H come to drink glasses of beer with us.
This beer garden is basically under a big tent, and when I ask where the bathroom is I'm shown one flap that's open at the back corner. I go out and find myself in the banana grove, almost pitch black despite the full moon.
The temperature really drops while we're out and a newcomer to our table scoffs at drinking beer when it's this cold, so we switch to wine for a little while. Then, I follow behind someone's motorbike as I cycle the 30 minutes home in pitch dark, with my teeth now chattering from the cold.