ON THE ROAD/ HA LONG BAY

In recent years due to deforestation and climate change, floods have become a yearly problem for residents of Central Vietnam during the rainy season. While a few days of our trip were muddled up by the inclement weather (not that we could avoid driving through flooded roads, an experience that reminded me of making the choice to "forge the river" in the early 90's computer game "Oregon Trail" except that in real life, I was not worried that my oxen would drown but rather that I might perish in the rapidly rising water!) the brief inconvenience we experienced pales in comparison to the long term problems faced by those whose homes and entire livelihoods were completely destroyed by the flooding.

Seeing firsthand how flooding devastates the Vietnamese countryside, I found it hard to imagine that this is a YEARLY occurrence--meaning that people return to their homes, replant their crops, and resume their day-to-day lives only to be ousted again sometime in the future by the capricious nature of...nature. Watching children playing alongside roads turned rivers, I was struck by the tenacity of the human spirit; I am not sure that perseverance is ever something I will completely understand but over and over, in both my travels and my every day life, the fact remains: in spite of how awful/terrible/ life threatening things can be, somehow, in the midst of chaos, life carries on.

The many tour boats of Ha Long Bay

Nga, one of our program administrators, and I inside one of the caves at Ha Long Bay.

Channeling my best friend Lauren, photographer extraordinaire, I decided to try out her trick of using my sunglasses as a tinted lens for my camera. ON POINT as always--her suggestion made for a particularly awesome photo!

At Ha Long Bay, there are many different caves open for exploration by tourists. This cave, although less dramatically lit and stalagmite-y than the other caves we visited, was my favorite stop of the afternoon, mostly because it still managed to look and smell like a cave (I am all for flashy lights and dramatic music, but the way some of the caves are staged at Ha Long Bay is taking things a bit TOO far!)

This Friday afternoon, we returned from our six day mid-term trip to the North of Vietnam. Altogether, we stopped at five cities and visited countless historical sites, ancient pagodas, and various museums. Traveling through the countryside by van was perhaps my favorite aspect of the trip, as barreling down the back roads offered the chance to catch snippets of every day life(to Ariel, Katie, and Cleo, if you are reading this, you know the voice to use) in rural Vietnam, which I suppose is much more similar to what life must have been like here before and during the war--hard,simple,and heavily reliant upon nature's good graces (more on this later in coming posts).

In addition to the joy I derived from the scenery and the people-watching, my friend Map made me a really awesome neck pillow that greatly improved our longer driving jaunts. Yes, made. crafted. sewed. I cannot remember the last time someone has given me a handmade gift, especially one of this caliber and suited perfectly to my tendency towards practicality; expect a loooong blog post sometime soon on why,not only based on her bad ass sewing skills, I have come to believe that Map is one of the most spectacular human beings I have ever encountered! Life is just BETTER when your head is kept from banging against the car window like a watermelon bouncing on pavement. Also, on a completely different note, it really helps if your friends and family are musicians, as listening to their music while you travel serves dually as entertainment and companionship when the company you are with might not be the company you wish. At this point, my sister Nan and my friend Sophia Wortzel have performed pre-recorded one person concerts all across Ecuador, Mexico, Israel, and now, Vietnam. If that's not getting your music out into the world, I don't know what is.

Due to the rapid fire nature of our trip, never staying in a city longer than one night save for our two day excursion in Hanoi, I find it a challenge to summarize my thoughts and feelings about the past six days in a logical and interesting manner without resorting to rambling; even though I have been keeping this blog for a few months now, I still find myself unaccustomed to the unprecedented pressure of coming up with insightful things to say. While my mind keeps reaching for phrases such as "___ was my most favorite place I have been to in all of Vietnam" or "___, what a beautiful city!" , I know that these kinds of empty words do little to convey tangible meaning and to tell you the truth, after all of this traveling and our first day of classes and volunteering after two weeks of no structure, I am a little bit too tired for meaning (the fact that I purchased seasons 1-3 of both Breaking Bad and Mad Men while in Hanoi does little to help my lack of motivation to fully express myself). Thus, while the writer inside of me loathes to do so, for now I will let my pictures speak for me; maybe this small concessions is a sign that it's time for my dormant photographer to punch the writer's lights out to get her turn in the spotlight. Over the next few days, expect a trickle or maybe a deluge (depending on the speed of my internet connection and my given mood) of photos of our trip.

HUE

Inside the main gate of the Hue Citadel.
In the past, this gate could only be used by the emperor and his family.

A few of the Nine Dynastic Urns cast between 1835 and 1836,
each one dedicated to an emperor of the Nguyen dynasty.

A site not often seen in the United States or other countries where tourism is markedly more developed: partially ruined architecture that has yet to be restored. This past January, I visited the pyramids of Teotihuácan in Mexico with my mom, my best friend Lauren, and a family friend Joan. I was surprised at how well preserved the site was, only to learn from our trusty tour guide that certain portions had been restored. I hate to be such a purist because the overall aesthetic was breathtaking, but something about the reconstruction did not sit well with me, stirring up memories of visiting Old Bethpage Village Restoration as a kid. While I won't deny that, in the case of Old Bethpage, the eighteenth century buildings were pretty cool, as were the "homemade pretzels" and "real root beer" available for purchase at the good ol' "General Store", the crafting and meticulous movie set staging of a reality that was once real and actually lived but is no longer sort of freaks me out.

Buildings within the Hue Citadel destroyed by bombing during the War. While it is undoubtedly unfortunate that such a beautiful piece of architecture was unnecessarily demolished, I find some solace in the fact that its decimated shell remains as a visible testament to the connection between the long gone past, the more recent past, and the present.

Ceiling mural at the elaborate tomb of Khai Dinh, the twelfth emperor of the Nguyen dynasty(1916-1925). As an emperor, Khai Dinh was very unpopular, as he collaborated closely with the French colonialists; this widespread and public disfavor is evidenced in a poem written by a young Ho Chi Minh, where he refers to Khai Dinh as "a bamboo dragon", a man giving the illusion of power with no real muscle behind his words. The painter of this mural was also aware that Khai Dinh was an essentially weak individual; although the emperor insisted that all of the artisans working on his tomb, a project that took 11 years to complete, wear a strict uniform, the muralist chose to wear whatever clothes he wished, as he knew that Khai Dinh could not complain about his wardrobe when he came face to face with the beauty of the mural being painted in his honor.

Mosaic inlaid with glass and ceramic tile at the Tomb of Khai Dinh.

An exterior view of the Tomb of Khai Dinh.

Warriors protecting the tomb of Khai Dinh.
(I am not sure if this is a picture of the particular artistic phenomenon I am thinking of, but on our mid-term trip, I learned somewhere along the way that beings from the land of the dead are frequently depicted as being very short, as it is believed that the no longer living are small in stature. I wonder if this means that I will finally be comfortable
wearing heels when I kick the bucket...)

In stark comparison to the Tomb of Khai Dinh, the Tomb of Tu Duc was modest and naturally beautiful. Tu Duc, the fourth emperor of the Nguyen dynasty (1847-1883), is known for his humility and his love of poetry. While it is questionable whether or not these qualities manifested themselves in his rule of Vietnam (Tu Duc was staunchly opposed to modernization, sought to murder his own brother, and oh, 3,000 workers died during the construction of his "simple" tomb), his final resting place is really beautiful.

Gate surrounding the stele (commemorative stone inscribed with important or commemorative writings) where Tu Duc wrote of his successes and failures as a ruler.

Tu Duc's Tomb

This past week has been rather uneventful, as we were kindly afforded time off from classes and volunteer work to write our three ten-page midterm papers for our Culture, Politics, and History classes. I must admit that this unusual lull in activity has been really relaxing, an overall enjoyable break from routine,except for the fact that it has deprived me of writing material. Well, no, more aptly put, I am at a loss for substantive things to discuss, unless any of my dear readers are interested in hearing about the many weird documentaries I have been watching as of late (My gift to the world, or members of the world who, like me, believe that nothing trumps crawling into bed to watch a riveting exposé on factory farming, or even better, a Discovery Channel docudrama starring the ever-elusive half man, half tree: http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/. No need to thank me now, I will take 'thank yous' later in the form of video recommendations; one girl alone cannot make a dent in mining the plethora of movie gems found on this site, but maybe together, we can find some unexpected DIAMONDS).

All of this time off has gotten me thinking, and instead of wasting precious internet space lamenting my lack of inspiration, I instead pose my epiphany of the day (note: to fully appreciate the true scope and deep, eternal significance of the impending tidbit of knowledge, it is imperative that the word is pronounced 'epi-phany', just as my mother would say it): substance can sometimes be overrated. I have noticed a lot lately that so many of my favorite and most cherished memories of my time here in Vietnam have not come as the result of actual events or activities at all, but rather are resultant of just being, living, existing in a foreign country.

For example, yesterday afternoon, Map, Lauren (one of the awesome Australian girls I have met who is working at an orphanage here in Danang), and I went to the movies. Resident Evil: Afterlife to be exact. The film itself was awful as expected, perhaps even more so because its main draw was 3D, a feature that the Danang Megastar Movie Theater is yet to be equipped for. However, sitting in the dark, devouring the last kernels of my sweet-not-salty popcorn, my mind was not really on the movie at all. Instead, I could not stop thinking about how I could have just as well have been at home, in New York, watching a four dollar matinee at the New Paltz Movie Theater or at the Cinema Arts Center in Huntington, my mom shaking loose her precious five dollar popcorn from its bright colored bag into the cornucopia she fashioned for me from a brown paper napkin. But I wasn't in either of those places. I was, and am, in Vietnam--a place where it is okay for people to answer their cellphones and launch into full-blown conversations in the middle of a movie's pivotal action scene, where the movie's volume is always ten decibles too loud, a place where I would voluntarily choose to see Resident Evil: Afterlife and almost enjoy it.

This morning, we leave for our one-week mid-term trip to the north of Vietnam. I am sure that it will be journey replete with sightseeing, good food, and exciting happenings, but I am not confident it can hold a candle to the joy I get from my day-to-day life here in Danang.

To my friends back in New Paltz suffering through mid-terms, good luck and god speed! To everyone else, hope all is well and that everyone is enjoying their autumn thus far. More to come in a week!

"The place to improve the world is first in one's own heart and head and hands, and then work outward from there."--Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

I have been meaning to update this here blog for a few days now, and as I am finally feeling mostly normal again, I have the energy and some inspiration to do so! The past few days, I had a feeling I might be getting sick. As I am usually reluctant to seek out medical attention, I tried to convince myself that maybe my symptoms were the product of my still unfamiliar, yet growing more and more familiar by the day, environment; my head and back were aching, but I figured these pains must surely be caused by lack of sleep or by my not so comfortable bed.However, when my temperature went up to 103.5°, I figured it might be time to go to the doctor. Feeling unwell in a foreign country is NEVER fun, but throughout my brush with sickness here in Vietnam, I was so glad to have the support of the program staff and my local friends to help me through this troublesome time. The doctor's office I visited caters to foreigners and was perhaps even nicer than my doctor's office at home! From the results of a blood test (I CANNOT believe, that I, Kate Jordan, girl who is pathologically fearful of blood tests, had her blood taken. I must have been delirious with fever, or maybe I am growing out of my fear; I hope it is the latter!), it looks like I have some type of bacterial infection. Who would have known! I am happy to report, that after one day of being on prescription medicine and sweating profusely through the night, my fever has broken and I am well on my way to being healthy again. Let's hope that my first time getting sick here is also my last!

Okay, enough talk of bad things, as I have had the opportunity to participate in some really GREAT things in Danang lately. Last Tuesday, we attended a party at the Loving House in celebration of the men and women that live there. Awards were given out for a range of achievements, such as being the oldest resident and for displaying leadership within the home. Although I could not understand all of the kind words that were being said by those who were presenting the awards, I still felt very privileged to be invited to such a celebration because it reminded me of how many awards ceremonies, school plays, dance performances, and other public displays of recognition all three of my parents, my step mom included, have attended on my behalf over the years. Throughout my life, my parents have continually made every effort to show me how much they love me, but I realize that I have not done very much to show them the degree to which I appreciate their support. The party at the Loving House reminded me of how important it is to show the people closest to you, whatever age they may be, how much you care about them and value their existence. When I saw how happy the gifts, speeches, and performances made the elderly men and women, it really made me want to do more to show my own parents how thankful I am to them for all that they have done and continue to do for my sisters and me.

The residents with their gifts
One of my favorite aspects of public ceremonies here are the seemingly incongruous performances that occur during the ceremony or beforehand. It is not unusual for there to be at least two or three karaoke songs sung at every gathering, in addition to the seemingly mandatory dance performance by little children in brightly colored costumes. I am not sure I understand the significance of these performances, but when I cannot understand a word that is being said in Vietnamese, they are often the highlight of the event for me!

During last week's home visits, we had the opportunity to meet a wonderful father-son duo; this was probably my favorite home we have visited thus far in our five weeks here. Although the fifteen-year old boy at this home was affected by Down Syndrome, his relationship with his father seemed the same as, or perhaps even better, that that of a typical teenager and his or her father. This particular father was quite an interesting character. For one, he and his family were observant Catholics, a religious affiliation that is significantly less popular than the predominant religion, Buddhism.From the early 1950s onwards, this man aligned himself with the Diem regime and fought in the Army to support the American backed government. Following the end of the war, he was sent to a re-education camp and subsequently has never been able to get a job due to this tarnish on his personal record. For the past few decades, he has focused all of his time and energy on his family and his faith. While I do not completely subscribe to the specific Catholic beliefs that motivate this father to help his son at all costs, I was really touched by all that he does to enhance his son’s quality of life, especially when the multitude of personal hardships he has endured are considered. Overall, I would say that this family should serve as role models for all families who have children with varying disabilities; despite the disadvantages they face, it seems to me that this particular family is thriving. However, I also acknowledge that the comparative mildness of their son’s disabilities, while they are indeed still limiting, also allow him to have a certain degree of autonomy in making choices and expressing his unique personality.

Father and Son
I thought this was a really sweet picture of the man and his wife.

Along with volunteer work we have been doing here, I have also continued to enjoy the pleasure of developing deep friendships. In addition to my Vietnamese friends, I have also been very lucky to meet two new Australian friends, Hannah and Lauren, who are here interning at a local orphanage. Every evening here is usually spent going out to eat local food with friends or at a coffee shop just talking. Sometime last week at one of these coffee shops, we had the chance to hear an impromptu performance of a famous Vietnamese singer. Her style was so unique and different that, when we heard she had a formal performance the next night at the same coffee shop, we knew we had to come back to hear her sing again. Unfortunately, when we showed up for the performance the next night, we were turned away at the door! While the owner claimed that the coffee shop was filled to capacity, we all thought that maybe they just did not want to let us in, as we had gotten chastised the night before for being too loud. Despite our initial disappointment, the night turned out to be a success--we ended up at a different coffee that did not mind our slightly rowdy antics!

A few weeks ago, my friend Map and I went to the beach early in the morning to watch the sun rise. What a cool experience!

With all of the awesome things that have been going on in my life as of late, aside from getting sick, it is perhaps more painful to address the more negative aspects of life. On a personal note, both of my sisters have had quite unusual and unfortunate experiences lately--one sister is living in Ecuador in the midst of government turmoil and the other sister got her two front teeth knocked out a rock concert! I hope the coming weeks hold better things for both of them.

However, compared with the awful circumstances we encountered during one of our home visits this morning, these problems seem quite small. The mother we met this morning has three children, ages 3, 5, and 8. The eight year old was born with hydrocephalus, also known as "water on the brain", and as a result, is completely incapacitated. This woman has no relatives and her husband abandoned her three years ago. She works every day until 9pm at a cafe, but still does not make enough money to buy food for her entire family(the five year old weighs around 12kg, or 24.6 pounds) . While she is at work all day, her 8 year old daughter is locked in the house alone and is left in bed, urinating and defecating on herself. When the younger children return home from kindergarten at around 6pm, they must wait outside of the house until their mother comes home at 9pm to open the door. It is hard to imagine that people live like this. However, from all that I have seen during our various home visits, I no longer have to imagine--I saw this morning how devastating lack of resources and lack of a support system can be to a family. In two weeks, we will return to this home to bring some much needed supplies and to hopefully figure out ways in which this woman can be receive further assistance. While it is incredibly upsetting and overwhelming to know that the plight of poverty is shared by millions of people throughout the world, I am extremely glad and grateful that we will at least be able to make a difference in the life of one woman.

The mother and her eight year old child

This week, we delivered noodles, cooking oil, laundry detergent, notebooks, and other much needed supplies to a community founded in the 1960s to quarantine people suffering from leprosy. Most of the current residents of the colony do not actually have leprosy themselves and are,instead, the descendants of the much older lepers who have been living in isolation at the colony for over forty years. As a result of the social stigma surrounding leprosy and those who come into close contact with people suffering from the disease, it is extremely difficult for these individuals and their families to incorporate themselves into mainstream society.

The struggle faced by the children at the Leper Colony, children whose futures are inescapably marred by the fate of their relatives, really hit me when we visited the community's small schoolhouse. Nothing other than social stigma separates these children from their city dwelling peers, but the lasting effects of widespread non-acceptance of colony members consequently leads to the children being treated as if they were lepers themselves; I felt great empathy with the sole female member of the fourth grade class, as I remember how important the companionship of girl friends was to me at that point in time in my life. As she will most likely never be accepted completely into mainstream society, this girl will probably never get to know this joy, an notion which deeply upsets and angers me. While I am very glad that we could provide the residents of the Leper Colony with much needed supplies, I also hope that the future will bring increased awareness to the continued injustices being served to the residents as a result of outdated and misinformed intolerance.

To get to the Leper Colony, we had to travel around half an hour by boat. It took a group effort to load all of the supplies, after which we discovered that, due to the weight of the goods, the boat was stuck on shore. Everyone got out and pushed though and we were finally on our way!
The boat ride to the colony itself was a breathtaking experience.
Undoubtedly, loading is always followed by unloading.
When we first arrived, it was truly eerie how desolate the area was. For the first half hour or so we spent there, I saw only dogs, no people.
Goods to be given out to the residents
Residents waiting for said goods!

The third, fourth, and fifth grade students are all taught in one classroom by one teacher.

Aside from being a wonderful opportunity to provide aid, the afternoon took on a bit of a more personal significance to me, as it dredged up memories from childhood that I had long since forgotten.

From the time I was five years old, my mom has traveled to India for six weeks nearly every summer to teach American law students studying abroad in the foothills of the Himalayas. When she first embarked on her yearly journeys in 1995, affordable and readily available trans-Atlantic communication was hard to come by; one or two brief phone calls made from stuffy STD booths surrounded on all sides by the bustling commotion of hill station life in Shimla were the extent of our familial contact in those earlier years (When I visited India in 2006, it was hard not to laugh at all of the signs advertising "STDs HERE". While venerial disease seeking folks might be disappointed, the acronym actually stands for Subscriber Trunk Dialing, or as we call it in the U.S., "Long Distance Phonecalls"). Conversations were collected and internalized in snippets,with my mom rapidly rattling off the details of her new and exciting daily life, details which were not only unfamiliar but also easily misunderstood as a result of the phone being passed quickly and often without warning from one daughter to another.

Under such compromising circumstances, it is understandable then how my initial confusion regarding the difference between leopards and lepers came about. While I have long since come to understand how the two nouns are unrelated (one being a furry jungle cat and the other a term for a person affected by the infectious disease leprosy), after this week's visit to the Leper Colony, I still stand by the bizarre logic inadvertantly espoused by the malapropism I coined at the tender age of five. I argue, half jokingly but mostly serious, that there are more similarities between lepers and leopards than the average person is willing to admit. I.e.: Both parties are endangered--leprosy is, most fortunately, close to being completely eradicated. Sadly, certain breeds of leopard, in particular the snow leopard, fare a similar but far more tragic fate. Also, both lepers and leopards tend to live, by choice or by force, in isolated environments far removed from the hustle and bustle of society. One more: when confronted by either a leopard or a person afflicted by leoprosy, people tend to avoid close contact.

I have no real intentions in arguing these similarities other than to make myself feel better about the fact that for years, I pictured my mother sharing meaningful character building moments with panthers and did not think there was anything wrong or strange about this. From all that I learned during our visit to the Leper colony and from the little I know about leopards, I think that it is safe to say that to be either a leper or a leopard is to endure a rather difficult fate.