Angkor Waaaaaat?

Yesterday I signed up for the Angkor Wat half marathon.  The poster with the fluorescent riot police told me to.

Today I had to hold onto the banister because walking down stairs was so painful after the 3.24 miles I ran yesterday.

Chemistry 1 laughed at me because I ran this distance in 41 minutes.  Apparently this is not a good time.

I also tried to make a bet that I would do it in less than two and a half hours, but my Head of Department won't accept anything less than two and I have a huge hero-worshipping fear of disappointing him.

Scooter Snatch

As you may have guessed, I have finished this week with very good news from the Motherland.  In a real speech, and not as my doppelganger, Inspector Goole, I would like to thank Miss Jennifer Dennis from the very bottom of my heart for being the best person I could possibly have shared that year 11 class with last year.  I don't know if she reads this, so if you see her, give her a ginormous hug from me!

Over the last two weeks, the socialising that has been essential to my personal and professional wellbeing has also been the root cause of a number of amusing incidents, some of which include the loss of my flip flops to a smelly swamp, the agreement to partake in the Angkor Wat half marathon (which means running, which I am not very good at) and the purchasing of a £50 pair of trainers.  Luckily, with term starting tomorrow, I also feel freakishly well prepared for all the lessons I am about to teach to classes of maximum 24 children.  Lolz! I remember a time when I had 35 names on a register, to be trumped only by Bridget, who had something like 48 and lived in fear of them all turning up at the same time.

We are apparently signing up for the half marathon this evening in front of 'Bridesmaids'.  Penny has already stated exactly how stupid she thinks the whole idea is: 'NO.  Angkor Wat was the hottest place I have ever been to.  I could barely walk let alone run around that place.  Don't do it Em, you will die...', so if anyone wants to get any more comments in, please do so by getting yourself a blogspot profile.  If I die, that'd be pretty Li Hi, right?  More Li Hi if I don't, obviously, but either way, pretty Li Hi.

I was also witness, this week, to an Incident of Real Life Crime.  In one of the first inset days, our principal informed us that whilst crime was very low in Ho Chi Minh, there had been cases of scooter bag snatching and random groping (gosh!) of which we should be aware.  Now I had heard of scooter bag snatching in Paraguay, so this is clearly an approach that dominates most moped-mobile nations, and to be honest, I think it's really quite clever.  If you have a fetish for the feel of other peoples' handbags, this is a much more effective way of going about satisfying your needs than the 'grab and run' method we seem to adopt in the UK.  If successful, it means you can make a quick and fluent getaway, and disappear quickly into a sea of other moped users.  If unsuccessful, you ensure that you avoid the embarrassment of having failed at the one thing you're supposed to be good at.  Nobody wants people to point and laugh at them after they have been too wimpy to pull a bag from the arm of an unsuspecting female.  That's just shameful.  And you don't have to spend a fortune on gym membership to stay fit enough to run away from the angry de-ccessorised woman chasing after you.

When this news was announced, it was met with lots of nodding and whispers about a friend's brother who had been travelling in China and had shared a hostel room with a boy whose sister's dog walker's son had had his bag snatched in a similar incident in Ho Chi Minh just recently, but I doubt anyone in the room genuinely considered that something like this would ever happen to them.  Imagine my shock, then, when, whilst walking to the Expat-Quiz-Excuse-For-Drinking with three other girls and one young man, a scooter zipped past and grabbed at my New Friend's bag, pulling her into the road!  Thankfully, she put up a good fight for her newly bought fake Mulberry, and not only was the thief forced to whiz away red-faced and empty-handed, nobody was hurt and nothing was lost.

The most hilarious part of it, though, were the responses of the remaining non-victims: the first to react was Drama Teacher, who aggressively yelled the first expletives that came to mind, squaring up to the rapidly disappearing scooter, and maybe even shaking a fist.  Some two seconds later (long time in such dramatic situations) I thought it appropriate to scream as loudly as possible like an attacking seagull (gaah-awgh!) which served no purpose other than to scare the living crap out of PE Teacher A who was standing, frozen in shock.  Our favourite part, which we have reenacted since for numerous audiences, was the further delayed contributions of Mr. Reynolds' Long Lost Son, who, reverting in his panic to his northern boy roots, waited a further two seconds, and then yelled something that sounded like 'OIURGHRROI!'

It took us about an hour to realise how incredibly stupid, pointless and ridiculous our responses had been, and by that time had formed a losing quiz team (B-CHEGGA'S), and had had enough to drink to fall off our chairs in hysterics about it all.

A big shout out to Meera and Kunal who are getting Real Life married this weekend.  I took this photo for you: everybody seems to be getting married in Vietnam, and they don't seem too bothered when you take photos of them like a strange nuptial pervert.

Rachel and Courtney have been technologically committed enough to figure out how to comment, so for you, ladies, I ate this sandwich on Monday:

I can't figure out how to turn the picture round, sorry, but the sandwich was really good.

And once again, Happy Birthday Mummy.  Can't think of a smile I would rather have seen when I got this at about 11pm my time en route to an upmarket venue named Crazy Buffalo.  The whole taxi were subject to me shoving an iPhone in their face, saying, "Doesn't she look happy?  I'm so pleased she's pleased.  What a lovely Mummy!"

Everybody agreed you are the most lovely Mummy.

An Inspector Calls Back and Leaves a Message

Hello all 11R students, this is the voice of Inspector Goole calling.  As a time traveller from the future, I journeyed from this day, August 23rd 2012, to September 6th 2011 to join forces with my trusty partner, Eva Smith (you know her as Miss Dennis, but don't worry, she doesn't really die in the infirmary) knowing that in eleven months time your true wonder would be revealed in the form of 5A*s, 16As, 10Bs and 1C.  Obviously, whilst disguised as the really rather attractive and snazzily dressed 'Miss Sheppard', we discussed/argued/cried about the fact that letters don't mean learning, and letters don't define who you are.  But I tell you this now, 11R stationary-time-dwellers: this particular set of letters are a reflection of the blood, sweat, tears, passion, enthusiasm, ideas, independence, confidence, guts, courage and hard work that you put into your Literature lessons.  It took you a while to come round, and I know you hated me for a good long while.  I'll not forget those three hour detentions, those insulting homeworks, those conversations with your parents (who also hated me, btw): Eva Smith and I had to drink a lot of wine because of you.  At one point Eva Smith threatened to drink bleach, but I dissuaded her, telling her it would have been far too cliche. But at the end of it all, you are not just a group of young people with a set of grades, you are a set of educated young people, who now know how to learn.  My work here is done; I am now free to travel back and forwards through time and help other students.  Eva Smith rather liked you, though, so she is staying.  Look after her, and keep her away from household cleaning products.

Who is manipulating who?

Apparently Vietnamese women like Western men because they will/can cook.  Mummy, maybe not the best idea to bring Daddy out here?  Even he looks a bit worried in this photo.

Big International School

Hello again!  This week has officially signalled the end of Settling In, and has heralded the start of Being Ready for School.  Encouragingly, for my new Big International School, the best way to do this was with alcohol and free food and over-excited networking and friend-making.  Putting on a brave face, and reminding myself to at least make an attempt at normality, I pranced around the room of a small French restaurant with a glass of white wine, introducing myself to, and doing the interested smile and nod when responses to my eager questions were given by potential New Friends.  Imagine if you will, a slightly more humid, but no less sweaty, posher Fresher's Week, and a hyperactive character from the muppets with an enormous afro of frizzy hair, and you may be picturing the scene appropriately.  I did let the Kermit the Frog smile slip out, but I think managed to avoid talking about poo for the entire evening. 

After 10pm, everything did become a little hazy, though, and involved outdoor bars, a multitude of pretty, tiny Vietnamese women in skimpy red dresses, old, fat Australian men and a rising feminist anger towards the repeated phrase, "But come on, Emma: who is really manipulating who in this situation?"  The women in tiny dresses are being manipulated by the men to whom they are serving large quantities of alcohol, and who are leering at them in a gross, pervy way!  Suffrage, people!

Clearly I will have to find my peace with this cultural phenomenon, because it's not going anywhere fast.  If you haven't read it yet, read 'The Quiet American', and please tell me who you think is manipulating who, and whether Passivity is Power.

I then did organised tourism to places I had already been, which really meant getting to know people even better on the buses, at the temples, and at the post office and in the market.  A group of girls and I sacked off the particular market they took us to as it is touristy and a bit intimidating (people want to touch you and sell you things you don't need for lots of money), and went for phở bò instead, which is the Vietnamese beef noodle soup.  It was delicious, but it did come up the following morning.  Oops.  After it had, though, I felt miles better, and had seconds at lunch time.

Today was my First Day at Big International School, which consisted of a lot of passive, awestruck activities, like wandering around the secondary and primary school on guided tours, inspecting photos to see how many bassoonists there are in the school (one, and a girl, yessssss!), listening to various presentations including one from our entirely hilarious primary school nurse, arguing with an AED machine, and informing us in a deadpan tone that if airways are blocked and we don't act fast, people will die.  If there is extreme blood loss and we don't act fast, people will die.  If there are serious burns or breakages, however, and we don't act fast, it's not too bad.  Unless it's a chemical or electrical burn, in which case, we should act fast or... you get the point.  I was also disgusted/amazed/immaturely amused to learn that there is such a thing called rectal diazepan that is used to treat epileptic seizures and as staff members we are a) permitted and b) expected to administer this should the situation require it.  Omg.  That would absolutely not be legal in the UK, and I'm not sure I'd like to risk it in case the Child Protection people jump out from behind a pillar and say, "Really?  Did you really think that would ever be acceptable?"

The school is very impressive, and I am very excited about finding out which classroom is mine, and buying Tupperware to bring my lunch in to heat up in the microwave, and getting involved with extra curricular activities, and figuring out whether, when private schools say 'the workload is heavy', it really means 'the workload is heavier than the madness you experienced over the last two years', or if it means 'the workload is heavier than you may have experienced at a good to outstanding school in the UK'.  I have a maximum class size of 24 as a pose to 35 and (I quote) 'behaviour is not an issue'.  Apparently students spend their lunch times doing their homework, and not because it's due in the next lesson... so... watch this space for comparisons in around six months time.

Off to figure out whether I can rent a scooter from just down the road, or whether I have to go all the way into town to do so.  Obviously, parents, I won't be riding this scooter on any real roads.  I will have it installed in my apartment as a piece of impressive cultural modern art, and I shall look at it and occasionally rest a cup of tea on it.

Xin chào!

My special hi-tech Stats page tells me that lots of people have been reading the blog.  Hoorah and huzzah!  Thank you and well done.  You do know you can comment and say hello, just by making a quick blogspot profile, right?  Right.  You should put this on your To Do List.  Also: if, by any chance, any of you happen to talk to Bridget Clay, please tell her that unless she emails me back with words of love and pining, she will not be enjoying the pleasure of my company, apartment and pool come October.

I may be blogging with obsessive frequency over the next few weeks as lots of new and exciting things happen, but we will all run out of steam when me living here, and you living there becomes humdrum.  Until then, let's ride this wave of excitement together!

Lots of new things have happened in A3 0401, Apartment of Serenity: I now have gas, light fittings, a washing machine and dryer installed and the internet!  I also bought an orchid to talk to, so that the front door didn't feel too under pressure to make conversation.  The front door only knows two words: 'hello?' and 'locked/bye : (' so sometimes gets a bit overwhelmed.  It's nice that I have the orchid to chat to as well.

On Friday night I organised a very successful soiree attended by the BIS teachers who had already arrived at their new Imperia homes.  I met lots of fun people and Made Friends, ending up in a funky cool bar where I played pool, partnered with a Vietnamese barman who was very good and won every game for us!  Well done that man.  Since then, my jetlag and fear of large groups of people - new, young, hip, attractive teachers have arrived en force today - have prevented me from achieving my social potential.  However, I intend on remedying this with witty repartee and the suggestion of more socialising tomorrow on the bus to my medical check.  In Vietnam you have to have a medical check to be granted a working visa.  If you are infected, they send you home.  If you are fat, sweaty and male, they offer you a young, beautiful Vietnamese girl to be your wife.  True say: I've seen it.  Hopefully they won't reject my visa application on grounds of being a little tubby library dweller, or a neurotically challenged weirdo.  There is a section for mental health, though I'm not entirely sure whether they'll be able to properly test this in the given time.  If I can just maintain a sense of normality for 30 minutes or so, and avoid making what my mother refers to as Care in the Community Conversation, then I should be good to stay here for another two years.

The tourist in me has also sprung forth with a vengeance: unable to sleep on Friday morning, I went into the town centre very early and putzed about in awe of Graham Greene sights such as the Continental Hotel.  If you haven't read 'The Quiet American', you should: it's good.  I also found a small super market that had everything I could have ever asked for, and I bought vegetables, and prawns, and salt and mushed lemongrass and soap.  It was a good day.  They also sell duck and quail eggs as standard here, which is very exciting.  Pictured is the Opera House and the Continental; some scooters at a crossing risking death; the Notre Dame church - the Mary statue apparently wept once; a big shiny building I know nothing about; and a map inside the Central Post Office, designed by Gustave Eiffel, of Eiffel Tower fame.




I then spent Sunday at the zoo and took a lot of pictures of animals.  I won't bore you with them now, but I'm trying to set up a photobucket account that will allow me to post all my photos for you to peruse at your leisure.  There are lots of butterflies and elephants.  Turns out I'm a nature enthusiast.  I then went for ice cream with another family at a place called 'Fanny's'.  Lolz!  I didn't take a photo, and I am so sad I didn't.  I was with a five year old and an 11 month old; I wasn't sure if it was appropriate.

Xin chào, by the way, and cám ơn are the two phrases I have spent this week perfecting: 'Hello!' and 'thank you!'  Next I will learn taxi directions.  And then I will learn to say, 'I'm sorry I'm completely useless at this language'.  That is, after the lift man has taught me every number in my building.

Comments please! (It makes me feel loved and stuff).

Daily Challenges

So.  I won’t lie: Vietnam is pretty fun so far, and full of Daily Challenges to be overcome in order to win prizes, much like the Crystal Maze.  Yesterday’s challenge was the Move To An Entirely Different Country Challenge, which I passed with flying colours, to be rewarded with a beautiful apartment, air conditioning and new friends.  Great prizes, right?

Sadly, however, I failed one of today’s challenges, which was the Internet Challenge, but have been able to trade in tokens earned in the Make New Friends Challenge, and have been rewarded with wifi from New Friend Abi to bring you all this very latest blog update.  It is also very important to note that I cannot access Facebook here.  Repeat: cannot access Facebook.  So if you want to know what I’m doing, you have to read the blog, and if you want personalised messages, I need your email address.

Despite dropping down the league table with Internet setback, I did extremely well at the Supermarket Challenge, which was more complicated than it at first appeared as it involved gathering together many weapons in preparation for the task, such as the knowledge of where the supermarket was, a members card stolen from the Information Centre boss, Ms Hua Thi Hong Cam and a taxi booked by Ms Van.  Ms Van is set to become my absolute Vietnamese bezzie (we’ve already swapped phone numbers), as she is the source of all important information such as why internet man can’t install the internet, but when this problem will be amended, when the gas man can come, and how much a water filter will cost me.  She lives in the Information Centre and, as I am finding most petite Vietnamese women do, runs everywhere in an enthusiastic and over-excited way.

Our local Costco-style supermarket is called Metro and has everything in bulk.  Whilst wandering around in a slight daze adding up the millions of dong I was spending and dividing by thirty two, some inadvertent ‘speaking to myself’ slipped out around the milk:

            Crazy Emma: urgh, it’s all full fat.  Where’s the semi skimmed?

Friendly Stranger: there’s some here – Anchor.  It’s also one of the cheaper brands.

Friendly stranger is called Ceri and her husband works in oil and she is organising a Scottish dance (I’d like to refer to this as a kayliegh, but know this is not the right spelling and am embarrassed) in November.  Apparently BIS always take a table and they’re a lot of fun, so maybe she will see us there (Abi had joined me by this point).  We even got her number!  If making friends is this easy in Vietnam, I think I should reduce the points it is worth as a challenge.  So far it’s worth 20, which is quite a lot.  Internet is worth about 100 because of its value.  Acquiring gas: also 10.  Post-Supermarket Challenge, my kitchen now smells of French bread and onions, and I am drinking tea out of double handled mugs.

Now for some atmospheric description: inside my apartment it is a cool oasis of air conditioned calm.  The floors are either shiny white tiles or hardwood floorboards; the sheets (in both bedrooms) are white as snow; there is a walk in wardrobe where I can hide if anyone comes to get me; there is an en-suite bathroom with a shower that has two shower heads – a little one for everyday showers, and a huge one for battering traumatic thoughts out of your head via water.  I haven’t learnt how to use the Trauma Shower yet, as I have had no traumas.  Soon, I have no doubt, there will be reason for the Trauma Shower – maybe permanent inability to access the internet – and I shall blog about it via Abi’s wifi in great detail.  (It’s good to be realistic).  My door talks to me to tell me it is locked, but I translate the funny Vietnamese sounds as ‘Hello!’ and ‘Bye L’, and as such feel welcomed and missed every time I arrive or leave.  What a loving front door!  In the kitchen all the surfaces are shiny, and there is a washing machine and a tumble dryer placed delicately in the middle of everything, unplumbed because the roof for them on my little outside balcony is not yet built.  Hmm. 

It is at this point that The Curse of Unfinished Accommodation, by which I have been afflicted for two years now, kicks in.  The Imperia apartments are a new build, and as such are pretty much a construction site outside of my front door.  When they are finished (when will this be?) I will be living in a 5* hotel, but for now I must resist the temptation to pull off the masking tape along the corridors, or scrawl my name and mark my height on the unpainted walls.  Little workmen ring my doorbell with alarming regularity, walk in, speak Vietnamese to me, realise they can’t do whatever it was they came to do because the infrastructure is not yet ready, or that they are in the wrong apartment, or – on one occasion – fix my door, and then leave.  I can’t imagine how this would look to the neighbours, but so far I don’t think I have any, so it’s okay.

The lifts work, internally covered in blue plastic sheeting, and swimming pool in the courtyard is up and running, and is enormous and blissful so I went for a swim last night at around 10:30pm once the workmen – of which there are millions (communism, hey?) – had gone home.  I was then kindly looked after by an elderly security guard, who led me to the entirely wrong lobby, convinced that this was where I lived, despite my insistence that this was not my new home.  Ah, the hilarity of language barriers.

Today, the lift man taught me to say ‘four’, which is my floor number.  The taxi man tried to teach me to say ‘thank you’, but I keep getting the pronunciation wrong so people will just have to think me ungrateful for now.  The lift lady held my hand and a workman told me I was beautiful.  Either the Vietnamese are a very friendly peoples, or I should start being more vigilant about who I am letting into my apartment so freely…

Finished the day by walking out to our local neighbourhood to buy orchids so that I have someone else other than the front door, and the milk section of supermarkets to talk to when Abi isn’t around.  Photos of apartments etcetera shall follow.

Bananagrams

As you can probably tell, long haul flights are quite boring.  Took a pill on the second one and passed out for pretty much nine hours.