Risk or Death? Uh... I'll take Death, please.

Hello blog-fans.  Some of you may be wondering why famed heroine of the 'Vietnam?  Yes please!' blog has not featured in recent posts.  You may be wondering why I have been posting about cafes and domestic duties rather than the Rinjani/losing passports/half marathons/orangutans you have accustomed yourselves to.  Well, the honest answer is that I'm old now, and boring.  The blog-worthy answer is that about a month ago, Fate, with the voice of Eddie Izzard circa 1997, loomed next to the inspiration for my Li Hi adventures, Risk or Death, and had the following conversation:

Fate: Risk... or Death?

RoD: uh... I'll take Death please.

Fate: Well we're outta death, you'll have to take tea, I mean Risk.  We only had three Deaths and we weren't expecting such a rush.

(Here it is, because we love it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndIjV8Nk6DA)

So, with the choice of 'Risk or...', RoD took the opportunity to try the 'broken limb' option, and got taken out by a full grown kamikaze male on a ski slope, face planting unhappily in the Japanese snow under the force of a 90kg man moving at 100 kmph on an out of control snowboard.  Pah!  Snowboarders...

This resulted in a wrist broken in two... maybe three places... which frankly, is something to shout about.  Dutifully, RoD took a plane to Thailand (because this is what you do as an expat when these things happen) and checked herself in to the plush Bangkok hospital and began negotiations with the medical insurance people, having to shout over the very inconsiderate protesters lining the streets outside.

Protesters: loud noises, something about disliking Yingluck Shinawatra...

RoD: I say!  You - rowdy mob out there!  One is trying to sort out one's direct billing.  Do you mind?  You're making an awful racket!

Once checked in, RoD's only opportunity for high-adrenalin action was tottering down the corridor to Starbucks without spilling her intravenous liquid all over the floor.  This quickly drove her to breaking point and she was compelled to sneak out of bed one night, wrap the IV around her waist like a utility belt and covertly creep along the hall to the consultant's office.  Whilst holding him at syringe-point, she explained to him the needs of her lifestyle and, stammering for fear of his life, he agreed that a cast for us all to sign and draw smiley faces all over was not an appropriate solution to RoD's predicament. 

Happy that he had volunteered this agreement of his own accord, RoD suggested that the only possible solution, therefore, would be to inject adamantium into her wrists so that she could use her right hand to cling on to impenetrable surfaces whilst scaling sheer rock faces, and ward off big cats with a sharp back-hander when stalking springbok in the un-touristed sections of the Kruger National Park.

Of course, the doctor agreed, and administered the adamantium by the light of the moon, transforming RoD into this:

... except in a hospital robe with the bum cut open at the back...

... and since she then had six weeks of recovery time, she looked more like this:

... except by the time she got home, she had figured out how to shower one-handed, and was therefore looking a little more sanitary than our friend here.

... and obviously, RoD is not a man, or Hugh Jackman (too bad), so the images aren't really an accurate portrayal of her transformed identity... um...

So there we go!  All the explanation you could possibly need for my comparative lack of action and excitement.  I am living vicariously through RoD's eventful life as only a bored housewife can, and since she is out of action for another fortnight or so, your next installment will consist of a story about flying kites at sunset...

Pleasant. 

Terminal 9 3/4

I hate to intertextualise 'Harry Potter and the Novel of Excrement', and many of you may not care, and frankly, I wouldn't blame you, but who knew that you can walk between terminals in Changi Airport?  Look!

Mystic voice: You are now exiting Terminal 2, and about to trip over the end of the travelater because you are standing backwards taking a photo of the wormhole between terminals.

Shower of gold dust and undulating atmosphere.  Sensation akin to being birthed.  Wombs and other maternal and sci fi imagery mixed together like that film I think I once saw.

Me: WOW! ... *splat* ... ow. Embarrassed. 

But how cool is that?  You know you know a place - really know a place - when you can walk between terminals. 

Café Culture

I'm sorry, but this whole café exploration thing is just too exciting. This beautiful, beautiful Saigon café was not only beautiful, it was also open during Tet when loads of other things were closed:

Yes, I will drink my orange and dill leaf tea here, and write some birthday cards and eat curry. I will!  Thank you South East Asia for being really, quite delightful. 

In other news, Vietnam was a bit upset that I made such a big deal of Singapore's NY, so let's give their decorations some media coverage (albeit brief, blocked by tourists and taken from a still running scooter):

Horses and stopwatch. 

Wasn't aware that Saigon had won the Olympic bid...

Lunar New Year

Well!  Singapore, city of cultures drowned by a plastic interpretation of Western capitalism, certainly is an exciting place to be on Chinese New Year.  This I am thrilled by as I have often despaired at people's eager insistence that this is a melting pot nation state of vibrancy and diversity when I have mostly been struck by the high density of Starbucks and Louis Vuitton.

Since Frenchie has a few days off for the festivities, we decided to check out Chinatown, where It was sure to be At, and we were definitely not disappointed.  The journey from our suburban pad was seamless despite NYE public transport thanks to my expert navigational skills and ability to follow other Chinese looking revellers and tourists with cameras. Thinking that this was an event that would tempt pickpockets, I chose to leave Mini Pad at home, a decision I regretted the minute we saw the Main Street decorations and saw how many Singaporeans were taking selfies on their own expensive tablets. I too, wanted a selfie, but had to make do with photos taken in the dark on a phone.

When the ant line of people lead us to the main site of the revelries, Frenchie and I did the obligatory penguin shuffle through the night market, which was full of pretties of the prettiest proportions. Have some photos...

The Lizzie Ushering Wealth cats!

Remember how much the Chinese diaspora love JADE?

I want a Buddha head for my expat wife bookshelf. I can light incense next to it when my yoga instructor comes round and achieve zen to wash away the bad chakra of the stresses of being a trophy wife. 

ALL the chopsticks in the whole WORLD arranged in alphabetical order!  Wow.  Exciting!

After a while, all this excitement took its toll, and Frenchie and I had to go home, but the next morning (I say morning, I mean 'after midday' which, in holiday time is the same thing), I was excited to discover a new cafe and revisit Chinatown for more cool photos and cultural saturation. The cafe I chose was apparently the only cafe open in the whole world today, and was a delight:

Full of quirky art work and healthily sized ice cream portions. 

 Why do Singaporeans love the British so much?

Even though lots of places in Chinatown were closed for New Year's Day, the big pagoda was open and ram-jammed full of tourists and Buddhists receiving their New Year blessing. Once I had changed into some long, swishy silky China-trousers because a pagoda warden told me that my shorts were indecent and I should be ashamed, I was able to wander around being fascinated and overexcited by all the cultural behaviours and beliefs. Have some photos:

Red lanterns. Obviously. 

Buddha in his pagoda porch, welcoming everyone. 

Monks offering New Year blessings with the cup-on-the-head routine.

Big impressive Buddha statue. Waving!

Buddhists queuing for their blessings. I like to think of this as the equivalent of queuing for Santa's grotto. 

Pause for artistic photo of flowers and architecture. 

Reverence and prayer and incense, of course. 

Daughter: quick, put on 'spiritual face'. 

Son: wow, look at all these candles. 

Abbott: amen. 

LOOK AT ALL THESE BUDDHAS!  There are MILLIONS of them!  This was only one section of a very big wall, and there were lots of walls. You could do the same with Action Man figurines. Except it would be less spiritual. 

The next day, after a failed attempt to reach an island called Pulau Ubin (queues for the ferries on New Year's Day were loooooong), and having been refused afternoon tea at Raffles Hotel because the waitress in charge could smell the working class on me (dress code my arse), we spent two days licking our wounds  at the Raffles Courtyard, the Fullerton Courtyard and the Qantas GOLD Lounge. Remember that place?  The place of free beetroot and cocktails? Amazing. 

Note culturally diverse Japanese library book.  I am so multiculturally literate. 

They can also smell the working class on my Jetstar boarding pass here, though, despite my AsiaLit interest, which doesn't impress the lady at the desk, and Frenchie has to act arrogant and put out when they suggest that I have to be at least a silver member to accompany him, or flying on the same flight, whilst I stand a little way off looking disinterested and trying to hold my coffee-stained Cath Kidston handbag and fake, Saigon Square Kipling carry-on as if they are croco Hermés Birkin 30s (apparently this doesn't mean anything, as I am slow at picking up the language of luxury goods.  I am only interested in the language of FREE).

Haha 'Frenchie has to act arrogant and put out' - NB, Frenchie does not offer the receptionist sex to get me into the Gold Lounge. 

Rubber Plantations

I am very excited. I have planned a Day Trip. A Grand Day Out some might call it, of meaningful and inspirational proportions. Other than Margueritte Duras, who I have already blogged about, the reason I originally wanted to come to Vietnam was because the film 'Indochine' made it look so gosh darn glamorous. I mean, really, what's more glamorous than Catherine Deneuve in this outfit:

Or this outfit:

Or this outfit where she looks pissed off, but in a controlled, I'm-a-French-colonial kind of way:

There's also the matter of Vincent Perez in a navy uniform, but that is not the point of today's adventure. The point of today's adventure is to pretend I am Catherine Deneuve in this outfit, where she is absolutely rocking the conical hat look and embracing Vietnamese culture and generally being in charge, a bit dirty but still looking like every rubber farmer's fantasy.

Cor blimey Catherine Deneuve circa 1990, you are a fitty. 

So, to prepare for this journey, I screen grabbed some maps on trusty Mini Pad and packed essentials like tea in a thermos, petrol in a bottle, water, the new-old iPhone with Google Maps and 3G abilities and sun cream. I was doing very well, speeding on Roger Red Bike to the shiny new highway that cuts through charming rice fields - yes I did get lost a little at this point, but nothing major - until just as I was speeding up to merge onto said shiny highway, a man at the side of the road waved a baton at me, spoke to me in Vietnamese a lot and then translated quite simply: "no moto". Oh. This somewhat scuppered my navigational plans, so I had to revert to the trusty method of repeating the name of the destination with a questioning inflection every time I felt slightly unsure about where I was going. 

This method never fails, and got me almost all the way back to where I had started from. I did get to see some water buffalo on the way, though:

Hey buddy, hey... isn't this a bit, y'know, urban up for you?

After three people told me the same directions, I trusted them enough to head towards Cat Lai, which I didn't realise was a ferry station, so this scenic route turned out to be way more exciting than the originally planned journey.  The ticket man confirmed that this was indeed the ferry to take to get to Long Thanh, my intended destination. It's funny, because at times like this you really notice the difference between life in Vietnam and life in the UK. In the UK when faced with a ferry to an unknown destination, the following anxious concerns would have crossed my mind:

- I don't know where I'm going - the ticket officer is going to think I'm stupid;

- what if I don't have enough money for this ferry?  Is there an ATM that won't charge me?

- I don't know where this ferry is going - what if I can't get back?

- I don't know the ferry timetable - what if I get stuck on the wrong side of the river overnight?

- what 'type' of people take the ferry?  Am I the right 'type' of person to take this ferry?

- I didn't anticipate taking the ferry when I left the house - do I have the right equipment for taking ferries?

- I haven't told my parents I'm taking the ferry...

Luckily, in Vietnam, none of these things cross your mind because we live a very 'what the hell' lifestyle and ferries cost 10p and there is the understanding that you are rarely the 'type' to do anything because, well, frankly, you're the only white person on the ferry, or moped, or sitting on the plastic stool, or bargaining a better tourist price, or asking for directions. So, no, you're not the right 'type', but at least you're a novelty. 

The ferry came with an amazingly Asian soundtrack blaring from on board speakers, and a baby to play with, so I felt quite happy going with the flow and humming along to the music whilst the baby tried to steal my watch. 

Back on the road, I followed along dutifully, passing some fairly standard Vietnamese side-of-the-road built upness, and after about twenty minutes saw my first sign of rubber:

This was a good sign. For a long time after that though, the rubber trees stopped and for a little while, my only chance of survival in an emergency would have been squash and turnips...

And then I passed what I can only guess was the Vietnamese State Space Station... or a nuclear reactor...:

Why else would you build a dome shaped building, other than to house alien life forms?

Eventually, though, I made it to the town of Long Thanh and followed QL51 a little way out of the centre to the first significant rubber plantation I saw. When I had asked Frenchie earlier if he thought I'd get in trouble if I rode down one of the dirt tracks and picnicked in the middle of the plantation, he reassured me with the following response: "it's not like it's gold."  How right he is, in so many ways. Rubber plantations, indeed, are not like gold. 

Halfway down the little track, I turned Snoop Dogg off because it wasn't really appropriate for the peaceful atmosphere of the plantation, which really was as beautiful as I had imagined it would be. Other than the sound of a man chopping wood, and the very occasional passing bike, there was only the noise of the leaves and the birds.  Have some calming and peaceful pictures:

Roger Red Bike has definitely proved his worth. 

Hey, you guys!  You made it too!

Return journey was significantly shorter than the outward one, since I knew where I was going this time...

Ratmicus Pink

So. Teaching in international schools is guilt inducingly awesome.  The TF mission to which I committed myself some three and a half years ago seems very distant, so distant in fact that a good friend observed that she 'didn't think I was into that disadvantage stuff anymore.'  First marriage, now teaching rich kids - looks like I'm losing sight of who I am. 

The guilt, however, quickly dissipates during Holy Week, also known as Trips Week, where, as teachers, we get to spend time in the great outdoors with, frankly, some pretty incredible young people. This year I have accompanied year 7 just four hours up the road to Madagui Resort, which is the most beautiful place on the edge of Cat Tien National Park. It's a little American-camp-in-'The-Parent-Trap', but this isn't stopping me from loving every single millisecond of it.  Let's avoid libel by only talking about my experience of it so far, with the understanding that there were, at all times, between 11 and 150 children present, all being generally awesome. 

First, we Did Rock Climbing, which was really, really hard. I stood, watching others, jumping from one foot to another in my excitement to also Do Rock Climbing as I have never Done It before, and this is the sort of Li Hi activity I've been craving for a while. When it was eventually my turn to Do Rock Climbing, I unwittingly chose the hard wall and it was really difficult and I only managed to get up about 1.5m before pretending that was okay, and that I wasn't embarrassed and allowing myself to be lowered down by my bee-liner like a sack of flour on a rope. When I found out that the other three walls were much easier, I Did Rock Climbing on one of them, and got all the way to the top, even though I slipped at one point, and scraped my arm. Ow. 

Now even though I felt a very proud sense of achievement, the awesomeness of the tiny children who scaled the wall like spiders far outshone my personal victory. Children are amazing. 

Then, I Did Lying By The Pool whilst children did awesome pool games, and then we Did Camping, which involved making sticky rice in bamboo tubes, and spring rolls and cooking marshmallows and bananas with chocolate in them over barbecues. During this time, I also Did Appeasing Local Police Officers by trying to get hold a copy of my passport, visa and entry stamp to prove I was in the country legally since my passport was currently in the hands of the nice HR lady who is currently trying desperately to get me exit and entry rights in time for Tet. 

Then we Did Freezing Our Arses Off in Tents overnight because it was way colder than anyone had anticipated. Waking up after very little sleep to this view, though, wasn't so bad:

The next day, I ate spaghetti bolognaise for breakfast because it was on offer, and why not?  I then Did Nature Scavenger Hunting with my team, Ratmicus Pink, and absolute credit goes to the travel company, Asia Motions, who truly understand the workings of KS3 minds: walking in the hot countryside for three hours = boring.  Finding beacons, cracking codes, taking silly photos, gathering natural souvenirs for points, animal prints, crocodile pits, competition, rock carvings and caves all in a race against other teams = the most awesome three hours ever. Our favourite bit was when the red ant carried the black ant away to eat him, and the ferns curled up when we touched them. That was hours of entertainment, and meant that we didn't actually get all eight stickers in our sticker pack, but the appreciation of nature's awesomeness was definitely worth it. 

We then Did White Water Rafting, which was fairly tame, but we all got wet, and the girls beat the boys. Hoorah!

The next day, the children Did Raft Building, and the adults Did Getting Sunburnt and Gossiping. All the rafts floated so well that I felt it my duty to plunge into the lake fully clothed and go and attack some, à la the Kraken from that famous poem. All withstood my deep sea attacks, though, and nobody was dragged to the murky depths. 

After Raft Building was Cocoa Plantation Visiting, c/o the nice people who make Marou chocolate. I threatened not to advertise them on my blog unless I got free chocolate, so they gave all the children and the teachers a bar each. Yum!  Back at the plantation, though, I learnt heaps and got overexcited and took photos. This is what cocoa pods look like:

And this is how papaya (yuck) grows:

And I discovered that jack fruits grow from green microphones:

And that Vietnamese farmers hate squirrels as much as my father does, but their traps are potentially more effective than his:

The final day involved Doing Zip Lining, Archery and Finnish Skittles (way cooler than British Skittles) and Watching Obstacle Courses and Handicraft.  By the end of the trip, I was so exhausted from doing all these cool things, that I had to call RoD and go to a newly discovered and beautiful cafe (c/o this bloggy blogger: thehungrysuitcase.com) for a bit of relaxed expat time:

Phew!  Every Li Hi adventure deserves to end in Oreo milkshakes, I feel.