Vietnam

I have been grumpy all week. Doing mean things like making primary school children sit in silence for 2 minutes when they talk too much. They have born the brunt of my post holiday blues. This is what happens when you come back from a holiday that was just too good.
 
Saigon

I knew embarrassingly little about Vietnam and it's history. I knew there was a war with America, but largely, I'm afraid, courtesy of 'Good Morning Vietnam' and (worse) 'Miss Siagon' (if you don't know what the latter is you don't want to know. We're delving back into my deep, dark early teenaged years where I liked musicals. I don't admit to it now.)

Vietnam has a long history of being occupied. First by the Chinese, then in the mid 1800's by the French who left a legacy of good bread and beautiful architecture, though nothing to rival Mumbai. Then after the second world war had ended, America worried about Communist power started to help fund the Non Communist southern Vietnamese dictator (Diem - proper nasty) against the Communist north led by Ho Chi Minh, or Uncle Ho.

Stealthy financial aid grew into full scale occupation and war and though America never actually declared war on North Vietnam they were there for 25 years. The Vietnamese are, understandably, still quite pissed off.

We started our visit in Saigon or Ho Chi Minh City as it's now officially known, though the larger area is still colloquially referred to as Saigon. Many of the tourist destinations are firmly linked to it's recent brutal past.

We saw a lot of American tourists, many of them clearly veterans. Wandering around the Reunification Palace in their new uniform: neatly ironed polo shirts and shorts, white ankle socks firmly pulled up, often a baseball cap. Eavesdropping, we heard them talk about the radio units in the basement. 'Those aren't the real thing', one of them said, 'they're copies'.

They were there again at the War Remnant's Museum. This has a famous collection of photographs by the photojournalists of all different nationalities who were killed in action. They are incredibly moving. The atrocities on both sides were unspeakable. Young American soldiers, often barely out of their teens, with guns. Vietnamese of all ages, right from very young boys and girls, prepared to do anything to liberate themselves.

They built a series of tunnels in a farming area strategically close to Saigon called Cu Chi. These had been started under French occupation and were extended and expanded when the Americans arrived. They have been enlarged so that tourists can crawl through them, which we did.

Just ahead of us there was an ex-British squaddie now living in Thailand with his very young Thai girlfriend. He had been very gallantly carrying her pink handbag for her, but when she looked reluctant to enter the tunnels he became a lot less gallant and insisted. Halfway through she started having what sounded (from behind a Canadian tourist) like a panic attack. Lots of squeaking and squawking from her and gruff commands from him. When she calmed down a bit he got her to take a photo of him. She was still unwilling and there was more squeaking and squawking. Meanwhile the queue of crawling tourists was backing up. People were shouting from behind to get a move on. Even enlarged the tunnels were extremely hot, parts of them unlit and very uncomfortable.

I've mentioned the bread. Noodle soup is the other big hitter in Vietnam. On every street you can find someone with a tiny stall accompanied by tiny plastic stools and tiny tables. Little outside restaurants, like play areas for children. When you've chosen the one you fancy most, we usually do this by going to the one that looks busiest, you make your order and squat down on a mini stool.

They bring you your bowl of steaming pho and with it a large plate of herbs to shred and add to the soup. The herbs would cost you about £5 in a uk supermarket. Here the whole meal costs about a pound.

If noodle soup isn't your thing (it isn't) you can try a ban xeo a crisp, yellow pancake filled with beansprouts and pork and accompanied once again by a generous plateful of herbs. Or what about fresh spring rolls? Translucent rice paper wrapped around pork and, yes you've guessed it, herbs. Then dipped in a delicious sauce. All those herbs make Vietnamese cuisine fresh and light. Though I did accidentally order the insides of a chicken at one meal. Not the good bits. Those were neither fresh nor light.

Con Dao

Con Dao is a very small island which everyone has used as a prison - Vietnamese, French, American. They've all locked people up there and done nasty things to them. Now it's just starting to highlight on the tourist map.

At the moment it's still pretty untouristy. You see this best at the market. People aren't quite sure how much to rip you off. They know they should try. Sometimes their outlandish figure works and the stupid tourist pays it - hooray! But sometimes they go way over the top and the tourist walks away.

At one of the stunning beaches a woman had some deck chairs set up. We asked how much and she spouted numbers 50, 15, 150, 10,000.  Each time we asked how much she came out with a different number and because Vietnamese notes are so huge, they work in tens of thousand, amounts can really vary. I think 6S$ equals about 100,000 dong.

The pluses of not touristy are fairly obvious. The downsides are that there were no bars and very few restaurants. Ordering in one restaurant was a bit like being on a game show with a grumpy host. 'Can we have the stir-fried vegetables?' 'No!'. 'Okay, what about the Con Dao chicken?' 'No!'. Eventually we were pointed to some things we were allowed to eat. When the guidebook was printed there was no ATM on the island and there are lots of things you just can't get. Diet coke for example.  There's no diet coke on the island.

I know this because we did a lot of chatting with an American called Larry who runs a drive shop called Dive Dive Dive. He imports diet coke because you can't get it. Larry was extremely chatty. Enter his shop on the seafront and you won't leave quickly. He's also very nice as is his assistant, both very generous with their time and information.

I ended up doing my first dive with them. I've always found the idea of doing a padi rather dull. Messing around in a swimming pool for three days. Snorkeling seems so much easier. But, for a price, you can do a marvellous thing called a try dive. Basically someone does everything for you so all you have to do is remember to breath. As someone said to me, 'it's like you're a baby'.

Con Doa has amazing coral reefs and fish attracted by them. We were lucky enough to see cuttlefish mating and planting their eggs in the coral. They seemed completely unafraid of us, happy to mate and lay their eggs with us looking on. They didn't seem too bothered when we stroked them except for their silky skin changing colour and texture in response to our touch.

It's a weird experience being under water. About an hour into my first dive, completely waterlogged, I had this very strong feeling that people really weren't designed for being underwater like that. But it was an incredible experience.

Pretty amazing eh?

All in all it was a very good break.

Cuttlefish

 At the Reunification Palace in Saigon

 The Cu Chi Tunnels

Vietnam has wonderful, chocolately coffee.

 There are scooters everywhere. Sometimes with two people with a baby tucked between them. The baby never has a helmet.

 The prison at Con Dao

 The prison has these rather eerie models inside the cells.

 Beach Paradise.

 The little port of Ben Dam. The sailors were all in port because it was too rough to be out. They start drinking at 8am in the morning. When they were in Con Dao town where we were staying all the beer sold out.

On the left under some onions are the chicken insides.

Teaching and Taxis

The three and four year olds come in like little round eyed atoms, direction unpredictable. They swarm around me and reach for my nose. 'Why is your nose so big?' they ask in wonder. I can see that I'm going to get this a lot.

The teenagers are more circumspect. 'I like your eyes' a girl tells me 'and your nose'. I tell her that I think it's too big and that the little ones I teach are amazed at how large a nose can be. She laughs.

This has been my first week going into outside schools all over the island. Up until now I've been teaching in the centre to quite small classes - one has only four students. I have been cocooned in airconditioning and low student numbers.

In primary schools there is no airconditioning. There are spinning fans on the ceiling which you have to raise your voice to be heard above. The classes are of 30. In secondary schools there are 40 students per class.

Schools here have two sessions - morning and afternoon. Students don't come for the whole day.  It's either or. The morning session starts between 7.30am and 8am and the afternoon 1pm or 2pm. Imagine what a nightmare this could be for working parents. Arranging lifts and childcare.

One colleague with three children has two daughters who hardly see each other. One needs to get up at about 5am to be in school for 7.15am and the other is in the afternoon session so doesn't get home until after 7pm. By then the morning daughter is about to go to bed.

The first class I teach on Monday morning starts at 7.50am. I got there super early because I was afraid of being late on the first day. I sat in the canteen and watched the student arrive. The canteen is like a mini food court with different stalls selling food to suit the various cultures and religions who co-exist here - Muslim, Indian, Malay, Chinese. (At work in the staff room there are two microwaves. One has a sign on it. 'No pork. No beef.' There's a separate sponge on the kitchen sink in it's own plastic container marked 'for Muslims'.)

Some of the students arrive by bus. This can take as long as two hours. It stops at each student's house to collect them. As they arrive they go to the keypads which are dotted all around and punch in their attendence. Then they all stand in the open courtyard for the raising of the flag ceremony and to sing the national anthem 'Majullah Singapura'. This happens twice a day. For both morning and afternoon sessions. It all feels very different and very the same to the schools I've taught at in the UK.

I am allowed to claim for taxi journeys for some of these school trips. Taxis in Singapore are cheap. Strictly metered. I think there are laws pertaining. They're usually driven by retired men who are making a bit of extra money. Quite often they are enormous characters.

This week I met the taxi driver who loves Borneo. He spent the entire 20 minute trip telling me I should move there.
'You have to promise that you won't tell anyone else if I tell you how. Promise?' I promised. 'Go to the embassy. It's open every day until 2pm except Fridays. Fill in a form and then they'll contact you.'
I'm not sure why he was quite so secretive. It sounds a fairly obvious proceedure to me.

Then there was the taxi driver who had worked in packaging before he retired. He'd been on a business trip to New York. He told us he found it boring. We were a bit surprised. It turned out he felt that New York was so dangerous that he'd stayed in his hotel room the entire time apart from going to meetings.

One spent the journey talking politics. I found him very difficult to understand. He was talking about the PAP, the party in power and the new found strenght in the opposition.
'Ah, It's all Rojak*' he said.

*Rojak - a Singaporen speciality. It contains fried dough fritters, bean curds, boiled potatoes, prawn fritters, hard boiled eggs, bean sprouts, cuttlefish and cucumber mixed with a sweet thick, spicy peanut sauce. I haven't tried it yet.

Seen in a school canteen this week

More Inspiring lunch time fodder

These were taken at xmastime. I just haven't got round to putting them up.

From my moustache/french themed birthday party

A quiet supper

For my new job I am obliged to attend training courses on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays from 7-9.30pm. Although this is quite a big ask in terms of time commitment on the whole I don't mind. I am a big fan of one of the teachers in particular and even though I feel I largely already know what he's teaching me, there's always more to learn and he is extremely entertaining. On the other hand anything that conflicts with lying on the sofa watching 'Masterchef' will sometimes feel like a bit of a burden.

My nearest food court is just across the road in the basement of another shopping centre called Orchard Towers. Many shopping centres in Singapore are themed by what they sell. The one I work in has lots of toys shops and amazingly expensive clothing for children, another sells electrical items, there's one you can go to if you need a bike. Orchard Towers is affectionately known as 'four floors of whores'. You shop there for a very specific product. Quite often Thai. Sometimes not quite the gender you may have been expecting - or perhaps it was after all.

Anyhow, that's where I go to eat my lunch, and supper on the nights I stay late if I haven't been organised enough to bring a lunch box. Not the upstairs with the ladies of the night but downstairs at the food court. Usually it's just any old food court though I was once there and noticed some extremely young looking girls sitting around a table with some older men. The girls were dressed in what looked like wedding dresses, or white prom dresses. My colleague raised his eyebrows and murmured 'four floors of whores'.

I popped over there this evening for a quiet bite before my training started and was greeted by this instead. At first I felt grouchy and put my fingers in my ears as the dragon and his three loudly drumming friends passed. Then I softened and enjoyed my suppertime entertainment. Well Toto, we're not in Canvas anymore...

Here we see our friend the water dragon checking out the noodle stand and thinking about what drink to get.

Continuing the theme...

This is not what I bought at the wet market this morning. The lady standing next to me as I took this video was the recipient of the lovelies we see being scooped up. I bought a smiley red snapper and some sheep which is, even as we speak, becoming mutton curry.

They're snails in case it isn't clear.

The Wet Market

Shopping is Singapore's favourite national passtime. In a country where the weather doesn't change from hot and humid all year round the seasons are marked by the changing decorations in shopping centres. Last week they took down the christmas trees and replaced them with spring trees in the shopping centre I work in.

This weekend we celebrate Chinese New Year. This is the really big celebration here, much bigger than Christmas. Everywhere there are red dragons and red lanterns. Dragons because are about to move into the year of the dragon. Red is supposed to scare away evil spirits.

The big celebration will be on the eve, this Sunday night. People visit their relatives and children are presented with red packets filled with even amounts of money. You have to be careful to get the sums right. I think 4 means death so clearly a no go. Even numbers are usually good. 8 is particularly auspicious.

We wondered if we should give out red packets. I checked with colleagues at work who told me categorically no. Older, married people give envelopes to younger people. The initial idea is that the younger people have travelled to visit their older relatives and this reimburses them for their travel costs. However I've been told that the children I teach will come back to class next week and tell me how much they have received and that these sums can be anything up to $S1000, about £500 GBP.

I have also been warned that everything will be shut and am planning on stocking up with food in advance. Shopping for food I often end up going to three or four different places. For meat and basic vegetables I go to the wet market. I am, almost without exception, the only westerner there.

The wet market sells meat, fish, fruit, vegetables, spices and coffee at different stalls all under a huge roof, though not enclosed with walls. There's usually a food court next door. They're called 'wet' because the floors are washed down with water to get rid of the blood.

I realised quite how far I had left vegetrianism behind me when buying lamb (sorry, sheep) there one day the man at the stall hacked off the bone and a small part of it flew up and landed in my hair. I didn't flinch.

There is an amazing atmosphere at the wet markets. Colourful, vibrant and bustling. I enjoy shopping there for the atmosphere and find people very friendly to me and curious about me. 'Where are you from?' they ask. 'What are you doing here?' and if I chat for long enough 'Why you no married?' (a question I get asked again and again. That and 'How many children have you got?') The wet markets shut down by 10am or 11.30, so you have to get up earlyish on your day off if you want to shop there. Or be an expat wife.

Then for dry goods I go to one of the government supermarkets 'Fair Price' which has a lot but not everything.

If I want to get fancy western items like rocket, lamb chops, tampons (yes it's true), feta cheese, salami, greek yoghurt or homous I would have to go into town and go to an expensive western supermarket: Marketplace, Cold Storage or Jasons.

 These were taken quite late in the day, say 11am because I am slow moving in the mornings and it takes me a long time to get going. You don't get a true impression of how bustling and busy it can be.

It was my birthday and I held myself a french/moustache themed birthday party which went well. A decent amount of people who I genuinely liked turned up. It starts to feel as though I really have a life here.

Back to School

"Why is your nose big and pointy?" not one, but several of my students asked me today. At the time I was pretending to be a cow from the land of the ning nang nong who had lost his bong. The kids were trying to cure me (the cow). It would be very imprudent to pretend to be a cow if teaching 7 year olds in London, but in Singapore you can get away with it.
Well, almost get away with it. Except for "Why has this cow got a pointy nose and red watch on?" I (the cow) explained that naturally this is how all cows are in the land of the ning nang nong, where cows go bong, except when they are ill and have to have small helpers visit the pharmacy for them.
So yes. I am finally working again. My long, unintended satatical is over and at the moment I have to say I'm very glad. I'm really enjoying working. Enjoying the teaching itself, pretending to be cows and trolls and travelling in flying taxis with a thousand seatbelts. (Saftey first! This is Singapore, remember. A law for everything.)
I finally, finally have my EP and can no longer be sneered at by shop assistants for only being on a Long Term Social Visit Pass. I'm loving having somewhere to go every day; making friends with my new colleagues; just having people to have a casual chat with on a daily basis. I've missed mundane chat so much. I realise to what extent I am a social creature.
I take my hat off to the self employed who work from home, not only for managing their time and motivation, but also the loneliness that goes with it. All that is behind me now.
It's made me think a lot about the right to work and how not being able to work legally makes you feel. You feel disenfranchised and useless. Your energy is zapped and motivation diminished. It's made me think about assylum seekers and how not having the right to work is yet another way they are stripped of their dignity by the countires they have turned to seeking refuge from atrocities.
Of course it's been nothing like that for me. I have been generously supported by the DFP. I have had amazing opportunities to travel and explore fascintating places. But there have been hard moments, lonely moments. I have missed people. Missed my friends, my family, my colleagues at work, work itself, having my own money, gossip and banter.
Travel and exploration is a wondeful thing. But without the anchor of friendship and love it's pointless.

Australia

So, as promised, Australia. To write this I am tearing myself away from my ukulele, a Christmas present from the DFP. I requested a uke for Christmas a few months ago, but I think it was only threats to ship my accordion over that gave the impetus for me to actually receive one.

When the whole move to the other side of the world was first mooted Sydney was the city suggested as our new home. Then, quite quickly, the DFP suggested that Singapore would be a better bet for several reasons. Firstly that it is a far more central base for the region he has to travel to for his work. Sydney is +8 hours before you get anywhere and we thought he would be doing even more travelling than he is. ( Since July he been to India, China twice, Korea, Australia, Malaysia - don't think I've missed anywhere.)

The second reason was that we thought it would be easier for me to find work in Singapore. It's hard to know whether this would have been the case or not. I suppose I did find work relatively quickly. I've had the job I'll finally start on Friday since late September/early October. It's just taken a very long time to be approved by all the ministries.

Australia is fantastic. And it's easy. In fact it's a bit like a sunny version of the UK. All the things I've been finding challenging in Singapore seemed to be easy in Australia. Of course holidays are holidays. One shouldn't be lulled into thinking it would be the same living there. But, oh dear, I did have a good time.

The DFP found it all very amusing. We went to the beach at Manly, a paradise of sunshine,sea and sand connected by ferry through the stunning harbour to central Sydney. As we walked along the seafront the DFP laughed at me and pointed at the beach paradise. "We could have lived here", he said "and you chose Singapore!" I'm not quite sure where the idea that 'I' chose Singapore comes from.

I have been missing the things that for me make life worth living. The people I love. My friends, my family. In Australia I had all those things.

I went on my own to Melbourne first. I've wanted to go there for years and it's just as wonderful as everyone says it is. It's like Europe for people who want to live in Australia. Very cultured, very beautiful. There are streets that feel as though you could be in France or Italy. Wonderful places to linger over a well made cup of coffee. Quirky, individual restaurants and dress shops. And friends. People I have know for longer than two weeks. People I have lots in common with. People I like not just people I am trying to like because I don't know anyone else.

I saw my cousin C***, his daughter and his partner. I was an hour late to meet my friend B**** who was nice enough only to laugh about it. I drank de-constructed cocktails with my amazing, beautiful, talented friend H***** from Lecoq in the coolest cocktail bar I have ever been in. I saw a fairly rubbish play by a young, female Australian playwright. But I saw a play. New writing. Theatre. I cannot tell you how I miss theatre. And talking for hours (about theatre) with people I have lots in common with, lots to share and laugh about.

Then more joy in Sydney. More family. Both my parents, by hilarious co-incidence have cousins called T***** who immigrated to Australia and their children and grandchildren now live there too. I met up with them all and I cannot begin to say how much joy it gave me.

The DFP who lived in Sydney for seven years and has an Australian passport also has friends there who I know and get on with. The person I walked home from school with from the age of 13-16 now lives in Sydney with her husband and two daughters. We met up with her.

Everything that has felt hard in Singapore felt easy in Sydney. I suppose when I say this I mean socially. Making friends here feels as though it has been a bit of a struggle. If it weren't for A***** (daughter of my mum's old friend) and her husband who have invited and us out and introduced us to their circle we would have been even more lonely.

We went to a party to celebrate the marriage of one of the DFP's old friends and I got talking to someone there and got one very well with her and she invited me to go to the zoo with her and I did! So easy! Why hasn't this happened for me in Singapore?

In my other excursions this autumn I have visited a lot of galleries and museums and sites of historic interest. Though I did a bit of that I found that what I really wanted was people and coffee and funky shops and I had my fill of them.

I saw Cate Blanchett in a slightly weird German play. She was absolutely stunning. Watching her I felt I was really watching a star. It was a matinee and as usual heavily weighted with old people. After about 45 minutes some of the old people started trying to escape from the German play, creaking their way towards the exits. This would have absolutely been welcome behaviour in 'Story of a Rabbit' which I've missed for years in the UK and finally saw at the Opera House.

While walking through the Botanic gardens with Mum's T***** and seeing the orange fruit bats hanging in the trees we talked about what was the happiest time of your life. If asked I say it was the two years I spent in Paris studying at Lecoq and it was a truly magical time. It's good to look back and have happy memories but I need to be a bit careful. Perhaps now is the happiest time of my life? Perhaps I'm living it right now?

I have a tendency to be rather 'glass half empty' or as the Australians would say a 'whinging pom'. I've had an amazing time these past few months with my enforced holiday. This year I have travelled more than I have in my entire life up until now. I have visited Italy, Spain, Switzerland, France, Russia, Singapore, Thailand, Malaysia, India, China and Australia.

True, it hasn't all been plane sailing, but really I am incredibly lucky and I think I need to remember that a bit more often.

The new year is coming up fast. My time as an expat wife is ending. The expat wife thing started as a joke and became an accidental reality. I've had an unusual, amazing time but will be glad to be earning my own money and have the identity and freedom that work brings.

And my new year's resolution? I think in the past it's been to travel more. Tick. Next year I plan to be a more cheerful, happier and more positive person. Or to put it another way a bit more Canadian.

Melbourne

Sydney

A day trip to the blue mountains

the effects of a forest fire

Sunday lunch at the fish market. My favourite of all the amazing meals we had.