Life is like a cup of coffee
HCMC is filtered with coffee shops. The aromatic smells, deep flavoursome tastes, and the artistic décor. The colonial French influence still blends across the city.
They say that coffee is best enjoyed with friends. Fortunately, I have met many interesting people since arriving to the city. I live with two other English teachers, Edu and Matty, and the three of us get on well. We eat out most nights together, to chat about how badly the lessons of the day had gone. We have many laughs together, and share similar interests in sports, music and current affairs. At the weekends we try to tour around south Vietnam; the tales of which will be saved for a future blog.
A difficulty of moving to live in another country is being ignorant to the local customs and traditions. Just like being a new kid at school or an employee at work, you have to be ‘shown the ropes’ wherever you go. At my school there is a teacher named Khuong. But, as he put it, “you can call me Paul”. Not only is Paul my middle name, it is the name of my father. Fitting really, that this friendly face shared the same English name. Khoung has been somewhat of a guiding figure. Very wise for his thirty-nine years, Khoung has taught me a lot about the Vietnamese culture in my short time spent here. Our first interaction was an invitation to dinner at his place. It is assuring to know that I have a trustworthy local to call upon if anything turned sour.
Being open and friendly is a characteristic that befits a large proportion of the Vietnamese people. There is the coconut man at the corner of my road, en route to the gym. He sits roadside all day selling coconuts for the equivalent of around thirty pence-a-piece. He treats me to the biggest of grins on his face every time I walk past. Going to the gym has also provided an opportunity to talk to people. Recently I met a student named Phat. He has launched a tourism start-up with his friends. This weekend we went on a road trip together to the famous Mekong Delta, and I was able to help them with some promotional videos. It gave me a chance to visit some parts which were away from the tourist-beaten tracks. A very unique experience.
A traveller sees what he sees; a tourist only sees what he has come to see.
Khuong is a practising Buddhist. Before travelling to Vietnam, I read a few books around Buddhism. I was pleased to have had the opportunity to learn more about it through the lens of a practising Buddha. Contrary to what most people think, Buddhism is not a religion as such, but rather a philosophy – a way of living your life. It is a pathway towards self-discovery, which in the process allows you to discover and connect your surroundings. How you control your mind, thoughts and emotions. How you deal with stress, mistakes and the bad things that can often happen in our hectic lives. There are no prayers offered to the Buddha in the hope that Gautama will answer them. You are forced, as a Buddhist, to find the answers yourself.
Better than worshiping gods is obedience to the laws of righteousness – The Buddha
Interestingly, the Buddhist symbol strikes a resounding similarity to that of the Nazi logo. One lunchtime, Khuong invited myself and Matt to his place for food. It was a hot day, and Khuong insisted that we should make ourselves as comfortable as possible. He followed this comment by whipping his shirt straight off, bearing a logo on his chest. Religious Studies was my worst subject at school, and perhaps the same could have been said for Matt. For when our eyes met the pattern that was inked on Khoung’s chest, we were both bemused as to the thought that this friendly man was in fact a Nazi sympathiser. It was only after a bit of research that we established the Buddhist logo is turned at a slight angle, to that of the Swastika. We could keep Khoung on the friend’s list after all!
Often when we stay for dinner, he invites his family and friends. When eating and drinking beer, it is a Vietnamese tradition to ‘Yo!’ every time you go for a drink; the Vietnamese equivalent of ‘Cheers!’. What this means is that when anyone wants to drink, everyone else should do so too. It has the makings of a very heavy night of drinking. On one occasion, rather than beer, we drank rice wine from a shot glass. The tradition here is to only have one glass for the whole table. The shot glass keeps moving around the table throughout the meal. The rice wine was a lot stronger than I anticipated. More akin to Sambuca than Chardonnay. I have my own motorbike now, so I was driving back home. After a few shots I politely passed the glass on, knowing that the roads of HCMC are a menace to drive on, even in the most sober of conditions.
Khuong’s group invited us to play football one Sunday. I was of the understanding that it was just a bit of a kick around for an hour. It turned out to be a competitive seven-a-side match, refereed by a fully-fledged official, lasting ninety minutes. I was KO’d by the end of it, having not played a competitive match for years. We lost the game, but I did score a brace. Three days later, and I was still as sore as a baby with nappy rash.
Talking about nappies, last week marked the first occurrence in my teaching career where one of the students pooped on the classroom floor. Just like coffee, you should take the bitterness with the sweet things in life.