Tuesday, August 1: Weekend Fun

Our second weekend was much less packed than the first. In a region known for their coconuts, the fresh coconut candy produced here is famous. Hilary told us that we haven’t lived until we’ve had warm coconut candy, so to remedy that we went to tour one of the many factories that line the river. Boats bring loads of coconuts right to the factory back steps, and promptly the coconut jelly is removed and ground in giant presses. It is then inserted into caldrons fed by hot fires of burning coconut stalks and stirred with other fruits or concentrates depending on the flavor on tap into a thick, hot, heavenly-smelling goo. The goo is squeezed, pressed, colored, and shaped into colorful squares of flavored candy. Then, teams of women crowded around stainless steel tables pressed the candy into rice paper wrappers and plastic shells, bagging them for immediate distribution. I was sort of reminded of watching a Krispy Kreme donut line, minus the animated machines. The lack of animation meant that I counted eleven people who touched each piece of candy before it made it to the shelf. There are all kinds of fruits and varieties, but my favorite was eating the warm sweet plain coconut chew even before it made it to the packaging. In just a few hours, a coconut could go from the tree to the candy shelf.

For the afternoon on Saturday, the village youth and our Vietnamese roommates had eagerly planned a football match. I hate soccer and certainly have no coordination to kick a ball while I’m running—running is hard enough. However, I got the feeling that we were not planning a little lark on the field. I was right; when we arrived, it was not exactly the village youth, but the village’s most talented middle-aged athletes, including some of the local political leaders. There was a referee and a large crowd waiting to watch. I know it was really serious when we started on-time—unheard of in Vietnam!

Indeed it was serious for awhile. The men were really good, but some of the Vietnamese on our team knew what they were doing as well. My strategy was more along the lines of run up and down the field looking intense, attempting to kick or deflect the ball with whatever body part could reach when necessary. We did alright as a team for awhile, even keeping the ball on their end of the field for the majority of the time during the first few minutes. I am guilty of predicting we’d take care of the old-timers easily. But soon, our organization showed itself to be the half-assed, improvised, largely unskilled bunch that we were while they proved relentless and organized with the precision that full-time politicians with nothing better to do should demonstrate.

The final score was 5-1 in favor of the elders. The one goal was given to us so we could save a little face—a very important thing in Vietnam. One of our team members overheard them make plans to let one ball come in, and it was slightly suspicious when their goalie stepped out of the box. I kind of felt bad for them—they probably thought they were getting some real competition. In the end, I think we ended the game a little early so they could go back to the real sport of playing each other.

After the game we visited the family of one of the middle school students. They have a relative in America and are planning to move their next year, but they did go to visit last year. It was extremely odd in the middle of Dinh Thuy for them to pull out their Florida photo album. The father spoke a few words of English, putting him far above almost every other adult in the commune. In Vietnam, it’s an accomplishment. When you hear someone saying they’re about to come to America in that position, it’s a crisis. I think it really would be nearly impossible to move to America and not find yourself depending deeply on a sponsor without speaking English fluently and possessing specialized skills. The family remembered last year’s Green Summer group and had lots of pictures, so it’ll be interesting to hear from next year’s gang whether or not the family had left.

Before dinner we had a bit of preparation to do for Sunday’s race (more on that in a bit). My job was to help paint the start and finish lines with the local People’s Committee authorities. In yet another example of items reused, the paint we bought was in cans that appeared to be years old. Only a little of the can actually had paint; the can was filled with gasoline that we poured into the mixture. When we finished painting, one of the local men gestured for me to hold out my hands. I did, and he proceeded to dump about a half of a liter of pure gasoline onto them. I was rather taken aback, my hands instantly reeked, and the rest of our group nearby just shook their heads. The Vietnamese roommates, though, didn’t see anything at all unusual in this. “That’s how we clean when we are really dirty,” my roommate said. Hmm…sounds like great health and environmental practices to me!

Saturday night we had a rather unique barbeque. The local wild meats are a grilled specialty, and seeking to add a little health to the menu, some of our group purchased a variety of vegetables to have cooked up with the game. I was initially impressed with the wide beer selection on the menu, but after trying to order about five different varieties, we realized that they actually only had two choices. They were out of some of the meat; no bat was available that night, but we did get to order several dishes of goat curry, rabbit, a bit of braised beef, and even a few plates of pig udder. Surprisingly, it was all delicious. The udder was my favorite; it was a chewy snack with a delicious flavor and a pleasantly not-too-chewy texture. The rabbit was also good, although we learned later that it was more likely mouse or rat. I was trying to imagine some kind of meat I haven’t eaten after this trip, and besides the out-of-stock bat, all I can think of is cat, and even here that’s considered exotic.

To keep the athleticism flowing, on Sunday morning we were holding a fun run in Dinh Thuy to raise money for underprivileged (as an American, this word seems rather loaded here) children in the commune. Our language school in Saigon was very excited about the race and had agreed to sponsor it on a large scale, even sending a busload of people to run and tour the area. We all got shirts proclaiming “Fun Run for Poor Children.” It was difficult to explain to the organizers why this was sort of a humorous name—that in America a bit more tact would be required. The actual race part was a bit nebulous; though it was timed, no one really knew how far the run was from Mo Cay to the Dinh Thuy People’s Committee, despite the plethora of estimates. In the end, though, the run ended up being a very small part of a long morning of showing the foreigners from the language school all around the village and explaining our work at the summer camp and house building.

The run, which took only 11 minutes, ended up being a miniscule portion of the morning, which offered six hours programming. Nonetheless, it was enough to evoke memories of high school cross-country races; I even relished in the fact that the 6:00 wake-up was far later than many of our 4:30 bus departure times. And the run was a huge success. We six Americans donated a large chunk of the money, but the total sum was enough to build a bathroom for the local kindergarten, which currently had no facilities of its own. After that construction, there would still be enough to offer some direct support to the families and children who needed it most.

The race day was definitely a feel-good end to a feel-good week. The week really was great; I had climbed over the hump I feared and coasted into a productive enjoyment. Not only were my limbs not crying in protest daily, but I had begun to have a blast teaching. With our smaller class sizes and enthusiastic students, it was possible to build relationships and laugh with the students, making the two hours of school a daily highlight. The house was going well, we were living comfortably—now I wasn’t sure if I would want to leave Ben Tre in only a week.