1. Teaching English. I can write paragraphs on the quality/ motivation of the students for every age, but the fact is I came here with very little training and have no passion for teaching English. It is very easy to get started in Vietnam, and with the low living costs one can save lots of money--even with a few tourist trips thrown in. But with the hassle of foreign management, undependability of weekly schedules, and the classes themselves--almost always with about 25 kids who don't want to be there, many people don't last for more than a year.
2. Nouc Mam (fish sauce). It's the ubiquitous condiment for everything and, yes, is made from fermented fish. Considering what it's made of, it could smell worse, but the taste must be slowly acquired. It didn't bother me much at first, then I got used to it, but over time I just got over it. I never add it to anything voluntarily, and it wipes the smile off my face when someone dumps it in for me.
3. Jackfruit. I used to like it. But the jackfruit we always have at home comes from mom and dad's country-home and maybe is a little over-ripe. It has a slightly stinky flavor that one picks up on over a few months, and now I gave up on it entirely. It's deceptively similar to it's cousin Durian, which few people without a genetic mutation can abide being within 30 yards of. I got used to durian stench as I passed fruit stalls every day on my way to work, and I can eat it, though the first bite is still a punch in the jaw. Anyway, it leaves bad breath for two days and completely ruins everything else in the fridge, so it's not a welcome home companion.
4. People getting their chopsticks into my dinner. Eating is a communal activity in Vietnam, which I very much enjoy, except that people often plop things onto my plate. It's a sign of respect or that you're too skinny and should eat more, but it's very much at odds with the American's right to choose. In the US, we carefully select everything we put on our plate, judging our food for many different qualities. People here take all that away from you--they can't have any idea of what you'd actually prefer, but they throw stuff on your plate anyway. I personally enjoy chicken that's a little burnt around the edges, but no one would think to offer me what they'd consider to be lesser chicken. Or, worse, I get too-rare meat or Rhambutans infested with insects. It makes me want to stop eating just to spite everyone.
5. The money thing. People here take very little bits of money very seriously. You must haggle, which also means you must know the price of everything--like you're always playing the Price is Right without the new car. As a foreigner, I'll always be ripped off. Even if I haggle well, the price will always stop at just over ridiculous. I always leave the shopkeeper grinning with bits of me between their teeth. Even the local eateries will give me a big-nose tax. But usually the difference is 20,000 VND at most, or $1. So most of you will say "who the hell cares." Unless you live with a Vietnamese family, who will loose sleep over a stray 5,000 VND. If I see something I want, I'm not allowed to buy it unless we haggle for less than the usual (usual for Vietnam is pretty damn low) price. Imagine if you can, fellow Americans, wanting something, affording it, and not buying it.
6. Things are so damned hard to find. My constant fantasy is walking into a Rite Aid and having toothpaste, loofahs, toys, stationary, chocolate, ice-cream, cookies, canned soup, detergent, all sorts of medicine, band-aids, soda and shaving cream at my fingertips. Here, every little thing is a chore to hunt down, and I have the added misfortune of having to find the lowest prices. The malls here are totally useless--full of the most expensive brand name outlets with prices higher than in the US. It took me months to find a simple pack of playing cards, and it was in some nameless street stall. Now ask me about tea-strainers, screws and nails, model airplanes and envelopes and I'll give you a nice long unfocused stare.
7. The inevitability of a traffic accident. Driving on these crazy streets has been fun, but my luck is running out. There is a large degree of uncertainty about what makes an accident, and I've had lots of handlebar-clipping lately, and one guy turning into me burned a patch off my leg with his muffler, but there's always the Big One that comes to everyone here eventually. People who say Asians make the worst drivers should come here at the source. Here, a good driver is a dead driver. Politeness means hesitation means death. If you think you have the right of way, you're dead. There are always people making left turns into traffic, u turns, going down the wrong way on a one-way street, coming head-on into traffic and you have to flow around it or herd for protection at all times. You'll have to make your own dumb-ass moves yourself often enough. And one thing that really annoys us back home--people never look when they turn onto a street. It's mind-boggling--I mean, it's not like there's something else to look at--maybe they black out for a second. Despite all this, there aren't nearly as many accidents and fatalities and even shouting and cursing (unlike in Ha Noi, where you can get a proper NY style chew-out) than there should be with this kind of traffic. But tell that to my hairless leg.
8. The city itself. It's just too damn big, and every block is the same pointless self-serving village-style assemblage of hovels and street markets. Getting to see any greenery is a real chore--the parks here are few and pathetic. So you have to spend a lot of money on plane or coach tickets to go all the way to Mui Ne or Da Lat. For delights like Ho Coc and Binh Chau (still haven't made it back there yet) you need an expensive private van, which could be worth it if you find a group. The local buses are very cheap, but packed and uncomfortable and totally impossible for a foreigner to figure out. There are trains, but they can be as expensive as planes and the rides are very, very long. Riding a motorbike on the highway can be suicidal.
9. The unkind treatment of animals. The dog-eating thing doesn't really bother me, as I'm not crazy about them and anyway they are easy to avoid. Cats are lower than rats here, for the ridiculous reason that Meo sounds like the Vietnamese word for poor, Nheo. It's the way they treat birds that really makes me want to kill someone. Bird hunters are extremely successful, so much that birds that are extremely common in asia like the Red-Whiskered Bulbul are now totally absent here ( I saw only one flock of them in the abandoned District 2, though every other shop has one in a cage). They are kept in tiny cages, poorly cared for and often subjected to raw sunlight, cigarette smoke and traffic noise, not as pets but as good luck charms. The rich are absolutely required to have a small flock of captured hawks to promote the success for their businesses, which is pretty stupid as a caged Black-Shouldered Kite is one unlucky animal. I've seen cages absolutely crammed with swallows, possibly for people pay to release them around temples (and then for the starved, cramped bird to be recaptured). I've seen birds I've been dying to see in the wild, like Rufous Treepies among others, stuck in a sort of traveling aviary on the back of a motorcycle. And the last straw is seeing a motorcycle laden with cages packed solid with Golden Weavers, extremely beautiful birds that are disappearing in the countryside, and all the bird books can't figure out why.
I'll have to wait for number 10--unfortunately I'm writing this article at SOZO cafe watching the white, tattooed freaks get chased by walking sunglass huts, where my money is going to help disadvantaged people and my chocolate muffin and soursop and ice-cream smoothie is going to my stomach. Not the atmosphere to complain in, really.
