Survival of the Adaptable.

Da Lat is the kind of place a recluse might run away to. Hidden by the surrounding mountain peaks and trapped in by the daily deluges, you can feel J.D. Salinger isolated. It helps to sit outside, have a cigarette, and watch as the rains quickly puddle up the potholes on the streets. I've actually made it a rule: to smoke only when it rains. As isolated as you might find yourself when the rain falls, life seems to bubbles up and burst as soon as it stops; children crawl out from beneath their parents raincoat, business owners reestablish their outdoor shops, and the drumbeat of water pounding on pavement is slowly replaced by the horns of reemerging traffic. Carrying an umbrella at all times is an essential way of life here, both to shield the rain and the sun. I have learned that and many other survival techniques here. I use the term survival loosely, it's not as if I'm filming a show for Discovery about how to stay alive in the wilderness, it's just an adapting period to a new place.

In many ways, it's not even adapting. The weather in Da Lat is by far the closest of any Vietnamese town to that of San Francisco. It's probably the coldest town in Vietnam, the other being Sapa, but the locals don't seem to think of Sapa as an actual town but rather a village. I can say knowing full well my fellow volunteers stationed in different areas might find this funny (maybe jealousy provoking), but I haven't broken a sweat since my arrival. In fact, the houses here do not have air conditioning, there's no need. There's no humidity; no heat.

The days are hazed with fog (because of the weather, not the hangovers, I know what some of you are thinking already). Friends of mine living in the Sunset know how this feels. Some areas feel so much like the Sunset that I sometimes lapse into a bitter stare down the hilly street waiting frustratingly for the 28 bus to arrive. Those lapses are quickly dispelled when a bag of trash thrown from someone's balcony crashed down onto the street nearby where I'm daydreaming. Streets are not something to be proud of, in fact, they are used as both public roads and public trash dumps, and sometimes public toilets. In the mornings, however, the streets are amazingly cleaned again. I had thought this was due to an army of trash cars and street sweepers, but that turned out to be stupidly western in thinking. There are armies of street sweepers here, but they are of the laborer variety not of the mechanized cars with spinning bristle type. With brooms and wheel barrels, the mostly women workers sweep the town at night; then, transfer their loads to pick up spots where trash trucks will come blazing to the chime of “It's a small world (after all),” to clean the billowing piles. I'm not kidding. The trash collection to the tune of “It's a small world,” is enough to lure you into a magical realm even Walt Disney couldn't have imagine, but that's another blog in and of itself.

My current home is on the campus of Da Lat University. The campus itself reminds me so much of my alma mater, San Francisco State; both campuses are roughly the same in sizes, sloped downwards towards the schools' stadiums, peppered with tall trees throughout, and both are next to a golf course. My first impression was: “ wierd.” I spent many years trying to get out of that campus, and strangely feel that I haven't left it, even after traveling half way around the world. I asked around to see if there was an underground medical clinic for students hoping to make some friends like I did when I was working in an underground medical clinic for students at my campus. They laughed at all three conceptions: underground? Ha! medical clinic? Ha for students? Hahaha!

I have been teaching a two hour course three times a week to teachers in the sociology and social work department. The course is a TOEFL course, which I'm comfortable teaching, and pretty much lays out a rough lesson plan. My students are teachers who have also become my friends, and like my friends, they like to drink. It's cold when you're this high on Da Lat, so liquor is another survival technique that must be adopted. I'm a cold beer guy myself, so the transition to the local vodka/ booze/ moonshine called "ruou" hasn't been easy. My fellow teachers are well trained professionals who highly prioritize having fun before, during, and after their professionalism is required. On many occasions I have tried to investigate the symbiotic nature between professionalism and alcoholism here, only to continuously stumble upon a hazy and dizzying inconclusiveness. This is something I need to put more research into, and hopefully will have more insights on after more careful and thorough data collections. We'll save this for another blog as well.

I'll end with some pictures and a few complaints of my new home:

As you can see, I have turned this house into a home, with some much needed homely messiness. Nothing to be proud of.

Complaint: I have two queen size beds when there's room for two California king size bed.

Complaint: The stairway leads to no where.

Complaint: The fireplace is too small to practice my fire soccer skills.

Complaint: The backyard is big enough for a full-sized basketball court. Where are the basketball rims??? actually this is a real complaint.

Complaint: This hooligan lingering outside my front yard keeps giving me the evil eye.

Well that's all for now, hopefully more to come from the wilderness of Da Lat. I'll end with some quick thoughts and updates.

I think:

warm water at your convenience is something to be cherished.

a chalk to-do-list is still the only to-do-list I can stick to.

my neighbors are afraid of me

I know:

"And I also love you," is my current new favorite Vietnamese song, bumping that other one my parents listen to all the time off the list.

The Drunken Clam (fantasy football update):

team respectable: 0-2.