The first step to getting to our family was a bus ride to a larger city. Next came something I had feared would happen at some point on my four month adventure--we had to take motorbikes. We each strapped on a helmet, had our backpacks on and hopped on. My initial instinct was to grab this man around his waist and hold on for dear life, but that's not what people do here, so I held the back of my seat, said a short prayer and we were off! We were dropped off 10 minutes later at a market and found our man, on a boat.
I'm actually trembling here...
The man, Dua, took us down the Mekong for about 30 minutes until we reached his house. It was definitely higher class than the corrigated tin sided and bambo roofed houses that we passed all day on the river. It was a large house with many rooms and obviously many people living in it. We were shown into a big room with many Buddhist shrines , a row of benches and chairs and two beds for us. After dropping our gear it was time for our family lunch...except there were only three bowls at the table. In the kitchen area we met a few other family members who didn't speak English, including a girl who looked about my age and was cooking our lunch. We asked Dua if he was going to eat with us and he said no, he had plans to eat later and that would spoil the plans. Whatever. Then he explained the food: a hot cucumber soup, cooked cabbage, rice and catfish from the Mekong. We dutifully spooned the food into our bowls but stopped when it came to the catfish. We saw people bathing and going to the bathroom in the river, garbage flowing freely like lily pads...we did not want to eat the catfish. Leah took one for the team though and took a polite bite. On the way out of the dining area, through the kitchen, we saw Dua sitting and eating some great looking soup with another guy his age. Some plans Dua!
Brit in our bed in our room...note the rows of chairs...our sister's room is the one right behind us
After lunch no one was around the house and we had nothing to do. We sat by the river, read and tried to figure out what the heck was going on. Eventually we walked back to the house and a young Vietnamese boy spoke to us in English to come follow him and his two friends. We did, through the house, past the puppy playing with roosters and to this structure in their backyard that looked like a mausoleum/pagoda. The three boys, 12 years old, had us sit and wait while they giggled and ran away. At first I thought that they must be playing some 12-year-old boy trick on us, but then they returned, proud as ever, with a plate of pineapple for us. We gladly ate it while the boys showed us their "hip hop" by doing handstands to music playing from a phone/MP3 player. Our little brother ran away again and came back with the least ripe mango I have ever seen. It was so sweet of him to get it, peel it and cut it for us, so we choked down those tart-as-ever pieces of love. The third time he ran away and came back with three glasses of water. Uh oh. This was not bottled water, this was spooky, floating bits, poop-your-pants water. We couldn't figure out a way to dump it without him noticing, but we certainly couldn't drink it. We draw the line somewhere. Luckily we were saved by the rain and we all ran inside, "spilling" water along the way.
(l) our little brother
(r) the face you would make too if you just had the most tart mango of all time
(r) the face you would make too if you just had the most tart mango of all time
During and after the short rain we had nothing to do. We were at a home with no one around, in a remote village on the Mekong River. We killed a solid 45 minutes by walking down the small dirt path that goes through the village, waving to the locals as we passed. We were clearly more out of place there than anywhere else we have been.
The village was cute. It was right next to the river, really, only feet away. Little kids running around barefoot. Small houses with their doors wide open, displaying religious shrines right next to blaring TVs. Every so often a motorbike would beep its horn and pass us on the road, narrowly missing us every time.
After our walk we sat. Still nothing to do, no one to talk to. We read, played Scrabble, and waited for something--anything--to happen. Finally, seven hours after lunch, we were called in to eat dinner. There was a new, slightly older (we're talking 30s only) woman now who also didn't speak much English. We have presumed her to be the head of the household. We were ushered, once again, to a table set with three bowls. So much for the meals with our Vietnamese family! Dinner was "Make Your Own Spring Roll" night--like the Asian version of "Make Your Own Taco" night. The guest of honor was a giant Mekong River fish in the middle. Ugh. The younger hostess kept urging us to try it, so we said our prayers, tried to connect with the food on a cerebral level (Brit's yoga trick) and took our polite amounts. The spring rolls were fabulous and the fish was fish. It ended up being a fun dinner. Who needs more company when you have us three girls anyways?
After dinner we retreated back to our room, now filled with mosquitoes. Eventually we found bright pink mosquito nets and managed to put them up with some hard work and determination. With nothing else to do, we began our nightly ritual of speed Scrabble. While playing, the younger hostess sat next to us to watch. She speaks no English so after trying to politely make conversation we continued to play while she watched. Next, our 12-year-old brother came in and looked eagerly at the letters. He didn't care that we were in the middle of a game (maybe he didn't even realize it was a game!) and he just grabbed the tiles and started spelling English words that he knew. We would praise him after each word and help him with a few misspellings. We showed the English words to the girl and our little bro translated them.
Before I go any further I have a confession to make. I call these two "younger brother" and "sister" or "girl" only because we don't remember their names. Yes they told us, probably a handful of times even, but we have forgotten. Many names in Vietnam are short and difficult for us to pronounce and, obviously, remember. They usually are 3 or 4 letters long and are on a tonal level I just don't perceive well. I apologize for not remembering them, but "brother" and "sister" will just have to do!
We got through a handful of words and our sister, who we found out during all of this was 20, ran off to get something to write these new words down with. We tried to teach her basic nouns, adjectives, etc and I thought about words that I was glad I learned in Thai. This went on, with lots of laughter, for a good 30 minutes when the older woman came in, said something in Vietnamese, and escorted us all into the living room to continue playing. We were finally accepted! At one point, Dua and some other guys his age came into the room and started making fun of our sister. He said she's not smart and that he has tried to teach her Englih before and she just doesn't remember anything. I instantly disliked him.
It soon came time for bedtime and we taught her "good night." She, in turn, taught us the phrase in Vietnamese: Ngu Ngon. We tried it. Wrong! They worked for over five minutes trying to get us to pronounce 'ng' correctly. It ended in fits of laughter from both parties and them finally accepting our attempt as good enough.
We went back to our temple of a bedroom and got ready for bed. Our sister's room was located right off of ours so she came through with us. She showed me where the night light was and then noticed my toenails--nicely painted with little flowers on them (you gotta love $4 pedicures with free nail art!) She ran to her room and showed me her collection of nail polish. I was in the middle of oooing and ahhing when she grabbed my hand and started painting on a pale pink. I felt a little awkward, but went with it. When she finished, I thanked her, and she said "no." Homegirl did a full french manicure with a sparkle top coat! We giggled, I thanked her profusely and she kept yelling at me (via charades) to keep blowing on my nails to dry and not touch anything. I'm pretty sure if we spoke the same language we would be best friends. Lights went out and I felt like I had at least made a small connection to part of my homestay family.
The next morning we woke up, packed our belongings, and ate breakfast. Luckily there were not runny eggs or Mekong fish to worry about. Just bread, jam and butter; a great breakfast combo. We gathered our things, made our beds and headed to the boat. That's when we found out we weren't taking the boat back, but motorbikes--this time on small dirt paths. Brittany and Leah got the really big nice new bikes with the older (more experienced) drivers and a place to put their backpacks. Because I was the smallest I had to strap my backpack on, attach my helmet with chewing gum (okay not really, but that's what it felt like) and hop on the rusting small Honda with young hot-shot Dua. Let's also not forget to mention that I'm the one in the group that is terrified of motorbikes!
The village was cute. It was right next to the river, really, only feet away. Little kids running around barefoot. Small houses with their doors wide open, displaying religious shrines right next to blaring TVs. Every so often a motorbike would beep its horn and pass us on the road, narrowly missing us every time.
After our walk we sat. Still nothing to do, no one to talk to. We read, played Scrabble, and waited for something--anything--to happen. Finally, seven hours after lunch, we were called in to eat dinner. There was a new, slightly older (we're talking 30s only) woman now who also didn't speak much English. We have presumed her to be the head of the household. We were ushered, once again, to a table set with three bowls. So much for the meals with our Vietnamese family! Dinner was "Make Your Own Spring Roll" night--like the Asian version of "Make Your Own Taco" night. The guest of honor was a giant Mekong River fish in the middle. Ugh. The younger hostess kept urging us to try it, so we said our prayers, tried to connect with the food on a cerebral level (Brit's yoga trick) and took our polite amounts. The spring rolls were fabulous and the fish was fish. It ended up being a fun dinner. Who needs more company when you have us three girls anyways?
After dinner we retreated back to our room, now filled with mosquitoes. Eventually we found bright pink mosquito nets and managed to put them up with some hard work and determination. With nothing else to do, we began our nightly ritual of speed Scrabble. While playing, the younger hostess sat next to us to watch. She speaks no English so after trying to politely make conversation we continued to play while she watched. Next, our 12-year-old brother came in and looked eagerly at the letters. He didn't care that we were in the middle of a game (maybe he didn't even realize it was a game!) and he just grabbed the tiles and started spelling English words that he knew. We would praise him after each word and help him with a few misspellings. We showed the English words to the girl and our little bro translated them.
Scrabble with the whole gang (minus Brit who is taking the picture)
Before I go any further I have a confession to make. I call these two "younger brother" and "sister" or "girl" only because we don't remember their names. Yes they told us, probably a handful of times even, but we have forgotten. Many names in Vietnam are short and difficult for us to pronounce and, obviously, remember. They usually are 3 or 4 letters long and are on a tonal level I just don't perceive well. I apologize for not remembering them, but "brother" and "sister" will just have to do!
We got through a handful of words and our sister, who we found out during all of this was 20, ran off to get something to write these new words down with. We tried to teach her basic nouns, adjectives, etc and I thought about words that I was glad I learned in Thai. This went on, with lots of laughter, for a good 30 minutes when the older woman came in, said something in Vietnamese, and escorted us all into the living room to continue playing. We were finally accepted! At one point, Dua and some other guys his age came into the room and started making fun of our sister. He said she's not smart and that he has tried to teach her Englih before and she just doesn't remember anything. I instantly disliked him.
It soon came time for bedtime and we taught her "good night." She, in turn, taught us the phrase in Vietnamese: Ngu Ngon. We tried it. Wrong! They worked for over five minutes trying to get us to pronounce 'ng' correctly. It ended in fits of laughter from both parties and them finally accepting our attempt as good enough.
We went back to our temple of a bedroom and got ready for bed. Our sister's room was located right off of ours so she came through with us. She showed me where the night light was and then noticed my toenails--nicely painted with little flowers on them (you gotta love $4 pedicures with free nail art!) She ran to her room and showed me her collection of nail polish. I was in the middle of oooing and ahhing when she grabbed my hand and started painting on a pale pink. I felt a little awkward, but went with it. When she finished, I thanked her, and she said "no." Homegirl did a full french manicure with a sparkle top coat! We giggled, I thanked her profusely and she kept yelling at me (via charades) to keep blowing on my nails to dry and not touch anything. I'm pretty sure if we spoke the same language we would be best friends. Lights went out and I felt like I had at least made a small connection to part of my homestay family.
The next morning we woke up, packed our belongings, and ate breakfast. Luckily there were not runny eggs or Mekong fish to worry about. Just bread, jam and butter; a great breakfast combo. We gathered our things, made our beds and headed to the boat. That's when we found out we weren't taking the boat back, but motorbikes--this time on small dirt paths. Brittany and Leah got the really big nice new bikes with the older (more experienced) drivers and a place to put their backpacks. Because I was the smallest I had to strap my backpack on, attach my helmet with chewing gum (okay not really, but that's what it felt like) and hop on the rusting small Honda with young hot-shot Dua. Let's also not forget to mention that I'm the one in the group that is terrified of motorbikes!
Dirt road view from the motorbike
The ride was relatively painless, but I can't imagine wanting to do it ever again. We were dropped off at a huge outdoor market. We all followed Dua through more scents and sights that I thought imaginable. We walked to a pier where the water was met with piles and piles of garbage, and waited for another boat to pick us up. After about 20 minutes a tour boat of Westerners came to the dock and it was officially time for our homestay to end.
Going into our homestay I think I was expecting something different. I thought we would have a family to eat with, one to tell us all about living in Vietnam, one who we would stay connected with forever. Once I lowered all of those expectations and looked at it as a day away from all other Westerners, a day spent peacefully right off of the Mekong, then it became worth it--and eventually even fun!
Going into our homestay I think I was expecting something different. I thought we would have a family to eat with, one to tell us all about living in Vietnam, one who we would stay connected with forever. Once I lowered all of those expectations and looked at it as a day away from all other Westerners, a day spent peacefully right off of the Mekong, then it became worth it--and eventually even fun!
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