Vietnam--Winter Break, 2012: My Tale of Two Cities

Two cities dominated my childhood visualization of Vietnam:  Hanoi and Saigon—command centrals for opposing ideologies as well as their assemblages of might.  Officially, only Ha Noi remains today as a place name on a map.  Except as a district designation in the city it once named, Saigon is now Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC), although, perhaps another vestige of that earlier place name is that Tan Son Nhat, HCMC’s international airport, retains the airport code of SGN.

For my personal introduction to the land of Vietnam, Ha Noi became my welcome city.  Happily fascinated with even the entry procedures at the airport—visa on arrival, customs, my name on a placard in the hands of Thuy in the entry hall—Ha Noi had me fully captivated with my first foray into the neighborhood just outside our hotel.  Two weeks later I exited Vietnam from Ho Chi Minh City after spending three nights in that metropolis.  I could very easily gush, “I loved Ha Noi!”  Although the same such gush would never slide from my mouth regarding HCMC, I loved the chance to spend time there, and I totally did like it!

The political center of Vietnam, Ha Noi has a population of a little over 2,000,000 in its provincial districts; add in the rural districts, and the population rises to over 6,000,000.  The economic center of Vietnam, HCMC has a metropolitan population of over 9,000,000.  Still, the only places in Vietnam where I did not awaken in the morning to roosters crowing somewhere nearby would be while on the cruise boat in Ha Long Bay and while staying at the Victoria Resort and Spa near Mui Ne!

Lonely Planet describes Ha Noi as “perhaps Asia’s most graceful, atmospheric, and exotic capital city.”  There really is this beguiling pastiche of French timbre and Asian tempo, the medieval and the modern.  We arrived at our hotel in the Old Quarter not far from Hoan Kiem Lake just before midnight, so our transfer from the airport occurred in the dark and during a timeframe without traffic congestion.  Our guide Thuy, who knew we would be venturing out on our own in the morning because we had only scheduled a half-day tour with him for the afternoon, took the time to specifically instruct us on the art of crossing streets in Ha Noi as a pedestrian:  “Walk slowly.  Don’t change your speed and don’t stop!”  So, yeah!  You just keep walking at a slow pace.  All wheeled traffic—from bicycle to bus—will maneuver based on your established pace and trajectory.  Granted, we spent most of our time in the Old Quarter of Ha Noi, but I never saw a stop light in Ha Noi at all, not even when we drove out of it to Ha Long Bay or back to the airport for our flight to Da Nang.  Traffic flow unfolds as a work of art, momentum and design informed by all participants and in constant awareness of each other—a nerve-trembling but memorable dance!

Two thousand kilometers south of Ha Noi—by road, anyway—Ho Chi Minh City is situated on the Saigon River and just north of the Mekong Delta.  Asian urban convened around stretches of wide, elegant boulevards and tree-lined avenues, it is somehow reminiscent of Paris but recast for another continent, climate, and culture.  It thrums with energy and possibility, traffic and commerce.  Until we arrived in HCMC, I rarely spotted uniformed personnel of any ilk except for some police/highway patrol types on two different stretches of highway between cities.  HCMC had a lot more visible uniforms and a lot more signage of the propagandizing sort.  We walked through several different displays of enlarged photos and text celebrating specific historical events or else touting current government and military endeavors in behalf of the citizens. Except for maybe a total of two or three KFCs, I saw no American fast-food franchises anywhere in Vietnam.  In HCMC I spotted a sign advertising a Burger King, and I read that Starbucks would open its first shop in Vietnam in HCMC in about a month . . . which means it could now be open, even as I type . . . which makes me feel like YIKES! and a little sad.  Vietnam has its own array of coffee house chains, as well as a fine reputation for the quality of its coffee, and American fast food cannot compete with Vietnamese cuisine, be it fast or slow!

Like memorable cities anywhere on the planet, Ha Noi and Ho Chi Minh City each have a distinctive medley of traits, tone, and style.  Even so, each is also uniquely Vietnamese and an integral component of Vietnam itself.

Here is Ha Noi, the Old Quarter, Saturday, December 22, 2012:

View from our hotel room window.

 Cindy and I go for a cyclo ride.

Next is Ho Chi Minh City.  We arrived on Sunday, December 30, 2012, and stayed two nights, so we were there for New Year's Eve.  Then we left HCMC for a few nights to go to Mui Ne but returned again on Thursday, January 3, 2013, before leaving for Seoul very late Friday night.

View from the hotel room window in HCMC.

 Famous coffee place in HCMC where Cindy sampled the coffee and I . . .

had an iced chocolate--the best one I've ever had since the one in Tokyo!

This building was across the street from our hotel.  The platform is a helipad.

 This is Notre Dame in HCMC!

A 2012 Apocalyptic Moment

I attended—and bumbled my way through—a cooking class.  Oh yes, I did!  Let the record state that this one—the one who indubitably eschews any practice of the culinary arts whatsoever—participated in a Vietnamese cooking class in Hoi An, Vietnam, on Boxing Day, 2012.  And, I had a grand time overall. 

Okay, I was nervous pretty much the entire expanse of time I was expected to actually cook.  Compared to my tablemates—Cindy and two other women—I was always awkward and generally ignorant, obviously inexperienced and gracelessly inept with basic maneuvers and strategies.  I covertly scrutinized all actions of the lady next to me and openly aped Cindy, who was situated across the table from me.  (Graciously, they both aided and abetted me in my endeavors throughout.)  Did I mention I was nervous?!  Still, I really did have a grand time.

How could I not?  First of all, Vietnamese cuisine now ranks number one on my Asian listing, Thai and Chinese falling in closely behind.  And we got to eat everything we made.  Which, in my case, would certainly not always be deemed a perk.  But which, in this case, advanced most agreeably:  I devoured EVERYTHING I created, and EVERYTHING tasted nigh unto ambrosial.  (Granted, my photo documentary below omits one course—the Hoi An crispy pancake—because I could not convince myself to photograph the visual disaster:  pancake rent in twain and in a rather unsuitable state for rolling in rice paper . . . although I dutifully attempted to do so.  Ugly and unwieldy though it was, it tasted surprisingly marvelous!)  And our teacher Lu was an engaging mingling of knowledge, expertise, fun and funny.  And we each received this cool Vietnamese peeler to keep.   And, most of all, I learned stuff! 

Class commenced about 8:00 in the morning with a bike ride to an herb farm outside of Hoi An.  Herbs are critical components in Vietnamese cuisine.  Procuring some of them in other lands could be rather daunting, I suspect.  I grew particularly fond of anise basil and various kinds of mint.  The bike ride to the herb farm, though, fell fully within my skill repertoire; the rest of our class session was definitely more of a stretch.  Other than having my skillet catch fire while cooking my crispy pancake—yeah, that pancake really was a challenge—I muddled my way through an anxiously pleasurable learning experience and ate my way through one excellent Vietnamese meal . . . if I do say so myself!  And, in the end, not a second of it was less than memorable.  Maybe an apocalypse must always be so!

This is Lu, our cooking teacher.

Here I behold the first fruits of my labors.  (I cropped off my head because my hair was way crazy from the bike ride in a tropical climate and my expression already evoked "fully frazzled"!)

 Course 1:  cabbage soup with cabbage parcels  (The cabbage parcels were stuffed with shrimp mousse!)

 Course 2:  fresh spring roll with dipping sauce  (These are one of my favorite foods!)

Course 3:  Hoi An crispy pancake  (Sorry, no photo.  See above for the pitiful excuse!)

Course 4:  green mango salad with marinated barbeque chicken on skewers

For the website of the cooking school I attended in Hoi An and information on the cookbook available for purchase (yes, I did buy one), go here.

These next photos are from our bike ride to the herb farm.

Vietnam--Winter Break, 2012: A Preface

The Vietnam War pretty much encompassed my childhood.  Hanoi, Saigon, Hue, Danang, Gulf of Tonkin, Mekong, Ho Chi Minh Trail—these are words I knew about even in elementary school, and I learned they were places in a land called Vietnam, where there was a war, and in that war there were soldiers from my own country fighting in it also.  On television I viewed footage filmed in this far-away place, and in magazines I saw photos—most all of it war related but set in an exotic landscape framed by mesmerizing tropical beauty. 

My family lived in New Jersey when I was in junior high, and I remember some of the girls my age attended an anti-war rally one weekend.  I overheard their discussion Monday morning before the tardy bell rang in first period English, and one of them wrote a poem about it.  It was in her notebook and I listened to her read it aloud to them.  Boys my age were never drafted, but I recall how controversial the issue of the draft became.  In my twenties I saw the film version of Hair—with my brother Phil, by the way—in a theater with a bent for showing artsy movies.  Later on I watched Apocalypse Now, Platoon, and The Killing Fields.  I also met my friend Tien.

During the summer of 2002, after completing my master’s degree in Thailand (at an overseas campus for Michigan State University), I had the chance to travel in both Cambodia and Laos.  We had no time left to fit in Vietnam that summer, but I realized then that Vietnam now occupied a premier position on my very fluid list of places I needed to see. 

Finally, this past December, I entered the nation of Vietnam:  Noi Bai International Airport in Hanoi—the city of “the enemy” back in that war of my childhood.  And—technically speaking—there is no city named Saigon anymore; it is Ho Chi Minh City, named after a now revered leader, one lovingly referred to as “Uncle Ho.”  And, by the way, in Vietnam, there never was a Vietnam War; there was an American War.  Still, a rather fascinating twist in this ongoing evolution of all our lives post-war is that today, in the country of Vietnam, American dollars can often be used as payment in lieu of Vietnamese currency.  What would Uncle Ho think?!!

The two weeks I spent in Vietnam added both color and a narrative for the light and shadow images of childhood memories.  It introduced me to a land of magical beauty and such amazing people.  I would return in a heartbeat.

A Thanksgiving Week Back in the USA

For the second time in twenty-five years of living overseas, I went home for Thanksgiving.  The first time I did so was over a decade ago, but I have always remembered the experience with tangible fondness.  And this second time was no let-down either.  In fact, I believe I prefer being “home for the holidays” at Thanksgiving rather than at Christmas.  That may be a blasphemy to an earlier self—way earlier, as in my 20-something self, who was totally a “Christmas spirit”—but Christmas in the USA becomes so frenetic and choreographed when I do the fly-in for two weeks thing.  (Another perk of a Thanksgiving foray to the USA—airfare is markedly less expensive at Thanksgiving than it is at Christmas.) So, between personal days, a medical day, and a Thanksgiving holiday, I could finagle about eight days away from my life in Seoul.

The plane out of Seoul lifted off about 6:40 Saturday evening, and I arrived at Salt Lake International about 7:00 on the same Saturday evening—and that’s with a four-hour layover in San Francisco!  (Gotta love the time/space mathematics involved with crossing the International Date Line!)  I picked up my rental car and drove to my dad’s place in Stansbury Park, announced my arrival, and promptly headed to the Walmart in Tooele.  With such a limited stateside timeframe, I figured why not complete my Walmart moment of the trip that Saturday night and be done with it!  When one lives the greater part of one’s life outside of the USA, one develops an appreciation for certain Walmart qualities and offerings.  However, that appreciation does not negate my amazed consternation amassed through multiple sightings of Walmart shoppers clad in pajamas—and I’m not talking about children here either!

With a diminishing shopping gene in my current DNA coil, I usually can only sustain brief, focused shopping sorties these days.  Target and REI rated positions on my week’s itinerary, and I did a speedy reconnaissance of Fashion Place Mall.  Of course I supplemented most errands and wanderings necessitating a car with a stop for sustenance at Café Rio.  Mexican cuisine remains a consummate craving while I live abroad, and Café Rio assuages it so well.  I could never quite fit in Chipotle Grill or Rubio’s but there’s always summer!  Three movies, too, were viewed, nestled within the framework of my comings and goings:

(1)  Life of Pi – I loved the book when I read it six or seven years ago.  The movie truly captures the essence of the book, so I quite liked the movie, too.  It is a visual feast, as well, because much of the cinematography is so beautiful..  I can’t decide, though, how successfully the movie will connect with those who have not read the book.

(2)  Breaking Dawn, part 2 – I read the entire Twilight series and saw all the previous movies.  I felt I was entitled to movie closure!

(3)  Lincoln – Absolutely amazing!  Powerful performances and a riveting story arc.  There are many parallels that could be drawn between the political period represented in the movie and the one in which we are currently entrenched.

At my medical appointment, the doctor diagnosed the pain in my left foot as plantar fasciitis.  We discussed shoes, stretches, and exercises to mitigate the pain, and he gave me a prescription for a mega pain-killer since over-the-counter options had failed to noticeably alleviate my pain.  (I am happy to report that since instituting my now nightly mini-routine of stretches and exercises, I have had no more episodes of pain in my left foot, and I have a mostly full bottle of prescription pain-meds forthwith unneeded.)  I also requested a tetanus shot—one I consciously keep current because many of my travel destinations warrant such diligence—and the doctor suggested I get the tetanus-diphtheria-pertussis booster . . . for my travels and my profession!  (He informed me that last winter he treated three different adults for whooping cough!)  I got the shot he recommended.

Despite the diagnosis of plantar fasciitis, three different mornings of my Thanksgiving week I went running.  Quite exhilarating runs, too, if I do say so myself.  In truth, running has never triggered any of my bouts of foot pain.  Days in succession where I’ve done lots of walking and standing seem to be the actual triggers.  Go figure.

Family, friends, and holiday festivities filled the rest of week gloriously.  My niece Jalayne visted Sunday evening, and after a Sunday dinner, she provided the necessary reteaching for the four of us—Dad, Clarine, Jalayne, and I—to compete in several rounds of the Domino game “Train.”  (Jalayne also reminded me that I originally taught this game to the family…back in the day!)  Carolee and I celebrated her birthday a couple weeks early with a leisurely lunch at Chili’s.  I accompanied my dad and Clarine to “Pie Night” at the church.  Dad and Clarine ate chicken pot pie and dessert pie; I reveled in the season and dined on only dessert pie!  My brother Phil had promised his daughter Sheridan one of his cheesecakes for her November birthday, and they waited until my week in-country so that I could also partake of this masterpiece of gastronomy.  Although I’m not a big fan of most cheesecake—too rich and too sweet—I think my brother’s cheesecake is cheesecake perfection.  On Wednesday the cake was pronounced ready.  When I arrived at their home that afternoon, Sheridan cut me an embarrassingly large slice, and I consumed it all, leaving nary a crumb. 

On Thanksgiving Day I commenced the holiday by arriving at my brother Phil’s house just before noon to feed (and, yes, that is the operative verb, I’m afraid) on a magnificent spread of hors d’oeuvres plus, I confess, another slice of cheesecake.  Sheridan and Zack, my niece and nephew, taught me how to play Canasta, and on my initial round Phil also offered significant support.  Afterwards Max joined us for the game Minotaurus—kind of like Chinese Checkers in  Lego format with the addition of a Minotaur option that can be loosed to devour an opponent’s playing piece, which will subsequently be sent back to the beginning.  Later in the day I meandered over to the Cahoon’s for the full traditional Thanksgiving feast.  Bounteous good food and exceptional company.

I took my leave of the USA beginning early on a Saturday morning.  When journeying westward, the International Date Line crossing does not work in optimal mode for a traveler: I arrived in Seoul late Sunday afternoon.  The next morning at school my students expressed joy and relief that I had returned.  Nothing like absence to clarify for students the impact of a teacher!

A Letter for October

Seoul, Korea

October 21, 2012

Dear Kith and Kin,

The month wanes and I continue to lack any topical focus on which to launch a blog post.  Hence, I shall resort to the letter format and actually post it instead of emailing it to selected  individuals . . . as I did with my last letter-formatted post back in February—the one in which I confessed  my surrender to a $50 Botox injection from a doctor here in Seoul!  (After all the subsequent confessions, hilarious anecdotes, and interested queries of friends and family members, I have concluded there is no shame!)

Since my return to Seoul in August, a lot has not unfolded as anticipated—or even hoped for.  Still, all is really quite good, and maybe that is one of the truths about living a life. 

As I mentioned in my previous post, this school year I teach eighth grade English Language Arts all day every day, and, while in the classroom with my students, I regularly have these “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” moments.  I smile, for I am content and often just down-right excited!

Averaging three runs per week, I advance my distance in seriously small but ever steady increments and tell myself, “See, you just ran farther than you’ve ever run before in Seoul!”  A week ago Saturday, though, I missed the post-sponsored 5K because of a “cold” (that’s how my mom always explained these symptoms to me) in my back shoulder muscle that somewhat crippled my upper body movement for about six days.  The garrison events calendar for November lists another 5K, so perhaps I will run that one instead.

This fall I’ve also accepted that my allegiance has shifted regarding the preferred delivery system of one of my premier beverages of choice—Diet Coke:  I no longer belong with the fountain drink contingent and have joined my nephew Justin in believing that the optimal way to imbibe soft drinks would be via a bottle!  In fact, I’ve become enormously picky about my soft drink of choice and frequently choose water over a Diet Coke that cannot be “delivered” in a preferred manner.  The bottle format reigns supreme now although I do indulge occasionally in the fountain styles despite their often lackluster calibrations of flavor to fizz.  Generally the canned versions enter my gullet only when I travel and arrive at that juncture of “great need” that cannot otherwise be assuaged.  But truly, despite this delivery system discussion at hand, COLD—and the icier the COLD, the better—remains the prevailing requirement for any Diet Coke.

Recently I have read a few books which have left an impression:  (1) Graham Joyce’s Some Kind of Fairy Tale, (2) Adam Johnson’s The Orphan Master’s Son,  (3) Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, and (3) Tony Wagner’s The Global Achievement Gap.  By impression, I mean I find myself replaying in my mind lines or ideas or some combination of both that lie within these works.  Two books I would recommend to my readers at large:  The Global Achievement Gap, which speaks to much of my own concern and frustration with the current state of public education, and The Orphan Master’s Son—a novel set in North Korea—which just bent my mind and may haunt me for weeks to come.

And when I’m not teaching school or running or reading books, I’ve been watching entire seasons of TV shows, courtesy of Netflix:  season three of Glee—a show with which I’ve developed quite a conflicted relationship here in season three—and the final season of House.  I have a few more episodes to view before the House finale, and I’m beginning to be afraid I might cry.  Will I cry?  Okay, don’t tell me; I really don’t want any spoilers.

On Sundays I conduct a regular perusal of two Seoul neighborhoods—my own and the one where my church is located.  In between the jaunt through each neighborhood is a subway ride.  I peruse on the subway, too, of course, because how can one not be fascinated by people on a subway?!  Apparently, many are not so fascinated, though, because most are totally engrossed with their phones (music, video, games, or social networking)—even when the true love is seated right beside—or else they nod off.  (On multiple occasions I have had someone lean onto my shoulder before jerking awake!)  Still, I do catch people staring at me at some point in every subway journey, but fair’s fair because I’m definitely looking, too, . . . in a polite way, I hope!  Now, I do own a smart phone with its own array of apps and an ever increasing library of music, but I don’t care to be lost inside its realms while walking or riding the subway.  In fact, I’ve even forsaken the playlists while running.  I don’t want to miss the sounds of the world around me—birds, voices, engines, footsteps, breaths, even my heartbeat.  My favorite smart phone app while traipsing the neighborhoods is the camera, and I will conclude this letter with a few shots rendered via my iPhone camera!

Until November,

E

Here is the neighborhood near the church.

.

 This is my neighborhood after leaving Seoul Station and heading toward home.

What I've Been Doing Lately

(1)  Abiding in a perpetual preparatory state for rain.  Tuesday marked the third typhoon to find Seoul since school started the last week of August:  The prevailing weather patterns seem to spin them upwards from Okinawa along the coast of western Japan and then up through the Yellow Sea to Korea.  First Typhoon Bolaven showed up on the second day of school—Tuesday, August 28.  In anticipation, those so empowered actually chose to close all the schools on military bases in South Korea.   In Seoul Bolaven rather fitfully howled and gusted but never really dumped rain in amounts to even cause gutters to flow high.  Two days later, though, Typhoon Tembin arrived with negligible wind but rain galore.  (School remained in session.)   Then Typhoon Sanba, in a drenching sort of rage, rolled in this week.  (Only the schools on Seoul military bases were open.) 

And in between typhoons?  Well, mostly it rains.  Summer is Korea’s “monsoon” season, but these past four weeks mark the rainiest start of school I’ve ever experienced.   Although summer 2012 began with a mini-drought lasting through the month of June, it apparently shifted into overachiever mode in July and then retained said modus operandi.  Seoul has had over a meter of rain fall since July, and that was before Typhoon Sanba . . . which, I’m sure added 4-6 inches to the total.

I personally have quite an affinity for rain.  It calms me; it restores me.  I love the sound and the smell and the wet . . . not to mention the green and lush beauty it brings to the planet.  Still, there was a moment there in the midst of Sanba when dire need mandated that I leave the building housing my classroom to head to the nearest building housing a restroom, and the only word I could think as I scampered through what had become a never-ending puddle at a depth to cover my ankles, all the while struggling to maintain my grip on an umbrella—generally useless, by the way, because the wind drove the rain to an angle surely approaching horizontal—was REALLY?!!!!

 

 

(2)  New in sustenance.  Although I have little desire to ever actually prepare food myself, I am interested in nutrition and, strangely, I do enjoy reading recipes.  In fact, I talk food and food preparation with my brother Phil every summer.  Before I returned to Seoul, we somehow broached the topic of Sriracha hot chili sauce, a condiment I actually have in my fridge—thanks to my friend Beth’s suggestion.  Phil mentioned that I could make a good and easy dip for vegetables or chips by adding it to plain yogurt or sour cream.  I opted to try it with plain yogurt since I am not a fan of cream in any form—sweet or sour.  (Okay, okay, I confess, I do like a baked potato with sour cream.)  And-man-oh-man, is the dip GOOD!  And easy, too.  But mostly GOOD!  I like the dip with vegetables a lot, and, to my chagrin, I really like it with Ruffles Have Ridges . . . only the ones with reduced fat, though . . . which means 25% less fat than regular Ruffles . . . which, in the long run, I know in my heart of hearts is not nearly enough . . . especially when I have already purchased two separate bags of Ruffles Have Ridges in a month . . . dispensing with my long practice of not buying chips for my home unless I am entertaining.  Alas and alack!

 

 

(3)  Still running.  On week days—two to three of them, anyway— I run in the mornings during Yongsan Garrison’s dedicated PT time:  6:00-7:00.  On Saturday mornings I usually head out a wee bit later.  Last Saturday, though, along with a small group of fellow middle school teachers—some with family members in tow as well— I ran an official 5K event, one sponsored on post.  Yongsan Garrison is hilly but this course wended its way through the areas with gentler “clines”—up and down.   With probably less than 100 participating, the atmosphere was definitely convivial and supportive.  Several of the first ones finished with the race returned to positions on the final stretch to cheer on those coming in behind them.  The overall winner finished in just over sixteen minutes.  I took almost twice as long, just under 33 minutes, but I know I placed first in my gender/age category . . . because I was the only one in my gender/age category who actually ran!  (There were a few walkers in my gender/age category.)   The garrison has another 5K scheduled for the second Saturday in October, and I’m planning to run—and to actually run ALL of it, as in no walking moments whatsoever.

 

 

(4)  School.  When I signed out of school last June, my pending teaching assignment for school year 2012-2013 read 7th and 8th grade English Language Arts.  To help relieve issues elsewhere in the general schedule, my assignment changed on the Thursday before students returned to school:  only 8th grade English Language Arts.  I was happy with my original assignment, and I am still happy.  Eighth grade is my favorite of all the grade levels I have ever taught.

Due to school bus funding issues, school start times were staggered on Yongsan Garrison this year:  Fewer buses/drivers employed overall, but they run the routes twice in succession for the starts and the finishes.  Actually heeding the conclusions drawn from research*, the district decided that the elementary school would start first at 7:55 a.m.   The middle and high school begin at 8:40. 

Later mornings definitely aid the morning-run schedule for me, but I have noticed that it often seems late when I finally return home, especially if I have errands to run after school.

 

*Research shows that teenage sleep patterns make a later –in-the morning school start time a better option for teenagers.  Their performance at school improves.

 

The Summer Vacation Recap

I lapsed and, for a summer at least, scuttled all goals and commitments with regard to posting on my blog.  In this first attempt to redress my breached blogger status, I shall synopsize—how’s that for a verb form generated from a noun—my summer, a summer very much structured by my job description for ten months of the year:  teacher who works overseas!

Bangkok, Thailand, and round about:  It began the weekend after the teachers’ last contracted day of the school year.  I traveled to Bangkok with my friend Lori and spent a week there, largely in the city itself.  Although in two previous summer trips to Thailand, each about six weeks long, I connected travels through Bangkok on multiple occasions, I never spent more than two days in a row in the city itself.  This time I repeated the experiences of three of my favorite Bangkok memories—Wat Pho and The Reclining Buddha, the floating market at Damnoen Saduak, and daily consumption of pomelo—but I added quite a range of new Bangkok adventures and enterprises…perhaps enterprises being the operative word because Lori is a shopper!    I visited a whole lot of markets, and there are actually several I would revisit with any future travel buddy because they fully cater to entertaining and memorable travel moments whether one is a serious shopper or not.  (As one who has a diminished shopping gene, I can attest to this fact.)

 

Medical Appointments in the USA:  Unless something arises during the school year that requires medical attention or intervention, I have my medical check-ups, tune-ups, and screenings taken care of in the USA.  Certain summers—like this one—they wield a heavy hand in shaping my overall summer schedule.  All of this summer’s appointments evolved in generally conjectured ways except that I had one more crown inserted in my mouth—for a grand total of TWO—than originally anticipated.  (I broke a tooth on a miniscule fragment of walnut shell lurking amongst actual walnuts.) 

 

10K:  I ran a 10Kfor the first time in over ten years—okay, I did walk a bit of it.  My brother Dan and his son Justin ran several 10K races this summer and invited me to join them in the 10K held in conjunction with other events during Salt Lake City’s Pioneer Day celebration on July 24.   Although I had undertrained for the race, I did finish.   Not with Dan and Justin, of course!  I told them—we can start together and then maybe you can wait for me at the finish line.  And that’s what they did.  All three of us finished the event with times in the mid-section of our gender/age group, Dan at the highest position in that middle range.  My sister Diane played photographer at the starting line and at the finish line.

EPILOGUE:  Even before the race, I had extended my morning runs to farther than I had ever run during previous summer stays at my father's place since he moved there over ten years ago.  When I returned to Seoul in August, I ran farther on my first run than I have ever before run in Seoul.   Now I’m wondering if I have another 10K left in me.

 

DG Hatch Family Reunion:  At the end of July, I drove to Spokane, Washington, with my dad, his wife Clarine, and my sister Diane to a reunion of all the descendants of my dad’s father, Daniel George Hatch.  Organized by my cousin Dana and sister Diane, the reunion was a grand affair, and I saw cousins I had not seen in over twenty years and met some of their posterity!  Our route to Washington included a piece of western Montana, and I fell fast in love once more with the lay of the land in that part of the country.  (In fact, one night after returning to Seoul, I plundered my box of DVDs in search of A River Runs Through It, found it, and settled into an evening of western Montana landscape schlepping characters and a story.  The next morning I located the book on my personal shelves and reread it.)  We spent one night in Deer Lodge, Montana, the location of an old prison now established as a historial site.  I found its aura intriguing.

 

 

Water Park with the “Grands”:  The week before I returned to Seoul, my nieces Kimberly and Ashley (Justin’s wife) invited Diane and me to a waterpark afternoon with their families.  (The men, Justin and Chris--both definitely responsible sorts--showed up after work in time for a pizza supper.)  Since I’m not a grandma, being a grandaunt must be the next best kind of magical designation.

Love these kids !

(Thanks to Kimberly and Ashley for the photos.)