First day camping

This was our first night of tent camping, in honeyman state park in Southern Oregon. Our children are a little worried about the old people tent camping. There was even talk of them pooling their resources to buy us an RV. We didn't think we wanted an RV, so here we are. We did splurge on a bigger tent. This one is 8 x 10. Our inflatable mattress does not touch the sides. That is nice. Luxury!

Yesterday we found a marina bar for lunch. That will become more difficult in Nevada and Utah. so far, we haven't griped at each other much. 

Keeping a cooler cold for 3 weeks seems like a lot of trouble, so we are planning to do without. 

Two nights ago, we were spending the evening with our friends JEFF and Julie Brown. We were talking about the homeless problem that seems to be just about everywhere. We talked about the reasons and possible solutions. 

We used to have a house. We used to have a boat that we could live on. Now we have neither. This does not bother us, although we are a little surprised by that. We are blessed to have family who want us to stay with them.

This morning, we awoke to birds making noise. After we got out of tent and put coffee water on, we said a morning offering and read the readings for the day. Our Old Testament reading is about Job. He is the guy who lost everything and still praised God. That was yesterday. Today Job was lamenting that he had ever been born.

So far, we are still happy to have been born. Stay tuned. 

How long can you go without...

Pooping? Have you ever thought seriously about this? I sure have. Must have been the whole can of Diamond almonds I ate on the plane ride between Seattle and Taipei. As time passes but nothing else of substance does, I am at first calm, then concerned, then worried. 

Here I am in a foreign land, with the kind of health problem no one wants to talk about. Darn, I feel full. Finally I break down and ask my Vietnamese mentor for help. We find a pharmacy in Hanoi, and he procures for me the solution to my problems...a regimen of dual pills, twice each day, two days. Which does exactly...nothing. 

Now worry becomes an obsession. Every social occasion is eating, and I am not that interested. But...I want to be polite. I hit the internet, looking for holistic cures for my issues. The sites assure me this will pass naturally, but you can make a baby poop by putting an ivory-soap-carved pill-sized suppository in the right place. Now I am eyeing my soap, but the sites say laundry soap, no perfume. Damn. 

Olive oil is supposed to help. Now I have taken to eating only fruits and vegetables to keep the mass in check. I wonder what the servers at the Sandy Beach hotel in Danang think when they find the dish of Italian dressing with the oil carefully dipped out to spread on tomatoes and cukes, watermelon and mango. 

Well, if oil is good, surely a bite-sized croissant with three pats of butter ought to "grease the skids". Eating oily foods does exactly...nothing. Except fill me up with oil. I don't have a dipstick but I suspect I am past the "full" mark.  

In my hotel room in HCMC there is a spray nozzle next to the commode. A bidet, after a fashion. I remember once falling on my butt water skiiing, and feeling the cool shaft of water in my loins. 20 minutes later I was squatting just out of sight of my friends, laying a puddle of...well, you know. 

I start eyeing the sprayer. What the hell. Surprise, it helps a little. Very little. I surely must be a comical sight trying to disperse the water in my gut using gravity for assistance, but I am now on the edge where worry becomes real fear. I am drinking water like a whale. 

My itinerary takes me from HCMC to Hanoi to Danang. I get my driver to take me to the supermarket in Danang where I buy a small bottle of olive oil. And drink it like a boozer alone with a bottle of Johnny Walker. Surely...but alas, no. 

I share my predicament with an English speaking gal from Chicago who works at the school in HCMC. She laughs and later heads to the pharmacy to get me something. I would go myself, but there is one little problem. Everything here pretty much is labeled in Vietnamese. Troung Rat Hung Nay Bay. Does that mean "scours your innards like a scrub brush" or "do not induce vomiting and seek immediate medical treatment"? I am really not sure. 

What I want is something that says "makes you go like you have the flu". But, that is a bit tough. My Chicago friend sends the medication by courier to my hotel. I am eagerly awaiting it.  I expect pills, but I get little tubes with 3-inch slender nozzles. My laughing Chicago friend explains over the phone that the pharmacist assured her this was the most effective laxative in the inventory. 

Having appropriately dosed myself, I find only slight relief, but north of nothing. For one meal, I have an appetite. It is glorious, and then, the glory passes because nothing else does. My dinner companions have become mystified. I don't seem to be eating the meat, fish or noodles, just the vegetables. They conclude that I must be vegetarian. Last night I flew from Danang to HCMC, after first visiting a vegetarian restaurant where what I ate was carefully noted. More than usual. Aha! Nick is a vegetarian and too polite to say anything! 

There goes my braised beef skewers and piles of shrimp. I don't want them, but I hope too someday if I don't blow up like a balloon and pop first. Just so you know, watermelon ain't half bad with olive oil and a little balsamic. 

A mountain near Danang

Mountaintop experience

"Hey, where you from? USA? Awesome! Where are you going? I will give you a ride." She pointed to the seat behind her on the scooter, but today I wanted to walk. So much time I have been sitting. "How about on the way back?" "OK, I will see you". Her name was Linh. 

I was walking to Marble Mountain. It is a rocky outcropping near Danang. There are several Buddhist temples on the mountain. You can climb the steps, or for twice as much, take the elevator. The steps were stony and uneven, and I needed the climb. 

Near the top there is a temple. "Hey, sir, you buy, one dollar US, twenty Vietnamese" She was selling incense. First I started to give her the 20,000VND. But then, a buck is 12,000. The greenback was a better deal for me, and she laughed as I changed my mind and gave her a GW. 

It seems odd to be in a Buddhist temple saying "Thank you Jesus", but that is what I was doing. Twenty incense sticks, lit by a temple attendant with a butane lighter, easily 20 reasons to be thankful. 

Buddha and  Jesus are both popular here, if you look at the statuary. Buddha is usually depicted as smiling and rather rotund. A wise fellow with a sedentary lifestyle. 

Jesus was into climbing mountains, walking on the seashore, getting into a boat and fishing with his friends, and ascending. He liked bread and wine and fish and conversation about real things. He was loving with his friends, even when they did not reciprocate. He was gentle with the downtrodden and showed some tough love with the self-important people of his time. He kept explaining that it wasn't all about power, position, money, possessions, or pleasure. He said it was about love and service. 

I like him, and the better I get to know and understand him, the more I want to be like him. So here I am, lighting incense. Thanking Jesus for life and love. Paying my respects to Buddha. 

On the long hot walk home, I looked for Linh, but she obviously found a customer who was more interesting than me. Can't say I blame her. 

I nearly died today

I nearly died today. 

As someone who has run out of fingers and toes counting up friends and acquaintances who have perished in general aviation crashes, I am mindful each time I fly a small airplane that what I am doing is not safe. I know people who refuse to fly in small airplanes for that reason. While I can't really blame them, I don't wish to join them. 

It seems like a stretch to call myself an adrenaline junkie. It is not that I thrive on extreme risk or high-voltage excitement. However, there is something about risk that makes one feel more aware, more alive. And something in defeating that risk that is highly satisfying. So I fly.

Today (Friday) I decided to walk to work in Ho Chi Minh City. Not a big deal, a few klicks from the hotel, about 40 minutes walking. With street crossings. There was a gal who went to dinner with us recently who spends a lot of time in Vietnam. She refuses to walk, bicycle, or ride a scooter in HCMC. I get it, but I don't want to live it.

There comes a moment when you step out in faith. Walking across a street means that you will be a potential target for zooming scooters. You know that they have no intention of hitting you, and will strive to miss you. Even so, it is best not to look. They whisper past in a flash, slow motion bullets from an assassin's gun, barely missing, gone in a breeze. Crossing a major street, maybe 40 will pass you, some within inches. 

If I looked I might want to stop or try to dodge them, so I don't. I just walk, confidently and predictably. And then, I am across. Walking down a sidewalk that is always part street. Acutely aware. And I realize I am enjoying this. 

One of my realities is that I must someday die. It could be today. It could be now. In fact, it could have been now many times in the past. God spared me for reasons unknown. My mission on earth is not yet accomplished, it seems. 

I am Ok with that. I once had a guy call me to ask about pilot training for a certain billionaire in Seattle. One of the things he said was "my client has a lot to lose". I thought about that. What does anyone have to lose by dying? I know what I have to lose. My wife. My children, my daughters in law, my grandchildren, my family, my dear friends. Nothing else, really. And since i believe in the communion of saints, I get them all back anyway, at least I hope so.

The thought of death so very near is not exactly pleasant, but not entirely distasteful. The thought of not having lived by avoiding all risks is actually much worse for me. Now that no one really depends on me except Marsha for financial support, more risk in my life seems worthwhile. Not that I don't love Marsha, but she understands completely. The Sunday before I left for Vietnam, we flew in a Cessna to Friday Harbor for lunch. She is a person who lives with risk, and she gets it. So I think about her, tell her I love her in my heart, and step out into the street.   

How do you say that?

How do you say that?

So I figured it would be good to say a few things in Vietnamese. This is cause for great merriment at the school, when I attempt to say things like "thank you", "excuse me", "hello", and such niceties. People look at me like I have just walked off a space ship, and then I smile and they laugh and sometimes they are kind enough to correct my pronunciation. 

Vietnamese is a) a tonal language and b) one with no ties to any Western language even if it was scripted by French monks. The exception is the alphabet, which looks encouragingly like my own, creating the impression that perhaps one could simply look at the letters and, using phonics, sound out words. 

It ain't like that. Each vowel has six tones, which are indicated by little symbols that adorn the letters to tell you how the word is pronounced and therefore what it means. 

A simple two-letter word "ma" can mean "ghost", "cheek", "but", "tomb", "horse", or "rice seedling", depending on the tone used. This is tough territory for a tone-deaf, hard of hearing old man. 

One person explained that vowel pronunciation is defined by tongue-in-front and tongue-in-back combined with lips flat or rounded. Then there is glottalization. So a word like khong (zero), for example, is glottalized "hum". The "O" is tongue back and you need that little rush of air the Germans are so fond of. 

I made up little flash cards with the numbers from one to ten. I grab someone now and then and have them quiz me. Sometimes I even get most of them right. Now I understand why Vietnamese spend years learning English. 

There's tons of aps and you-tube videos, so there is no lack of information available. Sometimes (like this morning) someone realizes that I really am making an effort, and they will try to help by teaching me a handful of words. I try to explain that it won't work. I can't soak them up that fast. 

Fortunately, I get sympathy points for trying. At first they were all worried that I would be mad when they did not understand, but now they know we are likely to burst out laughing together and they are more relaxed. I am becoming entertainment. Suits me. 

A restaurant, horns, and a bank

The shark was thrashing around, breaching the surface and splashing water everywhere. The diners in the restaurant did not seem to notice this display of pique. Other creatures in the tank moved around to make way for the shark, who finally rolled over and was playing dead, or so it seemed. All around the shark tank were tanks of sea creatures - moray eels, snails, conchs, lobsters, crabs, skates, rays, and many varieties of fish. They were there to serve as dinner for the hungry customers. 

Last time I was here (in Vietnam) I ate slugs. I can tell you that I am not a fan. This time I tried a snail. Everyone else was piling in with gusto, using little forks to drag the snails out of the shells and munch. So what the heck. It was about what I expected, chewy and slimy at the same time. There. I ate mine. My attitude is that if the others at the table enjoy them, I should give them maximum opportunity. 

Thanks to having moved to Seattle 16 years ago, I no longer am squeamish at the idea of busting into a crab shell and cleaning it out. The first time I did it, it took a lot of beer to get started. Now it is easy. Clams, mussels, etc are no issue for me. Just the snails. 

The way people use horns here would be considered rude in the U.S. I awaken to horns every morning. Scooters and cars, blowing every few seconds. Watching my drivers use the horn, I have come to realize that it can be a courtesy. "I am in your blind spot". "I am taking the right of way". "Passing on your left". Those are what I have come to think of as courtesy horns. When trapped behind a vehicle, the drivers tend to flash their lights, which means essentially "outta my way, Peck". That signal is ignored more often than not. 

I had an interesting experience trying to open a bank account here. In response to my inquiry about a savings account, the bank said:

"I am so apologise to inform ANZ is not offering service to US person because of reporting requirements and withholding obligations imposed on banks by US regulation and the IRS, which is not in line with bank’s policy on protection of customer privacy information. Hence, we are not in a position to bank with US persons. Funny, I used to think communist governments were oppressive. Apparently the IRS has imposed reporting requirements that have banks simply deciding not to have U.S. citizens as customers.  

When I was here seven years ago, there were beggars. This time I planned ahead and brought money to share with them. However, one obvious new thing was an absence of beggars. In seeking an explanation I found that people are no longer allowed to beg. The economy is good, there is plenty to do, so beggars are required to find work. Interesting. It would seem that the Vietnamese attitude has shifted from "each according to his need" to "he who does not work does not eat". 

This country seems to be singing the praises of privatization, and is moving toward prosperity very quickly. I have seen exactly one picture of Marx and Lenin, and that was in a government office. 

Vietnamese dinner

I think my worst fear is getting lost in a huge city where I do not speak the lingo. Last night was the first night I have really spent alone at dinner time in HCMC, or in Vietnam for that matter. 

I was determined to find some place to eat, and figure out how to make that work. Since my hotel is at an intersection, I decided to take each direction from the hotel and walk until I couldn't or didn't find anything. 

My second fear is getting hit by a motorbike. They are everywhere, even on the sidewalk (sometimes especially on the sidewalk - a popular if illegal way to get around stopped traffic). Crossing a street you have to walk steadily and pretend not to see them, and in theory they go around you. I avoid crossing busy streets, although the locals do it. 

As it turns out, I live in a garment/banking area where restaurants are scarce, so I did  a lot of walking. There was  KFC, but I did not want to give in to the temptation to eat there. I kept going and eventually stumbled upon a Pho place that had seating for maybe 25, one Pho pot by the front of the store, and a few customers. 

The Pho was good as far as I can tell. People ask me if it was good Pho. How would I know? I put in a lot of those hot yellow peppers. To me, the Pho tastes like pepper sauce. Then it becomes an issue of texture. Noodles, meat, and the leaves I tear up and throw in. I really don't know what "good" is. If my scalp tingles and my forehead is dewy and my nose runs, it is darned good Pho! 

After dinner, I offered them either 100,000 VND or 5 dollars US. They took the VND and gave me change. I think I ate a good dinner and had a beer for about 40,000VND (about 2 bucks). Not a word of English was ever exchanged. 

I try to say stuff like "Cam on", which if I say it right is "Thank you". People smile and nod. I know my pronunciation is horrible. I just can't tell when I say it that it is horrible. Sounds right to me. But then, I can't tell good Pho from bad, either.