Sunday, November 29, 2009

Getting My Feet Wet

As I begin my fourth week here in Da Nang, the pace of things has definitely mellowed as I’ve settled in. The bureaucracies of getting the donated equipment shipped here has been a lot of hurry-up-and-wait, and the case load at the hospital has been relatively low recently, so I’ve reached out in a few new directions to help where I can outside the hospital. There is a great organization here called East Meets West that works in a variety of sectors, including health, education and community development, and I am going to be helping them translate a medical catalogue they are distributing. Through one of the members at EMW, we also managed to set up another English class in the evenings for people who can’t attend the one at the hospital. And lastly, I’m helping a friend of a friend find online in-roads into western markets for his tourism business. The first thing I told him was to change the title of their historical tour package on sexuality in religion from “Sex Training Tour” to something slightly less misleading.
And though things have been a bit mellower over all, this past week has still certainly had its exciting moments, usually involving something breaking. For instance we had our first power outage the other day. Though, admittedly, dinner by candle light was relatively benign. Less so, however, was breaking through the sidewalk when I was running the other day. I was jogging down the sidewalk at a good clip and chose the wrong slab of concrete to place my weight on because it literally cracked in half beneath me breaking into the sewer. I can’t say exactly when, but some time ago, around when I was learning to walk and developing the concept of object permanence, I just started taking the ground for granted. No longer…  (And, yes, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.)
What really takes the cake though has got to be when my water heater broke, sprayed boiling water all over my balcony, and then slowly proceeded to flood my room—around 1 am, no less. This meant spending a few hours on Tuesday relocating all my stuff to the adjacent room, and placing everything that was on the floor out to dry. The silver lining was that my new room had a queen bed and was closer to the internet room. However, as a very wise man once said, every silver lining has a touch of grey, mine in this case being the water slowly seeping through the wall and/or out of my new bathroom’s plumbing causing me to change rooms again. My guess is that the new leak had something to do with the “repairs” they did that tore up three walls, left me showerless for three days and resulted in the new water heater visibly leaking.
It’s hardly been all bad though. When I was driving across town the other night I found myself driving past a field scattered with rows of hanging fluorescent lights. It was incredibly beautiful in an eerie, but still pleasant kind of way, and I’ve seen more on the edges of town as I’ve driven around since. I learned that these are actually fields of paperwhite flowers, grown for the Tet Holiday, i.e. the Vietnamese New Year. The lights are used to influence the lifecycles of the flowers to try to get them to bloom on exactly the right night of the holiday.
I also made it to the beach this week. On the one day it was really sunny this week I bought myself some sunscreen and a 70¢ beach towel, and went bodysurfing in some of the more wonderfully temperate waters I’ve swam in in quite some time.  This week I also broke my record for the most impressive thing I’ve seen hauled on a motorbike (in person anyway). The record was previously held by a Peruvian family of seven, but the new title goes to a guy I saw carrying a 5’ refrigerator strapped vertically to the passenger seat of his bike.
For those of you interested in international politics, I also picked up this cute Vietnamese phrase, “Russia says everything, but does nothing. America speaks, and it is so. China says nothing, but does everything.”
My favorite moment, though, has got to be translating the YouTube sensation, “Charlie Bit Me”, for my English class. I don’t think anything says globalization quite like using someone’s smart phone to bust out one of the world’s most celebrated YouTube videos as a lesson aid for an English class halfway around the world. (If you haven’t seen it, it’s a hilarious video documenting a young boy’s personal struggle with operant conditioning. I would highly recommend watching it—immediately: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OBlgSz8sSM.)
                Finally, I am quite pleased to say that I managed to find a real Thanksgiving dinner to partake in. Bread of Life, the restaurant staffed by the deaf I mentioned earlier, had a great set menu for the holiday so I decided to bring a handful of people from my English class. We had talked about Thanksgiving that day in class, but that was virtually their only exposure to the holiday, and everyone was excited to try the food. They had never heard of any of the dishes before, but liked most of them, though the size and density of the meal was far beyond the normal Vietnamese diet. 
                We also wound up eating with a modest looking, but deceptively interesting, granite exporter, who was there by himself. He was of Vietnamese descent, but was in fact born in Paris, raised everywhere from Nigeria to Singapore, and attended college at UC Davis. Speaking fluent Vietnamese, English and French, he was a great person to talk to about languages, though he also said such a vagrant childhood left him with few permanent friends. I definitely hope I'll get the chance to see him again. 

Sunday, November 15, 2009

More Firsts

These past several days have held yet more milestones for my trip. On Tuesday I got to observe my first surgeries, which was quite an experience. I scrubbed in with Dr. Huan, and watched as he prepared the anesthetics for two patients. Each operating room (OR) has two beds, and it’s standard for there to be two operations occurring simultaneously. The first was a woman who was having two large staples removed from her ankle. The second was a young boy, probably about 9, who was having two pins removed from his elbow. Both of them seemed like relatively simple and benign operations compared to what I’ve seen since.
The most intense surgery I’ve seen so far has been the removal of an approximately 16 inch rod from a man’s femur. They had to open his left hip using a cauterizing electric knife (which created a less than pleasant smell in the OR), and then literally use a mallet and chisel to get access to the top of the rod and pull it out. All the while, the man only has a spinal block and partial sedation, so he is aware of the hammering and shaking of his body, even if he can’t feel or see the operation. It’s pretty crazy to watch.
Watching my first nerve block, where anesthetic is injected around a major nerve to numb an extremity, definitely rekindled my old aversion to needles, but as I saw more, they quickly got easier to watch. The surgeries themselves though didn’t bother me at all. Between surgeries, Dr. Huan would explain to me more about the OR and the procedures, and I would help him learn the English medical terms for things by drawing and writing on the operating table covers. Despite the serious nature of the work, the doctors still manage to keep a warm sense of humor amidst the professional environment, telling jokes between procedures and helping put the patients at ease. I think my favorite part of their OR, however, has got to be the music. During all the surgeries so far, they’ve been playing one of Dr. Huan’s CDs that is basically full of the equivalent of Vietnamese Barry Manilow. I almost laughed out loud when they first started playing it, and it definitely gives a rather farcical character to the whole situation.
 On a somewhat related note, Dr. Huan also invited me to my first evening of karaoke this week. It was for his friend’s birthday, and so I got to meet several more locals, a couple of which even started attending my English class at the hospital. We spent the evening in the small acoustic prison of our modest karaoke room singing, eating cake, and bonding over our shared audacity to butcher such great classics as “Tiny Dancer” and even “We are the World”. It was fantastic. And considering the total fee was less than $2, I’d challenge anyone to find a more economic way to entertain eight people for three hours.
That said, we did give ourselves a run for our money today when we spent the day picnicking in the park. They’ve got a great park here surrounding a lake with the coolest playgrounds for kids I’ve ever seen, but which would never fly in the states out of liability concerns. (For instance, they have a not-quite-horizontal wheel about 8 ft. in diameter elevated a few feet off the ground, which seemed to have the express purpose of having kids spin it by running around on it until it was going fast enough that they would fall off. What could go wrong?) Anyway, several members of our karaoke group spent the day there hanging out, which definitely gave me some more perspective into Vietnamese culture. Some things, like a few of us taking shots at playing guitar, and Dr. Huan getting his palm read, could have been just like anywhere else. But then there were things I would never have expected to see, like our group of early to late twenty-somethings being enthralled by hangman for a good hour and a half, or learning how to Cha Cha and Tango lakeside to the downloaded ringtones on one of the guy’s cell phones. We also played (for lack of better title) pick-a-random-dare-out-of-a-hat. The dares—which were all found universally hilarious—consisted of such provocative commands as “pinch the person next to you”, “sing a song”, and, the one I chose, “put a leaf on your head”. The most baffling to me though had to be, “say what a bee would say when it comes home from work.” No, it was not a translation error; I inquired earnestly. Rather, it was more or less a challenge to come up with the best pun you could involving bees, work and a stereotypical domestic lifestyle. “Honey, I’m home,” was of course the obvious cop out response.  I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. We had a great time though, and I sincerely doubt this is the last you’ll be hearing of these guys.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Don’t Eat the “Ox Muscle”

            My first week here has absolutely flown by, and I am happy to report that on the whole things have been going extremely well, though there was a bit of a hiccup when my reservation for a bed on the overnight train from Hanoi to Da Nang fell through. As a result I wound up in a crowded “soft-seat” compartment for the 15 hr, overnight journey. Fortunately, however, with the amply reclining seats, I still managed to sleep through the vast majority of the trip, but still awoke in time to see the impressive surf along the shoreline from the night’s storm as we pulled into Da Nang.
            On arrival at the hospital, I was quite impressed by the guestroom they are renting me for a very affordable $5 per night. It’s well furnished, has high ceilings, a refrigerator, AC, cable TV (which is universally free in Vietnam, and a good bit of which is in English), and even an extra bed, which is currently occupied by my guitar, but which could easily accommodate any of you who are interested in visiting between now and February. An ether net cable and a washing machine are just down the hall, and I even have my own small balcony. My only real complaints are a slightly leaking roof (likely from the typhoon that hit a couple months ago), and a slightly temperamental toilet, which has been easy enough to fix however.
            My gustatory adventures started my very first night here, and before I go into the story, now would be a good time for me to suggest saving this tale for a time when you can afford to lose your appetite. That said, there is a makeshift cafeteria for the staff below me in this building, and as I was digging into my dinner of pho bo, I was invited to join a group of guys sitting nearby by one of the orthopedic technicians who spoke English. The technician, Nguyen (“Wyn”), explained to me that the man in the wheelchair to my right, Binh, who looked rather like a Vietnamese Steve Buschemi, was getting braces for his legs the next day so he could finally walk again, and was treating everyone to drinks and hors d'oeuvres to celebrate. We started with a round of Tiger beer, the local cheap brew of choice, followed by some rice wine served out of old soda bottles. The cloudy liquid could no doubt be used to sterilize the hospital’s surgical equipment in a pinch, and in accordance with the old adage, my chest has become notably hairier since. I offered to buy a round for everyone, but Nguyen told me that Binh insisted that this was his treat, and that “as I long as I kept drinking, he could keep pouring.”
            It was about this time when they brought out the first appetizers, and Nguyen asked me if I had ever tried “ox muscle”. I had not, and so Nguyen picked up one of the fleshy coils on the platter and dipped it into a mild looking sauce before setting it on my plate. Not wanting to appear rude, closed-minded or weak-stomached, I popped the morsel into my mouth despite its unappealing appearance, and immediately regretted the decision. Before I could even appreciate the texture of the “muscle” which fell somewhere between stale calamari and cartilage, my nostrils and taste buds were assailed by the devastatingly pungent sauce, which in retrospect was probably equal parts salt, concentrated fish extract and ammonium carbonate (the active ingredient in smelling salts used to revive the unconscious). Through sheer force of will, I smiled/grimaced to indicate how much I was enjoying it, as I did my best to not audibly gag. The real kicker though was about a minute into chewing it when I noticed that the other pieces still had bits of black stubble sticking out of them where they hadn’t been totally shaved. Remember kids, it’s ok to say “no”, even if everyone else is doing it—which is exactly what I did the following night when I was offered the chance to try a partially developed, hardboiled duck egg. This delicacy is what you get when you give a fertilized egg a few weeks head start on becoming a duckling before cracking it open. It’s pretty grim—I’ll just leave it at that.
            Most of the food, however, has been more than palatable, and you can eat for about a dollar a meal if you want to. There are lots of great restaurants around here with very nice chicken, noodle and rice dishes. Vietnamese seafood is also supposed to be fantastic, but I’m still trying to get a handle on what is safe before I eat too much of it. Banh Mi, a customizable sandwich on a small baguette, is a popular meal here that is quickly becoming a staple of mine. And if I get desperate, there are even a few ex-pat friendly eateries that serve pizza, burgers and the like. One of which called Bread of Life is particularly cool because it is staffed exclusively by deaf Vietnamese citizens to help them find employment. There is also a shopping center here, called Big C, that has just about everything you could ever need—think Safeway meets Target—which has been really convenient for getting snacks and little things for my room like bath mats and power strips. It’s also nice because they have fixed prices, and so far it seems like I get charged about twice as much as the locals for most things that don’t have a price tag. They are incredibly uptight about their security though. Any backpacks or bags you bring into the store are literally put into heat sealed plastic bags so you can’t hide anything in them, and even the employees are frisked by security when they leave the main store area to go to the bathroom.
            I definitely stick out stick out on the street being blond and about 8 inches taller than most people. As a result I get a lot of curious looks from the locals, and I can’t find shoes less than three sizes too small. A lot of the plastic patio furniture used by local restaurants is also what we would consider kids’ size in the US, and so I always wind up laughing at myself when I awkwardly sit down to eat. Most people can’t speak English, but they are still usually very friendly and helpful. Kids, adolescents, and sometimes even adults will say “hello” to me on the street, and they usually get quite a kick out of it when I say hello back. One girl at Big C was even bold enough to shout “I love you!” up the escalator to me triggering a chorus of giggling from her friends.
            I also have my own motorcycle for getting around town—ok fine, it’s more of a motor scooter that probably tops out at about 40 mph (the speedometer is broken)—but it’s still a lot of fun to get around on. In Vietnam it seems like these are how virtually everyone gets around, and when you combine that with the fact that only about every fifth intersection has a stop light you can get quite a rush just cruising around town. I’ve also been very lucky to have been put in touch with Uyen, the local guide who rented me my motorbike. He is a very likeable and honest father of four, who has already been extremely helpful in familiarizing me with the city and helping me get essential supplies for my stay here. If any of you consider coming to Da Nang, I would wholeheartedly recommend getting in touch with him.
            So far I’m still getting to know the ins and outs of the hospital, and meeting new doctors and physical therapists (PTs). Up to this point I’ve spent the most time with Dr. Huan, a short, upbeat anesthesiologist, and Dr. Vu, a more relaxed orthopedic surgeon who shares my appreciation for a certain videogame I used to play a lot in high school. Many of the staff speak English well enough to have a conversation with, and most of them are very glad to have a chance to learn from a native speaker so we set up a daily English class that anyone in the hospital can attend. So far there are about eight people attending regularly, and it will likely grow as the word gets out. It’s been really interesting speaking so much with people who only know the basics of the language. It makes you realize how much you can simplify your speech and still convey the same essential meaning, but also how much we take the subtleties of English for granted, things like the differences between “family” versus “relatives”, “to like to fish” versus “to like going fishing”, and “to be no longer working” versus “being retired”. Despite the virtually identical technical meanings, each of these words and phrases still conjures a rather different idea in your mind, and it has been interesting to see both how that subtlety gets lost and trying to teach it in our class. The other day I was trying to explain all the ways you can use “cute” for instance, which made me realize just how much we take the versatility of the word for granted. Another time I was trying to teach the meaning of “literal”, but I think I only had limited success. 
            There is another volunteer staying here as well named Durga. She is a PT taking a couple weeks away from her family in Atlanta to work in the hospital’s rehabilitation clinic and to teach the latest physical therapy techniques. This weekend the two of us took a short ride down the coast to see Marble Mountain, a grouping of giant marble monoliths overlooking the coastline. The natural beauty of the mountains is something to behold on its own, but what is really spectacular about the place are the ornate pagodas and ancient statues hidden throughout the caves, which have eroded into the marble over time. The incense burned throughout the caves catches the light that beams through the natural openings in ceilings, and combined with the droplets of water dripping throughout the caves, it creates an ambiance that is just spectacular. At the base of the mountain are dozens of stone carving workshops that create some truly impressive sculptures and jewelry out of the local marble. Unfortunately, the views from the mountaintop reveal the hardships of the local communities. Despite the beautiful ocean vistas, the surrounding developing areas create a juxtaposition of great cultural wealth and economic poverty that seems regrettably common in the area.