Saigon. We live here now.

 

Tonight we have a list of chores: will have to get the coffee maker set up, pick out our finest business casual outfit, set the alarm clock and do our best to get the requisite eight hours of sleep.  We will do these things, somewhat begrudgingly, because tomorrow our honeymoon year of unemployment draws to a close. 

Almost three weeks ago to the day, we boarded a flight in Austin and 26 hazy hours later found oursleves jostling with other bleary-eyed passengers to pass through customs and security in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.  Outside the airport, we were greeted by a small, talkative man who heads our school.  He shuttled us on a school bus (mind you this is 11:00pm), and on the 40 minute drive to our hotel, he treated us to an incredibly friendly monologue that ranged from helpful hints, to personal details of his life, to personel details of the school.  We very quickly learned why his nickname - personal motto? - is "too far."

The next few days passed in a blur.  Our head of school left our hotel room around 1:00 am.  We met with a realtor at 10 am the next morning.  We visited 18 apartments.  Most of them were model examples of what not to do if you ever want us to rent your space. 

Case in point, dead lizard "wine".  Good for men (apparently) bad for renting.

Our experience of seeing apartments in Vietnam (which may or may not be representative) involved at least 4 Vietnamese people at all times, none of whom felt compelled to tell us anything about what we were seeing, or do anything really save for open the doors, turn on lights and then watch (us or their phone) as we fumbled around in the rooms.  By the end of the first day we found one apartment (out of 18!), fell in love with it, didn't get it, sank into a deep depression that was only partly fueled by jet lag, and then searched again. 

Our entourage.  Sorry for the bad quality, we had to sneakily take this shot.

We arrived on Friday and by Tuesday, had an apartment.  Vietnam is a cash based society and we're millionaires many times over.  This is what our deposit and rent look like.

We live in what can easily be described as fake Saigon, or bougie bougie bougie Saigon, or maybe little Korea? (The area is full of Korean expats and at this point we speak more Korean than Vietnamese, which is to say we know three words between the two languages).  Our building complex is sprawling.  We have a gym, pool, and every manner of restraunt nearby.  We can also walk to two enormous malls, one of which has an IMAX.  Everyone seems exceptionally friendly, and most everyone speaks much more English than we ever dared hope.  Our life is, in a word, easy. 

After getting the apartment we visited the malls everyday for about a week to buy supplies. Our house felt more like a home, but despite the numerous plants and pictures, there was still a hole in our lives... the absence of our beloved friends and family.  No, just kidding. (though we do love and miss you).  We realized we were trying to create a home but didn't have a pet and that absence is very pronounced.  So we got a cat.  A three legged creature that is so curious and weird that it's really no surprise at all that she is missing an appendage.  (We learned that she had lost the leg after an encounter [which she no doubt provoked] with a civet.) This is her:

We've been trying unsuccessfully to name her, and while we've been coming up with great options - Princess Torta, Hop, Hopper, Huff, Chicas Bonitas, Lucille, Loose Seal, Night Screamer - none of them stick with any regularity.  We love her with all our heart.   Here is my favorite sequence of pictures taken:

Aside from the apartment and taking pictures of the cat (our new and only hobby), our lives really have been dull.  We've met a few other teachers at the school, we've seen the school - which is so over the top opulent that it's offensive (and certainly deserves its own post) - and we've explored a few other districts.  Having two years here has taken a lot of pressure off and we figure we'll explore the city at a slow pace.  Great for our sanity, not great for having anything interesting to toss up on the blog.

Tomorrow, we have new teacher orientation and kiddos come on August 10th.  It feels like we're jumping right in. 

Camino de Santiago

We debated about skipping this entry: so much time has passed, so many events transpired since we set out on our walk.  Ultimately though, it was one of the most enjoyable, challenging, awe inspiring, and clarifying things we have done in the past year, and our retelling of honeymoon wouldn't be complete without it. 

A bit of background: the Camino de Santiago actually refers to many ancient pilgrimage routes throughout Spain, France and Portugal.  While the routes begin in many different places, they all terminate in the beautiful city of Santiago de Compostela, which houses a cathedral that itself houses the remains of St. James, one of the twelve apostles of Jesus. Although many people complete the pilgrimage for religious reasons, our original purpose was to get out of cities, disconnect, and do something physically challenging - though at times it took on a spiritual component (and often felt like it required the patience and perseverance of a saint)

Our route, the Camino Sanabres, took us 377 km from Zamora to Santiago, and lasted 16 days. It wound through desert, hill country, woodlands, mountains and twice, cities. 

 

We were psyched about how quickly we did it, but it should be noted that there were other walkers, more than 20 years older than us, completing the same distance in half the time. Also bikers - who were relentlessly cheerful, and only mildly morale-crushing as they breezed passed us (often singing) on brutal uphill climbs.  Though the climbs were not without their own rewards:

Of the many possible routes, we chose Sanabres because it was supposedly less-traveled than others. For example, the Camino Frances has more than 100,000 hikers each year. If our experience was emblematic, the Camino Sanabres sees about 2. We expected some alone time on this trip; what we did not expect was that there would be days when we literally saw no one. Of the 16 nights we spent on the trail, 11 were spent in solitude with only a bunch of empty bunk beds for company. 

Quick note about accommodation: pilgrims stay in albergues, which are basically cheap, publicly run hostels open to those doing the Camino. They tend to be basic, and varied wildly in terms of hospitality, hot water, cleanliness, and kitchen functionality. They all had their quirks - our least favorite were the ones with fantastic kitchens boasting new appliances, but rendered useless by an utter lack of pans, pot, plates or utensil of any kind.


Our typical days are impossible to describe because, as we learned very quickly into our trip, there is no such thing as a typical (or predictable) day. The constants were: waking up with the sun to begin hiking by 7:00, a lunch of canned tuna or dried meat, frequent reapplication of bandages and sunscreen, hand-washing our one set of daytime clothes, and bed by 9:30.  Also lots of silence.

Some days were difficult, full of wrong turns, construction detours, flooded trails and uncaring hosts.

Yep, that river is our trail.  Obviously, we got lost this day.

On the more memorable days, we were met with incredible generosity and hospitality, like our night with Jose. He welcomed us with a fire, did our laundry for us, and then served us a three course meal, complete with homemade liquors. Jose was, among other things, a music fan, and dinner was accompanied by Paganini, while breakfast was served with opera.

A free lunch for pilgrims helped motivate us through our first 20 mile day. 

There was never an entirely good day, in the same way that there was never an entirely bad one. One of the biggest lessons of the Camino, for us at least, was in learning how to cope with such extreme fluctuations, in both our moods and physical states.

By the last few days of the Camino, we were so, so ready to be done. But as we made our way into Santiago, we found ourselves dragging our feet. In our lives, we are so used to choice, deciding everything: what to wear, where to eat, how to fill our day, what websites to visit, who to talk to and how. On the Camino, the absence of choice allowed us to focus on ourselves and our immediate surroundings. The pace forced us to see things we would have missed, had we been going any faster, or had we had any other distractions. It was a good reminder of an alternative way of being, one that we hope to revisit throughout our lives.

After the Camino, we spent a little time (two weeks!) recovering in Portugal.  We quickly forgot all the lessons of the Camino as we bombarded ourselves with choice and excess - mostly related  to beaches, wine and food. We started in Lisbon, then traveled to an unpronounceable town called Almocageme and ended our recovery (and European trip) in Porto.  Here are a few of our favorite pictures:

Rockslide of a "trail" that almost got us killed as we tried to make it to the above beach

Next up, Vietnam.  We've been here two weeks and have not vomited or had to go on antibiotics.  We're considering it an unqualified success.