The Many Faces of Vietnam

Chris and I had been looking forward to our trip to Vietnam long before we officially planned it. Stories from those who lived there, television hosts’ accolades of the country, and our own experiences with the food all had thoroughly enticed us to visit. So, I have to say, our expectations were fairly high as we boarded our plane early Saturday morning. What we discovered was that it is going to take a lot more than just a week to understand this multi-faceted country.

Our vacation was based in the northern part of the country, so we landed in Hanoi. The wild commotion of this capital city put Taipei’s hustle and bustle to shame. We quickly learned that crossing the street here was an every-man-for-himself death-defying deed. I tried to get Chris crossing here at this intersection so you can get an idea for what was involved in getting to the other side. No lights, no crosswalks, just myriad games of chicken played by every man, woman, and child brave enough to traverse the road.

Each morning, Hanoi is awoken at 7:30 by loudspeakers calling out that morning’s “news” and blasting patriotic music. Good morning, communism. Throughout the day, everywhere we went, scooters or bicycles piled various goods so high that I’m quite certain there was no way they could see where they were going. Horns hollered to go faster, stop crossing into my lane, or the pig you’ve tied to the back of your scooter has come loose! Hoards of locals and tourists clogged the streets and “sidewalks” (I use that term loosely as most sidewalks had either turned into scooter parking lots or street side cafés.) Vendors hawking everything from knock-off purses to fresh pineapple shouted prices at us as we went past.

We usually attempted to find respite from the chaos when it was time to eat. One of the more important rules that we’ve learned from our travels is that if you are trying to get a good meal, find where the locals are eating. In this city, we had the majority of our meals sitting on about four-inch high plastic stools pointing to the guy next to us in an attempt to communicate, “I’ll have what he’s having.” Each of these repasts was amazingly delicious. I don’t have the space here to go into too much detail (plus, I’m quite sure you are all tired of me trying to be a food critic) but suffice it to say that the Vietnamese know what they are doing with a ladle and some broth. When it came time to pay the bill, we tried to watch and see how much the locals around us paid and we noted rather quickly that there seemed to be a city-wide tourist tax on each bowl of pho or spring roll we ate. Not having the language abilities to argue, there wasn’t a whole lot we could do about it if we didn’t have exact change.

About halfway through our trip, we left Hanoi for a completely different view of Vietnam. We traveled about four hours northeast to Halong Bay. Here, we boarded a small boat that would be our home for the next two nights and bid the shore goodbye. Our first day, we saw most of the tourist sites in the Bay along with about 3,000 of our closest friends. It was beautiful, but not too different from the city crowds. The second day, however, most people headed back to Halong city while we jumped in kayaks to explore the Bay on our own. The scenery was breathtakingly beautiful. Nearly 2,000 small lush green islands jutted upward from the turquoise colored waters. For most of the day, the only people we saw were our tour guide, one other couple who was with us, and local fishermen. The silent serenity was broken only by chirping birds and the gentle waves breaking against our kayak. The contrast between this Vietnam and that of Hanoi was quite remarkable.

Once we got back on board the larger boat, we met yet another face of Vietnam. We were quite familiar with the tourist side of the country and had grown quite comfortable with it. To pass the time between kayaking and dinner, however, our tour guide began to tell us a bit of his story and in this way, we were introduced to the local’s Vietnam. Born and raised in North Vietnam, he related how both parents had fought in the “American War” where his mother, a chef, had lost her arm rendering her largely unable to work. Shortly after his father was killed in a coal mining accident, our guide (Choung) had the opportunity to “escape Vietnam” and illegally immigrate to the U.S. at the age of 14. He was caught, however, in Hong Kong where he spent five years in a refugee camp. It was there that he learned English but was eventually deported back to Vietnam where he worked as a waiter and scooter taxi in order to support his mom and sisters so that they could go to school. His dream now is to be able to go back to school for two more years so that he can obtain a true tour guide license and start earning $24 per day instead of $17… a salary supporting Chuong, his wife, his mother, and two sisters. Suddenly, we didn’t feel so bad about paying the so-called “tourist tax” for local food in Hanoi.

Our last afternoon, we were back in Hanoi where we found a café and reflected about our trip. Vietnam is an incredible country with an incredible history and an incredible people. We have vowed to go back and hopefully discovery another of her faces.

A Hike in the Clouds

Last week, Chris and I got to enjoy the comforting presence of our last visitors from the U.S. while we are in Taiwan. My sister, her fiancé, and their friend stayed with us for several days to experience life in Taipei. Unfortunately, they largely had to serve as their own tour guides as our spring break doesn’t come until next week. We did, however, make the most of our evenings together by highlighting some of our favorite restaurants and introducing their senses (olfactory, though not gustatory) to the famed stinky tofu. The weekend was the high point since we were able to spend more time together.

We planned to spend Saturday hiking up a mountain just outside of the city. Living in a city whose annual rainfall is about 83 inches, we were more than a little concerned that it might rain on our parade. We were delighted, however, when we woke up to some of the bluest skies we have seen since we lived here. Enjoying our direct dose of vitamin D, we headed out to Yang Ming Shan. When we arrived, we wandered into the visitor’s center where a helpful Taiwanese woman directed us to the path we wanted. Since Yang Ming Shan is a national park, it is laced with all sorts of trails with varying degrees of difficulty. One trail sparked our interest as it led to the top of the highest peak in Taipei. Boasting an underwhelming 1120 meters (3654 feet), we still felt the uncontrollable pull to summit the tallest natural thing around. All of us being relatively active and accustomed to hiking in the Colorado Rockies, we expected to have a quick jaunt up the mountain, snap a few photos, skip down the other side, and get some lunch. Yang Ming Shan, on the other hand, had other plans.

We started out full of confidence and warmed by the sunshine. We chatted cheerfully about some of the interesting “cultural experiences” that Tori, Matt, and Andrea had had since their arrival on the island. We waited patiently for the stairs that we assumed were leading us to the trail to end. The thing is, they didn’t. Meter after meter, step after step, the rocky staircase became steeper and steeper as it channeled us up the mountain. Eventually, we each swallowed a nice big piece of humble pie and sat down on a bench to take a break. It was at that point that we noticed the cooling weather. At that point, the chilling breeze felt good on our sweat-drenched faces. Revived, we once again began our ascent. However, we noticed that the temperature began to fall precipitously as clouds rolled in to cover the clear blue sky.

As we neared the peak, the fog eerily wafted through the trees and chilled our hands and faces. When we finally made it to the top, we could barely see ten feet in front of us. Laughing through chattering teeth, we took a few photos of the would-be scenery. We descended the rocky steps as quickly as we could and dreamed of the all-you-can-eat Korean barbecue restaurant we had planned for our post-hike meal. Since the hike turned out to be more difficult than we anticipated, lunch became linner. The timing actually worked out well for us since the restaurant was relatively empty even though it was Saturday. While we weren’t sure if it was possible at the 3654 ft. summit, we finally thawed out and had our fill to eat. I’m pretty sure I know who came out ahead of that all-you-can-eat meal.

A Marathoner's Diary

A running friend of mine did this for her last marathon and I thought it was a cool idea. So, here is a diary, kilometer by kilometer, of the marathon that I ran in Kenting this weekend. Just as an FYI for those of you who are not metrically-inclined, a marathon is 42.2 kilometers. Thanks for the inspiration, Cheryl!

0 – 5 KM: A special treat

This part of the run was exceptionally enjoyable this time around because I actually had a buddy with me! Chris trained for a 10K race so we got to run side by side for the first 5K until Chris’ turning point. It is amazing how time flies when you have someone to chat with while you jog. We had a great time and I was sad to see him go at the turning point, though he wasn’t too disappointed to be heading back home.

5 – 10 KM: Finding my pace

Back to running alone… kind of. One of the things that makes running races so much more fun than running solo is that you get to run along side a few thousand of your closest friends and, though you may or may not speak the same language, you all enjoy the camaraderie that comes from knowing that you have all trained for the same thing and have come to this point to endure this task together. So, between 5 and 10K, I found my marathon pace and enjoyed looking around at the other crazies running with me.

10 – 15 KM: A first for me

This part of the race was interesting. It has happened several times that, if I run past a gentleman on the road, a sudden sense of inspiration seems to take over and he does whatever it takes to either pass me or at least run next to me. One guy was thusly inspired and chose to run next to me, all the while chatting away in Chinese, some of which I understood and some I didn’t. When he finally began asking me questions beyond my name and country of origin, I was forced to admit that I didn’t speak Chinese at which point he switched to broken English. Immediately after the switch, we evidentially moved to a new level of intimacy; so, he asked me about my activities that afternoon and invited me to his home. After declining his hospitable offer, he asked for my phone number. I’m not kidding. I kindly notified him that, though I wasn’t sporting the ring during the race, I was, in fact married. He persisted in asking for my number and informed me that he would remember it if I told it to him. The whole experience was so humorous to me that I couldn’t let it end there. So, I gave him Chris’ cell phone number just to find out if he could truly remember the number and actually call. No word yet from this dashing Don Juan.

21KM : Half Marathon Envy

In the morning before the race, all of the runners are sporting their color-coded numbers indicating the distance they are about to run. There is a certain air of pride that the full marathoners carry with them and I have to say that I was proud of my red number in the morning. But, when the half marathoners are making their final sprint toward the finish line and I am only halfway finished, I have to admit that I get a twinge of half marathon envy. The sense of envy was exacerbated by the special present that I knew was waiting for me at the halfway point. The first of two giant hills.

21 – 25 KM: Hill #1

I wasn’t exactly sure how steep or how long these two inclines were going to be. I just knew that the altitude diagram looked quite daunting. But, to be honest, the first of the two hills wasn’t too excruciating. The steep portions were interspersed often enough with flat recovery zones so that I was encouraged by the time I reached the top. I made sure to note a landmark of the top of the hill so that, on my way back (as I would be coming up this same hill to reach the finish line at the bottom of the hill I had just come up) I would know where the road started heading downhill again.

25 – 30 KM: Recovery and Preparation

At this point, the hill turned down. Part of me was enjoying allowing my body to recover and not have to fight so hard against gravity. I was able to catch my breath and look at the fantastic scenery that the road offered. This marathon is called the Southern Border Marathon because it goes along the southernmost tip of island right along the coast overlooking the ocean. It was indeed spectacularly beautiful. However, with each step downhill, my heart sank a little deeper in my chest. I knew that every stride down meant another stride back up in just a few more kilometers. I worked on noting landmarks for myself so that I would know when a flat part was coming. However, I couldn’t help but notice that the flat parts were quite a bit fewer and farther between on this side.

30 – 35 KM: A blessing in disguise

The turn around point was a short distance from the bottom of the hill. That gave me some time to brace for what I knew was coming. I was tired, but every step I took, I intentionally made myself appreciate that it was one more step that I got to take on flat ground. Eventually, however, I found myself staring up at the dreaded return trip over the hill. The first part of the hill was, to be brief, agonizing. I wasn’t aware that it was possible, but it was even longer and steeper than what I remembered coming down. I knew I looked rough when a lady on a scooter stopped and asked if she could give me a hand. But here is the funny part. I was particularly worried about this part of the race during my training because I knew that I often hit a wall around 30K. But, as I was drudgingly ascending this hill, my eyes continually scanned the road for a break from the climb. I kept saying to myself, “If I can just make it to that point, I’ll be fine… If I can just make it to that point, I can do it.” And, in that way, concentrating on one step at a time, I finally made it to the top. I didn’t have time to think about anything else and, before I knew it, I was out of the “wall danger zone”. So, while this hike was incredibly difficult for me, it helped me break up those tough kilometers in such a way that I never had to worry about a wall. I’m sure there’s a sermon illustration in there somewhere.

35 – 42 KM: The Descent

After reaching the landmark that let me know I had finished the uphill, I was as overjoyed as one can be after running 35K and still having more to go. Optimistic, I ceded to the power of gravity and began my descent. This may come as shocking information, but the kilometers sure seemed to click by a lot faster when I was going downhill rather than up. Before I knew it I had come to the final water station where I stocked up on the final refreshment for the home stretch.

42.2: The Finish Line

The final descent dumped me right into the finishing alley where I used up the last of my energy to smile for my wonderful husband and friend who awaited me. After receiving my finishing medal, I sought out a shaded area to enjoy being finished. Considering the difficulty of this race, I was pleased to learn that my time was only four minutes slower than my first marathon. I was also excited to find out that I placed 10^th overall for the women runners. I’m not exactly sure how many women were running, and though it might have been ten, I was proud nonetheless, especially since my trophy came with a cash prize this time. After a nice shower, Chris, our friend Tracy, and I collapsed into our train seats and began our journey back home to Taipei.

A Little Bit of Seoul

Though many of you have already heard, we thought that we would go ahead and make it blog-ficial. We have decided that this will be our last year living here in Taipei. But, we have also decided that we aren’t quite through with Asia just yet. In January, Chris and I accepted teaching positions in Seoul, South Korea.


Come August 3, Chris and I will proud members of the Seoul Foreign School family. It is a Christian school with extremely high academic standards and an excellent reputation. Chris will be teaching regular and AP American history and take over the head basketball coaching position. I will be teaching second and third year Spanish. While this means that we will be far away from our dear family and friends for at least two more years, we are thrilled about this opportunity that God has given us. So, we look forward to many more social and cultural blunders to fill this blog as we attempt to make ourselves at home in a new culture. Wish us luck in our venture and we look forward to teaching you all about kimchi.

Check out the slideshow of our new school if you get a chance!

East Meets West... When Fusion Works

A few weeks ago, I posted lamenting some of the failed attempts that the Taiwanese have made at American food, and perhaps I was a little harsh. There are many times that fusion cuisine does what it was intended to do and joins the best parts of two culinary traditions into one mega-experience of gastronomic bliss. Last night was one such experience. Since Chinese New Year fell on February 14 this year, Chris and I opted not to brave the crowds at one of the few restaurants that were actually open. Instead, we celebrated our Valentine’s Day last night and we were oh-so-glad that we waited.

Knowing that I love all things French, and especially French food, Chris found a French restaurant that had been recommended to us by a friend. But, this wasn’t just your regular run-of-the-mill French food. The genius behind this establishment was that they fused French cuisine with the Japanese teppanyaki tradition of cooking on your table. I thought at first that this might be a little gimmicky and I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. Admittedly, French food can lean toward the heavier side since, as we all know, everything tastes better with more butter. But here is where the genius comes in. When these French favorites were prepared fresh, on your table, with very little fuss with sauces and spices, they took on a new lightness that was, well, life-changing.

It all started with the escargot. The thing with escargot is that when it isn’t prepared well, it is nothing but a chewy chunk of rubber soaked in grease. But, when it is prepared well, it becomes a soft pillow serving as the vehicle of garlic and butter sending the one blessed enough to enjoy it into a state of ecstasy. Last night’s experience was one of the latter. They brought special dishes to our table and we watched as our chef stirred and poured and whipped up one of the freshest and best servings of escargot I have ever had. My only grievance was that I didn’t have any bread to mop up the leftover sauce. So, I did the best I could with my utensils and was able to have enough self-control not to lick the plate before the wait staff came and took away the nearly spotless dish.

The next course was fresh fish perfectly steamed on a bed of French onions. This was followed by prawns and scallops that were seared before our eyes and served with a delicate soy wasabi sauce that we were almost afraid to try for fear of adulterating the tender sweetness of the seafood. Even the salad was exquisite with a sweet yet tangy dressing that escorted the vegetables across your palate. All of this was delectable. But it was the final course that sealed the fate of this meal to be one of the best I have ever eaten.

Chris and I both ordered our steak to be cooked medium and watched as our chef expertly carved the meat and let it cook on the table. I ordered the New York strip and Chris ordered the steak that was only described as “Japanese”. Once the meat was cooked satisfactorily, our chef graciously put half of each variety of beef on each of our plates. Now, the New York strip was wonderful and if we had enjoyed only that, we would have deemed the meal wonderful and not thought anything about it. But the Japanese meat, oh the Japanese meat, was transcendent. Perfectly cooked with a melt-in-your-mouth tenderness that made you have to stop and catch your breath. We lightly dipped the New York strip in the soy wasabi sauce but wouldn’t allow anything to come near the Japanese beef except our taste buds. In a blissful daze, our plates were cleared and we were instructed that dessert and coffee awaited us in the piano bar.

At this point, we knew that nothing was going to be able to top the aforementioned pièce de résistance but dessert sure did come close. Once seated in the piano bar, we were served a molten chocolate cake with ice cream and fresh fruit. The light and fluffy chocolate cake perfectly complemented the oozing chocolate decadence within. Sealed with a rich cup of coffee, it was indeed a very happy Valentine’s Day.

Mary Poppins

So, I finally got the guts up (or maybe I just lost enough couth) to get some video evidence of one of our favorite early morning exercisers in the park. We have named him Mary Poppins because we think he looks like he belongs in the Chimney Sweep song accompanying ol' Dick Van Dyke. He comes out just about every morning doing variations of this. There was a short time at the beginning of the school year where he seemed to be teaching an exercise class to some of the elderly people who congregated in the park. Sadly, to the misfortune of everyone, this class was canceled due to lack of interest. I apologize in advance for the low quality video but, you get what you pay for people.

We also have a new addition to the morning crazies. This gentleman climbs some stairs that lead to the top of a hill on the edge of the park. He then commences to yell as loudly as he can for as long as he can. He then takes about five steps to his left where he yells again, as loudly as he can for as long as he can. He does this for the entire length of the park. Placing himself on top of the hill puts him at just enough of a distance to make the yelling more hysterical than obnoxious. Thank you, Taiwan, for always making my mornings interesting.

The Best Prom Night Ever

By: Coach

For any coach or player the most exciting part about playing a sport is the tournament. I can still remember the excitement and drama of the state final four a few years ago. Every practice was crucially important; each day would bring a tension that you could not ignore. The same is true for the teams at GCA. The big difference is that here that is pretty much ALL we have to look forward to. In our league there are no season records or standings. You can contact other schools for games but they mean absolutely nothing in regards to the end of the year results. In the States a team will play anywhere from 20 to 30 real games before any type of elimination begins. If your team does not fair well in post season play it usually is not the end of the world because you have a lot of season memories and (hopefully) wins to hang your hat on. For our basketball team this year the weekend of the tournament was a lot like a high school prom. Allow me to explain.

Prom is arguably the most anticipated event for the senior class and many hours go into the planning, purchasing, tanning and stressing. Many seniors start planning who they will go to the prom with at the start of school! The build-up for this monumental (and at the same time utterly pointless) night is overbearing for most high-schoolers. The night comes and goes and memories are made, pictures are taken, rugs are cut and many a Waffle House makes their quota. Then comes the morning after. I distinctly remember what I mumbled to myself as I rolled out of bed that Saturday after the big night. “That was it?”

Our trip this year to our “Big Dance” (pun intended) was about 6 hours. One way. In rinky dink school vans. Sound like fun? Did I mention that in the past when we make this trip we sleep on the gym floor on Friday to save money? Oh I forgot that 3 other teams would be doing the same! This would mark my 3rd time to the south of the island and believe me I was about as thrilled as Walter Matthau would be to sleep on a hard gym floor once again. Our first game was scheduled for 5:30 Friday night against a team I have never faced but our school is 1-0 all time against them so we were hoping to have history on our side. Let’s just say that we are now 1-1 and more than likely trailing badly in point differential. Following our loss I remember thinking, “This is what we have been waiting to experience? A long, ipodless ride where I can only fall asleep long enough to lose the feeling in my legs because of the cramped space. We get pounded by a local team that will enjoy the comfort of their own beds. On the other hand not only will I lose sleep over losing (which I do no matter where I sleep) I get to lose sleep in the very gym where we suffered the loss! Is this is a cruel joke?”

Right then I must have felt like the guy who gets rejected when he asks his crush to prom. Maybe it was like the poor soul who spills punch all over his tuxedo, or even worse, on his date with the bright yellow dress. That’s when something magical and unexpected happened. I was informed that my assistant coach, my players and I would NOT be staying at the gym that night. Our principal had found a hotel that was “reasonable” and so off we went to check into our new quarters. I have to admit, I was not expecting anything amazing so when we arrived I was more than shocked. This hotel was, as my wife likes to say, “A Big Deal” and as I say, “The Real Deal”. Our rooms were on the 28th floor overlooking the city lights of Kaoshiung. Our pool and Jacuzzi were on the 8th floor where we decided to have a pizza party. The principal’s husband who is also the school chancellor volunteered to take all of the boys to a night market so the coaches could have some cool down time before we went to bed. I was able to catch an NBA game on the TV right after I watched the thrilling end of “Prom Night”, which I don’t recommend, but had to share because of the irony. It is safe to say that the tournament went from being dreadful to the best I have experienced. It is amazing what a 5 star hotel will do for morale! Winning the next day also helped but at any rate it was one of my most memorable tournaments. Our school here in Taiwan does not have a prom. In my mind, it does not need one.