Culture Club part 1 (but not the Boy George kind…for the most part)

When making that sometimes painful transition from fanny pack toting tourist to actual resident, there are a few things you can do to cope with the cultural stress. One option is to remember that you are not alone in this process and that others all around the globe are awkwardly fumbling into strange new lifestyles. For example, Michael Jackson made the leap from the magical world that is the Never Land Ranch to the Middle Eastern country of Bahrain, and judging by his recent lack of publicity, I have to imagine that things are going pretty well for the King of Pop. Sure you can make excuses as to the cause of his successful adaptation. You can speculate that Bahrain is a country lined with zoos and glove shops from coast to coast and that architects there never really warmed up to the prospect of a second story balcony, but in the end, you have to give Michael the nod and face the music (especially the song Billy Jean because the video had light-up sidewalks).

The other option is to take note of those things which seem a bit frustrating when set against your own arbitrary biases that America has endowed you with, intentionally choose to look past these things, and ultimately chalk them up to that neutral entity known as culture. Plus this isn’t really a subject you can tackle egocentrically because, as Newton taught us, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. If I’m frustrated, chances are, the person across the table is experiencing that same negative affect and thankfully, the Vietnamese are an incredibly gracious people, always willing to give me some operational slack, a mentality that deserves emulation. Besides in the end, not to underestimate that force that culture brings to any situation, people are people and we’re all doing the best we can the best we know how.

However, sometimes I fall short of this standard and take advantage of what I like to call the Zach Morris Effect. Go back with me, if you will, to a high time of ripped jeans, neon colors, and hair parted down the middle, the era that launched the just post-pubescent phenomenon known as Saved by the Bell. The lead character was a charismatic heartthrob named Zach Morris who had the ability, with a snap of his finger, to pause time at any moment as a means of narrating his current dilemma and aiding those viewers who had perhaps missed certain key points amidst the intricate plot twists. In his case, all of the characters were frozen in times, and often, just to stick it to his jocky counterpart, he would undue a button or two on Slater’s silk shirt. Yes, Zach could be absolutely vicious.

In Vietnam this finger snap manifests itself in the following way. My students here in Hanoi have quite an impressive English proficiency and many Hanoians know at least a little English and then again, many residents have little to no working knowledge of this ridiculously confusing language. When communicating with these two latter groups there is a mutual ability for each side to speak freely and fastly in their own native language without any fear of their international counterparts comprehending what was spoken (I mean I’m learning Vietnamese, but it’s a tough process, and at this point, unless we’re dealing with numbers or salutational inquiries, people really have to slow down for me to get even an inkling of meaning). As such, I’m able to offer narration on any situation as if the person I’m commenting on isn’t even there, which can be a really dangerous privilege because often these comments are the sarcastic products of cultural frustration.

For example, last night five of us went out for dinner and while we we’re ordering, four different employees were huddling around our table in an uncomfortably close sort of way. One man kept pointing to the menu and speaking to Melia (our American Korean teammate who often gets pegged by the nationals as Vietnamese) and when somebody asked what I thought he was saying, I responded with, “Well judging by his outfit, I can only imagine that he’s describing 19 different ways to say denim in Vietnamese.” It was a spiteful comment and not what an ambassador of any sort should be saying, but it’s a coping mechanism I often fall into. I myself though take no personal responsibility for such episodes and blame it all on Mark-Paul Gosselaar. Okay not really, but seriously, it’s an area I need help with.

.........On another note, here's a link to view some pictures of the team. They were taken by one of our two team leaders so they're mainly just pics of the team hanging out and not us with our students (the latter being something I need to put more of on here because that is really my lifeblood here).

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=8978&l=cd31e&id=612313582