Home Sweet Second Home

I suppose it is appropriate that as I finished Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, a pre-revolution soap opera about life in Russia's aristocratic society, I now find myself living one step closer to the lifestyle one might associate with that elevated class - I am officially part-time resident of both a city house and a country house.

My country house has been described in detail in earlier blog postings. While it lacks the expansive grounds (or even a yard or garden) that might raise it to the level of "estate," certainly is rich enough to warrant a certain level of descriptive grandeur.

My city house is no less grand in structure. It is comprised of four stories, five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a large kitchen and living area, and a rooftop terrace. But here it is the location that is worth every word: it is located just off of one of the numerous (but slightly more picturesque) of Hanoi's little lakes, and down winding tunnel of alley-ways which assures something more valuable than property itself in this city - absolute silence at night. Then, by following the lake and a few more winding alleys and hopping over a couple of traffic clogged streets, I can walk myself to work in under 20 minutes rather than risking life and limb twice daily in harrowing motorbike rides through the city's increasingly horrendous rush hours. Across a street in another direction is Hanoi's largest downtown park, complete with lake, walking paths and lots and lots of trees. Beyond this park lies the heart of the city: twenty minutes by foot in the direction opposite my office lands me in Hanoi's tourist district and central cultural, dining and shopping experience.

Unlike a member of the true aristocracy, I hardly have right to claim full ownership of the house. Indeed, far less than I can claim in my country home. In Hanoi I share this massive edifice to doi moi, Renovation and private ownership with two other development workers who have been in this house and Vietnam far longer than me. And we three then pay homage to the full exerciser of the right to make gains on your own land - the landlord who built this house and all of the others, forming the narrow alley in what twenty years ago was vegetable plot surrounding a small lake next to the train tracks. My stake in this existence is exceedingly small and fleeting, but the story of the community I reside in here will be the true lasting tale. In my following visits here I will bring a camera and attempt to capture what is the real miracle of this house deep in the labyrinth of modern Hanoi, as it paints an amazing picture of the changes that Hanoi has experienced.

On a personal level, however, it is nice to have a home in a place that is so convenient for my purposes. My country home will still be my pride and joy, but now I have a safe place to hang my hat and keys to the front gate - and anchoring that will help the great city of Hanoi feel more like a home and less like a destination in the future.

Playing Vietnamese Dress-up

I arrived at work Monday morning fully aware that I had an appointment to meet with the journalist and film crew from the local news network that afternoon. As usual, I wasn't really sure what they wanted to talk about, but my staff sure seemed incredibly excited about it. So excited, in fact, that, with bright, shiny eyes, one of my dear counselors, bouncing in her seat at morning meeting, suggested that I should wear the traditional "ao dai" (pronounced "ow zay") to the interview.

As silly a suggestion this seemed, it was quickly taken up by all the other staff sitting at the table, and soon I had a crowd of young women looking far too enthusiastic than is healthy for 8 am on a foggy, dank Monday morning. Uh-oh, I thought, there's no winning this one. But of course, I had to try.

"I don't have an ao dai anymore," I protested, "I took it back to America on my last visit." (I hadn't like how that one fit anyway).

"No problem, we'll rent one," came the answer.

"But I'm about 10 times bigger than the average Vietnamese woman - there's no way they'll have a stock ao dai in my size."

"Yes they will - we'll find one."

"It's too cold."

"We'll turn up the heat."

"Nobody else is going to wear one. It will look funny if it's just me sitting in the office wearing a fancy dress."

"Everybody will love it - and we'll do your make-up too! You'll look Vietnamese! "

Hah. It would take a lot more than a couple yards of neatly embroidered silk and satin and some white-out make-up to make me look like one of the petite, lithe, dark-eyed and black-haired exotic waifs that populate this lovely country. But, what the heck, it's only for local television, and they were so thrilled with the idea. If they want to play "Magic Make-Over" with me on a Monday afternoon, well, worse things have happened.

So, about 11 am one field coordinator rushed in and announced we were going to the rental shop. We must've been a sight - this dear girl is 23, about 4 feet 6 inches tall, about 80 pounds, and just as sweet and feisty a thing as they come. Here she is trying to drive me around town on her miniature scooter (made for petite girls like her) to find an ao dai that will fit this comparatively towering 5 foot 3 white girl. But she was right - they found a dress for me on my first try. It was a standard bridesmaid's dress that must have been made for a girl quite a bit rounder than me. The pants posed a momentary problem in that rounder also implies shorter - but ten minutes later they were ten centimeters longer and the problem was solved.

After lunch I returned to the office with my make-up, high-heels and hairbrush in a bag. Without hesitation the girls set upon me and soon my desk was indistinguishable from a Mary Kay house party. Boxes and bags disgorged make-up of every color, brushes of every size, creams of every consistency. I was strapped to my chair and the torture began. The hardest part of the whole process was keeping a straight face for them to apply the various products while watching them consider every move as carefully as a sculptor or surgeon. Too bad their outcome wasn't an actually masterpiece (I tried teaching them the proverb about silk purses out of sows' ears).

Fortunately after the first layer was applied they decided I should change first - fortunately, I say, because even with a whole team of caregivers and plenty of time devoted to preparation, I still wasn't ready when the TV crew arrived (okay, they also arrived about 45 minutes early). Sadly the early arrival didn't impede the liberal use of an eyelash curler (eeeek!).

And so I had just enough time to jam my feet into my heels and my translator to toss some hot water into the teapot before the much-lauded representatives of Cao Bang's finest correspondents entered my seat of power. My translator had the tact to tell me I looked just like a Vietnamese woman on her engagement day about two seconds before the two young men entered - great, now I finally figure out that they were trying to marry me off to Cao Bang Television. Needless to say the two gentlemen were taken aback to see me in full wedding dress. I'll give them credit that they seemed just as surprised by the show as I felt ostentatious, so at least they weren't knowingly in on any of this.

To add futility to vanity, the lead reporter haltingly explained that he and his cameraman were only there to get a bit more information about our projects and some B-roll for a short brief they were planning for the news that night - they didn't actually want to interview me after all. I doubt I had exactly stunned him with my beauty or anything, but he certainly was distracted because he proceeded to repeat this fact ad nauseum while occasionally interjecting how much they hoped they might be able to work with us more in the future and perhaps to do a much bigger story soon. He even went so far to throw out that they could send the story to the national news if they could find something enticing enough (a mixed-blood wedding ceremony, perhaps?).

I've never found cold interviews with Cao Bang Television to be all that effective before, so I was more than happy to set about giving them more basic information and background on our projects. And background information certainly was needed and called for - despite the fact that we have done several extended interviews and even one large publicity project with Cao Bang TV in the past, this young gentleman was sorely uninformed about our programs.

In the end, I have no idea whether a story was even completed and aired this week...and I have no idea if any of the B-roll of me sitting behind my desk in my full wedding get-up talking to my translator and other staff would have made the cut anyway. The reporters hung around for about an hour and got to scope out an office full of girls of varying degrees of eligibility - which, to them, was probably more of a story than our actual work. I discovered that I can indeed semi-successfully rent an ao dai on short notice in something near my size in this town, but have also been convinced of the importance of having another good one tailor-made to fit me. And my staff have finally satisfied themselves that I won't magically turn into a Vietnamese woman simply by applying a lot of really white make-up to my face in the style of traditional beauty.

Still, we took the requisite pictures to memorialize the occasion. As it was nasty day outside we were left with the rather uncomplimentary interior of our office, complete with bad fluorescent strip lighting, as a backdrop. Between that an the half-worn-off vampire make-up and the blasé hairstyle, I'm not completely proud of the outcome, but, for the record, here is how I looked:

After the fun was all over, I returned to my office and reapplied my own make-up to show them how I usually do my face. I had realized that most of the staff had never seen me in make-up, as that's not something I usually do in Cao Bang. So I went all out, complete with eyeliner, and they all agreed that in the future I can be left to do my own face. Other aspects of Vietnamese attire I will leave to the real Vietnamese.

My castle, my sanctuary

WELCOME! Please, do come in. Yes, leave your shoes by the door...it's the custom.

And here it is - the much-anticipated inside tour of that great green giant that I now call home. I am feeling settled in to a very comfortable degree, and I feel ready to welcome guests into my home. So we will start at the front door and into my kitchen. If you look closely, you'll notice that no, I don't have an oven and range top...it seems like you just can't find that in Vietnam for less than $1,200. So for the time being I'm simply using a single burner gas stove and small electric oven - hardly ideal (or in sync with the almost grandiose attitude of the rest of the place- you'll notice all the large furniture such as the dining room table came with the place).

Shall we go up? And up...and up...and up...

And up to the second floor. This is my entertaining area with a "lounge" in the English sense, and a music room...where for now only my horn gets to hang out rather forlornly...maybe someday it will have friends. The curtains came with the place, as did the pleather sofa and lounge furniture. And the photo of the bride...I'm still looking for a large picture/weaving/traditional art appropriate to cover that up with.

And we climb upwards, with a spiraling glance back at the second floor...

And upwards again we climb - to the third floor...

...to my bedroom...complete with a realization of a childhood dream - French doors opening onto a (albiet tiny) balcony. If you have read my past posts, you will remember that I went all out and bought an innerspring mattress for this home...though if you look closely you will also notice that I have yet to find sheets to fit. There is a second room on this floor in image of the music room on floor two...to be a guest room have need of using it and thus motivation to finish it!

And upwards again...

Into the Family Shrine Room. Basically for me it's a dusty wanna-be attic that is going unused and uncared for by me. Fortunately the ancestors have been officially removed to another temporary shrine, so the dust isn't actually a desecration.

And the laundry room: it's worth it just for the view (although the washing machine and drying space are pretty sweet).

And there you have it - the quick overview of my current home. It really is ridiculously big - even for a full Vietnamese family. Most of the family homes I've visited aren't nearly this well tricked out. But it is exceedingly difficult to find a place that has things like a kitchen that haven't been rented out to other foreigners that and thus cost twice as much. So, value-wise, this is an extremely appropriate find.

So, I appreciate it, even though I doubt I will ever live in anything as elegant in my life again, and certainly not alone. It's not perfect - if it had been designed by me there are several critical things I would've done differently. The bathrooms are tiny, there are odd angles in the rooms that make it difficult to arrange furniture. I would have installed ceiling fans and better lighting rather than wall fans and obnoxious fluorescent strip lights. I would have preferred to have better sunlight, but this is still a vast improvement over where I lived previously. It would also still be nice to have a place to hang my hammock...

But beggars can't be choosers, and I am but a beggar living in the house of a king - and loving every second of it!

My doors are open - please drop on by and judge for yourself!