Ginny Tonkin

Badminton hiney kickin’

Modified from the original post on March 23, 2011 on Girl Meets World, which chronicled my travels in Vietnam and South East Asia.

I have never been so afraid of middle-aged men in my life.

Squinting through the net, secured in place between a pole and a tree, I awaited the next serve.

Well, not quite of them, but for my ego, I thought as I looked at my opponents.

It was 6:34 a.m. I had been awake for 9 minutes. I still had my glasses on.

And, I was getting my hiney handed to me on a make-shift badminton court by a group of grandpas.

Early morning is the time for exercise in Vietnam in order to beat the heat. The sport of choice? Badminton. Oh, in most parks, you can see quite a variety of activities: kung fu, jogging, ballroom dance, group aerobics, but the real competitive fire comes out for this fast-paced frenzy of soul-crushing defeat.

That’s if only you’re me, don’t stretch, and wait for the time you’re supposed to head out the door to get out of bed.

At the urging of my French roommate, I agreed to join her for this early-morning ritual the night before–at my suggestion. Badminton is everywhere in the city, and I wanted to try it. She warned me though, despite enjoying the game and the community atmosphere, we would face tough competition.

On the court, our opponents called out, “Bay, Hai!” 7 to 2. It had hardly been three minutes. Our tough competition was beginning to look bored.

We had been invited to into a game by this group of older Vietnamese. Inclusive, community spirit is big in this neighborhood, and its a novelty to play with a westerner. But I was thinking they were beginning to doubt including us as a strategic addition as they rearranged to “even” the teams.

I loved playing with these men. A group of sweaty, t-shirt clad, middle-aged Vietnamese sweet enough to let us into their badminton game.

They appreciatively laughed as I dropped expletives when I’d miss a return.

They even showed me a little bit how to play, although I think it was because their patience was wearing thin on my faltering early-morning coordination.

The first crew switched out, and a grey-haired woman sauntered onto the court. “Oh, watch out, she’s good,” warned my roomie.

Her playful girlish giggles followed my attempts to return the birdy. Though a bad back kept her from bending to reach the shuttlecock, an expectant, impish grin encouraged me to scoop it into her palm, in order to slam it back over the net into my face.

A new, more youthful character also arrived on the scene, probably hoping to salvage the situation. My new Vietnamese friend, a computer teacher in his 30′s, offered me a turn to serve. Still facing the white-haired wonder-woman, I knew it’d be a quick game.

With a smirk, our elderly opponent leaned over the net to ask our ages. “Hai muoi hai, hai muoi ba,” 22, 23. She then thumbed at her chest, inviting us to guess hers. “Bon muoi lam,” 45, I guessed politely.

Over 60. Incredible.

But that didn’t defeat my new teammate’s spirit.

“You come tomorrow, and we can play again?” he asked.

“We’ll see,” I ambiguously reply, thinking of my head on my pillow.

By 7:30, the sun was starting to unleash its heat, traffic was coursing through the streets, and people were returning home to wash up before work. The police also came round by 7:45, to make sure all nets were down, so that others could use the park normally during the day, signaling the end of the morning’s exercise.

I trotted back to our alley like a wounded solider, ready to fall back into bed. Chatting with my roommate, we exchanged ideas about how to improve our game, like getting up early enough to stretch and practice to warm up before facing competition.

Come tomorrow, play again?

I’ll sleep on it.

Smokin’ Bali

Originally posted on February 18, 2011 on Girl Meets World, which chronicled my travels in Vietnam and South East Asia.

3, 2, 1, Happy New Year! Wait a sec… didn’t we just do that?

Gravity-defying rice terraces on Bali, Indonesia.

Tet, or Vietnamese Lunar New Year marks the arrival of spring. The most important holiday in Vietnam, Tet is a time for family, and most Vietnamese return to their hometown to celebrate the new year and to wish each other prosperity for the coming year. Pre-Tet there’s much celebrating, well-wishing, and much mucking around waiting for the holiday to come. It’s like our Christmas holiday. During Tet, not much is open, and for the first time, I saw streets on HCMC quiet.

Businesses give employees time off, and most go travel. With my free time, I went to Indonesia with a few friends, visiting Bali and Jakarta. Watch for updates soon, including photos, on this growing colossus, but until then, enjoy the uploaded videos on my YouTube channel. If you can’t see them, click on the link to GirlMeetsWorld2010 on the video player.

Mount Batur-Bali: Is a 2:30 am wake-up call ever worth it? Can you hike a volcano in flip-flops?

Morning peaking through the fog on Mount Batur, Bali.

Yes, to both those answers.

Although sneakers would have been nice.

A friend and I braved an early-morning to hike to the top of a Mount Batur, a volcano, overlooking the largest lake in Bali, Lake Batur.

Flip-flops? Yes (hand-to-forehead), I wore my chaco flip-flops. While shopping around for the best deal on a hiking tour, one woman informed us that the climb would only be an hour, and that it was so easy, you could do it in flip-flops.

Only partially true. It was two hours long. And although you can do it in flip-flops, our guide, Wayan, was so shocked, he offered his own pair of hiking boots.

The sun-rise in the fog was well-worth the hike, although it was colder than we expected. After sweating from the long ascent, we sat in the cool morning air, as our now wet backs prevented us from staying warm. A thin sweater I brought on a whim and a mug of hot tea from make-shift shop at the top saved me from icicle status.

In the video, I reference the small tea shack, then turn to the heat emanating from the volcano. Wayan, our Balinese guide, sticks his cigarette at the opening, highlighting the heat coming from the earth.

On the dissent from the top, we discovered we’d been hiking through farms made fertile by the volcanic soil. Wayan taught us Bahasa Indonesian while we got a chance to look at the lava flows and pumice rocks that formed the landscape.

Motorbikin’ in Mui Ne and Touch-me-nots: Long over-due videos from my vacation to the Vietnamese beach town of Mui Ne after my CELTA course finished.

Motorbikin’: Everyone, everywhere drives a motorbike in Vietnam, and this sleepy town was a great place to learn. An automatic is an easier vehicle to learn on, despite its heavier build than a manual.

Touch-me-nots: Although known for its beaches, Mui Ne also overs a hike through the Fairy Stream riverbed to end at a waterfall. Trudge through barefoot or with strappy chacos for the best experience. Along the way, you can see unique flora, like banana flowers in banana trees, coconuts on palms, and touch-me-nots that close to the touch. In the video, my friend Angela explains what they’re called in the Philippines.

“Teacher, do you have baby?!”

Apparently, it’s not a full day on the job as an English teacher in Asia if you don’t have tears, a fight, and a reference to how fat you are–all in the same day.

Let me explain.

The Young Learners market all over Asia is booming, so I have several kids classes–even at 7:45 Saturdays and Sundays. Since kids have school during the week, parents will send them when they don’t, on the weekend, the time kids in America would consider their precious time away from homework and tests. Teens spend their free time cramming for English language standardized tests that lead to study abroad opportunities.

Tears? It was the last day in class for my “Flyers” group, or my group of advanced 8-12 year-olds, and we were playing games. One of my 8-year-old students is very bright, but can’t sit still and bothers other students by acting out in class. He needed a chair, so he pulled one out from another girl who was about to sit. We sorted the problem out in no time, but it’s never a comforting feeling to suddenly turn around to one of your students in crumpled in tears on the floor.

A fight? I teach an adorable group of 7-8 year-olds for two hours Saturdays and Sundays things like colors, days of the week, and how to ask someone if they like ice cream. We play lots of games to practice language and keep them engaged, and naturally, the kids can get very competitive. After two boys’ turn at a board race, they ended up in a fist fight, arguing over one who had made fun of the other for losing the turn. My TA (Teacher’s Assistant) and I split it up quickly, but we had sullen faces for a couple minutes.

After these morning classes, I return to the teachers room, and relate what happened to my co-workers, one said, “What ’til you have blood in the same class, too.”

That leaves the fat reference. I have to preface this with several explanations. One, at 5’5″, I am taller than most of my Vietnamese counterparts, as are many westerners, so we are naturally larger than most. Two, due to Vietnamese history, as my friend explained to me, being more plump than others is a sign of wealth, thus being told you are fat is a huge compliment. Three, Vietnamese are not shy about telling or asking you for details that may seem rude in western cultures–like telling you that your shirt makes you look fat. In my evening teens class, we were working on physical descriptions, and the thirteen-year-old I called on described me as having blonde hair, being very beautiful, and being fat. Oh, only in Asia.

And if that didn’t make me feel great enough, my third-grade class had input on the subject, too. It’s my last class of the morning at a local primary school, and I’m trying to dismiss the class when one of my more enthusiastic girls sitting in the very back of the room jumps up and down, and says, “Teacher, I have a question!! Do you have baby?! Because your belly very big!”

Ooof. I swear, it was just because I was wearing a dress with an empire waistline! Naw, it doesn’t bother me, but it’s just one of those, “Really??” moments that makes you wince, and then smile.

Day by day, so much to learn. Let’s just hope I never have blood in the classroom.

Nha Trang’s #1 Lady–she’s not Miss Universe

What do Ke$ha and a resort in Nha Trang, Vietnam have in common? Their apparent love of utilizing the dollar sign as a legitimate letter of the alphabet. I got a kick out this hotel’s signage on the right side of the building.

Islands ring the coast around Nha Trang, making the city a prime launch point for island hoping.

However, instead of waking up in the morning feeling like P-Diddy, the Vietnamese of Nha Trang make like Jane Fonda in the early hours, heading beachside for exercise in the sunrise. Nha Trang is Vietnam’s most famous beach, and gained more international popularity after hosting Miss Universe 2008. This sultry getaway became my first stop on my backpacking travels up the coast of Vietnam from HCMC.

My overnight train pulled in around 5:30am, and I quickly found a taxi to my hotel. As we drove past the beachfront, I was surprised to see how many people were running, stretching, and performing what looked like Tai Chi, not only individually but in surprisingly well-coordinated groups.

Several groups of locals as well as Asian tourists had already hit the beach, playing in the waves of the South China Sea. As my friend explained to me, Asians think it’s crazy that westerners tan their bodies in mid-day sun since pale skin is prized in Asia. Therefore, many Vietnamese, Chinese, Japanese, and Korean tourists will jump in early morning or late afternoon, often fully clothed to protect their skin.

Local commuters were already flooding the large street lining the beachfront on motorbikes and bicycles. I checked into my hotel, a stone’s throw away from the shore, and rushed outside to take pictures of the sunrise. On my way to the shore, I almost literally ran into a large group of backpackers fresh from the night bus from Hoi An, looking for the best new place to crash.

Tourism is obviously Nha Trang’s #1 industry, and street hawkers of all kinds gather to reap the benefits of naive tourists, flush with money on their person than some of these people will see in a month. These hawkers can get annoying sometimes when you think, “This is the 6^th person on this street who’s tried to sell me a photocopy version of The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo.” However, these business-savvy peddlers can learn English just by interacting with tourists. One of these individuals happens turned into one of my favorite people in Vietnam: the #1 Lady of Nha Trang beach.

Who is she? A fruit hawker; she sells mangos, dragon fruit, chom-choms, and other tropical fruit to vacationers lounging beachside. This comical businesswoman acquired her title while I was lounging under a beach umbrella with a group of backpacker friends.

The woman walked up to us carrying her produce the traditional Vietnamese way—on a pole supported by her shoulder suspending two baskets full of goods. Ready for a long day under the sun on the beach, she wore a long-sleeved purple zip, orange patterned pants, a conical hat cushioned by a floppy army cap and tied under her chin with a handkerchief. Her eyes were lined with a heavy rim of black.

After we declined her offers for fruit, she wailed, “No money, no honey. Why no buy my fruit?” My good-humored British-Indian friend, sat on a beach chair with her husband and started to joke with our hawker. Pretty soon, this fruit seller was hamming it up. She first pretended to cut my friend’s hubby with her fruit knife, calling him a ladyboy, and offering him a pair of little girls’ flip-flops to wear. Switching gears, she started to compare skin types and said, “See? Same-same! You Vietnamese!” Later, it became compliments, “You work out, and be #1 Indian man!” She tells us her name is Me (pronounced “my”) Coincidentally, I was also given the same Vietnamese name by a charming hair stylist named “Steven.” Me and I bounded over our commonality.

After about 10 minutes, she sits down at the base of my chair. A marathon storyteller, Me continues weaving yarns in broken English, animatedly gesticulating to fill in the language gaps about theft on the beach, the dangers of drinking while swimming, and fat foreign women. We find that although she cannot read or write in English, she learned to speak from 18 years of selling fruit on the beach.

Her stories attract other hawkers to our umbrella bunch, a woman selling sunglasses, and another just comes to listen. She pauses to fill in her Vietnamese spectators, but remains focused on retaining us as her original audience—the white tourists.

After a last attempt to sell us fruit, she departs with her load of produce, kicking up sand with her flip-flops. She left us, not as just another nameless hawker, but as Me, #1 Lady of Nha Trang beach.

Surprise news: Cambodian stampede during Water Festival

Modified from the original post on November 23, 2010 on Girl Meets World, which chronicled my travels in Vietnam and South East Asia.

“Hundreds Die in Cambodian Stampede” is the current headline on the BBC Asia-Pacific News homepage. The accident occurred in Phnom Phen, while I celebrated the festival in Siem Reap–I had been in the country’s capital days before and was taken aback by the news. After a concert following the races of the Water Festival, hundreds crammed a bridge and sudden pushing caused a panic that started a crush that has killed over 300, injuring many more.

Bon Om Tuk, the Water Festival, held in Cambodia this weekend, features long, narrow dragon boats racing furiously downriver while crowds jam the riverside. Thousands come from the countryside to see the festivities either in Phnom Phen or Siem Reap. I was lucky enough to be part of the festivities Saturday in Siem Reap, while visiting the city to tour the legendary temples of Angkor Wat.

While on a Skype call, catching up with my parents after returning from Cambodia to HCMC, my dad told me the count was up to 300. I had to excuse myself from the conversation while overwhelmed with emotion. The festivities I saw in Siem Reap were such a uniquely Cambodian experience. Everything in Siem Reap revolves around tourism since the legendary temples of Angkor Wat lie less than 10 miles away from the city center. But this was a celebration of Cambodia, for Cambodia.

The Tonlé Sap is the largest freshwater lake in South East Asia, a crucial life force, providing nearly half of the country with fish and water for irrigation. The Water Festival marks the time when the Tonlé Sap reverses its flow of water, pouring its resources back into the Mekong Delta after the flooding of the monsoon season. In other words, not only is it a big deal for area ecosystems, but the festival is also a big part of Cambodian culture.

Everybody came out for the party—teens dressed to impress in fashionable jeans and hoodies, vendors selling everything from food to iPod cases, children holding animal-shaped balloons, old women and men wrapped in traditional skirts. Carts filled with street food from every kind of meat-type-item-on-a-stick to freshly cut fruit to ice cream to paper-thin banana chocolate “pancakes” filled with sweetened condensed milk. Carnival rides and bouncy houses provided family-friendly entertainment and everybody shared the grassy banks of the river to watch the races. Fireworks ended the night. It was refreshing to see something not catered to foreign tourists, and the night really represented Cambodia coming to find out who she is on her own.

A friend who works ESL in Siem Reap was going to go to Phnon Phen for the festival, but decided to go to the beach hub of Sihanoukville instead. She warned us about the crowds expected in both locations, and I considered myself lucky to be in Siem Reap where the festivities would be lively, but certainly not as crowded as the capital.

This eyewitness account from the BBC of Australian Sean Ngu, who was visiting friends and family in Phnom Phen, recalls the events from the festival.

“The water festival is one of the most important celebrations in the year and many people arrive from the countryside. The city is full of people. It is very quiet right now, apart from the ambulances. What a tragic end to a wonderful celebration.”

Despite crippling poverty, government corruption, and years of war-plagued misery, Cambodia has promise of recovery. The tourist industry has helped put the country on the map for something other than poverty, and Cambodia is emerging as a major stop on the South East Asian loop. I honestly loved Cambodia, from what I could gain from my weeklong stay.

Retrospect: Vietnam

Originally posted on October 10, 2010 on Girl Meets World, which chronicled my travels in Vietnam and South East Asia.

I feel like Joseph Gordon-Levitt in 500 Days of Summer. After successfully wooing his love interest Zooey Deschanel, he lists her little quirks that endear her to him.

I feel like I’m doing the same thing here in Vietnam. Now that I’ve spent over two weeks in the country, and now several days in HCMC, a certain familiarity with a different lifestyle helps write my mental list.

-Iced coffee.

-Little plastic chairs and tables for street side dining.

-$0.25 baguettes at every turn.

-Street badminton. Hacky sack with a badminton birdie.

-$2 manicures. $6 haircuts.

-The grace and moxie of Vietnam’s many high heel clad fashionistas and businesswomen, astride motorbikes.

-Monsoon season: LOVE IT. No sweat, fewer tourists, keeps the bugs at bay.

-The thrill of a motorbike ride down a boulevard strewn with twinkle lights.

-Café culture. There’s a certain rhythm to enjoying your meal. Waiters don’t rush you out; just ask for the bill when you’re ready.

It’s good to be back in HCMC. Nicknamed the Paris of the East for influence from its French colonial past, HCMC has reincarnated into the New York of the East from the frenetic rhythm that drives its residence.

These cuties that came up to me at the Botanical Gardens in HCMC remind why I want to teach

I wonder if this is just the honeymoon period, or if like Gordon-Levitt, I’ll turn on this newfound love, peevishly naming the same endearing traits as irksome misfortunes. The thing is, regardless of what I do or where I go after my CELTA, I’ve learned a thing or two while traveling in Vietnam. Wherever I decide to go, I know not only that there are beautiful things in every place, but those unique characteristics are only one facet.

It’s like this. The Best Day Ever I alluded to in an earlier blog? I declared that day my Best Day, because I concluded what I had planned for my overseas adventure was, in fact, possible. After a day’s worth of successfully navigating streets running errands, I was also meeting great, interesting people, who happened help me with what seemed to be exactly the right thing at the right time. It’s not that I didn’t think I could succeed in my venture while still Stateside, but when you travel so far on recent graduate’s budget, certain misgivings can nag. My Best Day Ever was the realization that wherever I go, I’ll be okay and make it through.

I was grateful for (and am now blissfully listing) the little things—they’re what give a place a unique character. But what I realized was what I was most grateful were those experiences that showed language, culture, and location don’t divide mankind.

-An unguarded smile, caught in surprise.

-Honesty in a transaction when too much money exchanged hands.

-Help with a heavy bag without a money-seeking intention.

-A child’s laugh.

-An old man’s wisdom.

-The love of family.

-The success of hard work.

I have been the recipient of so many amazing experiences and boundless generosity over the past two weeks. And now it comes time for the hard task that brought me here–the CELTA. My class starts tomorrow morning at ILA Vietnam; I need to appear promptly at 8:45am. I met with my group Saturday night for dinner, and I know it’s going to be a good experience. Although we all shared our anxiety about working through this rigorous 4-week course, we relaxed knowing there were 18 people with the same objective. A diverse, international group, my class is connected by a common goal: successfully passing the CELTA.