When Tony and I were preparing for the job fair last winter, he delegated the research to me. Not one to embrace change, he didn’t really want to leave China, but he understood that this “Third Culture Kid” needed to move on. I spent hours on the internet, schizophrenically obsessing about one school or another. I kept coming back to Vientiane International School. I loved the idea of a small school in a tropical climate. We were thrilled to accept job offers (primary English as an Additional Language for me; secondary English for Tony) at VIS during the Search Associates fair in Bangkok.
Now that we’re here, it’s hard not to make comparisons to our previous school. That’s not fair, of course. Shanghai American School had 3,000 students on two huge campuses. We had a decadent amount of resources and technology that I only now fully appreciate. With only 300 students, VIS has to be a bit more frugal. So I’m really only making observations when I describe the situation here. I swear, I’m not complaining!
In Shanghai, I had my own classroom and cabinets stuffed with top-of-the-line resources. Each fall, we ordered new supplies for the next year, and I was able to stock the ESOL office with fantastic manipulatives, flashcards, games, books, and everything else we needed or wanted to reinforce the grade-level content. If I needed pens, construction paper, Model Magic … well, anything really … I just marched up to the SAS supply room and went shopping.
At VIS, I share an office space and a classroom with two other teachers. At first, I didn’t use the classroom. It seems my predecessor taught all her classes in the grade-level classrooms, so that’s what I did. That means I had to haul all my teaching supplies with me wherever I went. Inevitably, I forget something and had to run back downstairs to get my supplies. I’ve started bringing most of my classes down to the EAL classroom, and it’s working out much better. The room is used for all grade levels, from grade 1 to 12, so I’m trying to lay claim to a corner that will be a nice learning space for the little guys.
As for materials … sigh. It took me hours just to get a pen. I had to fill out a form, and then wait for someone to fill my order. When I asked for a trash can, the nice Lao girl working in the office brought me an in-box tray. So I had to fill out a new form with more details. Teaching materials are old, outdated and geared toward older students. There’s nothing very useful for teaching English to the little kids. I’m glad I brought so much of my own stuff! The school seems eager to get our department what we need, though, and we recently got a grant from the American Embassy to buy EAL and special education materials.
I also took a step backwards with regards to technology. At SAS, I started an ESOL blog and used my laptop and projector frequently in the classroom. I attended two conferences on technology in education and felt quite inspired to work with our little “digital natives.” At VIS, there are a few portable projectors that can be checked out from the library or we can take our kids to the library tech lab, which is equipped with a projector. Mr. Lin is a fabulous techie, who installs all the hardware and handles all the trouble-shooting, but there’s nobody on staff designated to train TEACHERS in tech integration. It’s hard to keep up with technology under the best circumstances, and these ain’t the best circumstances.
On a positive note, the kids are very sweet. While most of my students at SAS were Korean, my VIS classes are much more diverse. I have students from Laos, Japan, Korea, China, Thailand, Vietnam, Norway, Sweden, Germany, Italy, Pakistan, Brunei, Malaysia, the Philippines and Columbia. Several of them have no English at all. I have students in grades 1 to 5, and I am having a blast with them.
Another plus: no more bus ride to school! After four years of a long commute, I can now ride my bike to school in about 5 minutes. I love that!
Perhaps the best thing about our new school is the slower pace. Everything is much more relaxed (and as soon as Tony and I learn how to relax, I’m sure we’ll appreciate it). I do believe that once we learn the ropes and get situated, we’re going to love it here.
Geck-o-rama
Yeah, they leave tell-tale signs of their visit all over the walls, but I just love the geckos here! We usually have one or two keeping us company in the kitchen or living room each evening. They stick to the wall with their plump little toes and freeze for hours at a time before scurrying off in search of a snack. I strongly encourage them to eat mosquitoes. As pets, they are no worse than my belated cat, Ketta, who begrudgingly allowed me to pet her just long enough to lure me into a false sense of security, at which time she’d whip her calico head around and sink her fangs into my hand. I fell for that trick again and again. Geckos are equally unaffectionate, but at least it’s not painful.
This poor little guy was hanging out in the kitchen when I got home from school. I set my camera on “macro” and got right down in his tiny face. He must have been blinded by the flash or paralyzed by fear because he was still in that position when I was heading upstairs to bed.
This may be the same one as the kitchen gecko. Dunno. But he was chillin’ in the living room this afternoon.
This is our carport, where the geckos get together for late night dining. About 10 of them scattered when I approached with my camera, but this one didn’t get away in time.
Bless Our House
Our landlady, Mrs. Villay, and her handyman, Mr. Pye, stopped by the house on Saturday with a couple trays full of little snacks and drinks. When I opened the gate, I said, “Oh, wow, thank you!” and Mrs. Villay said, “It’s not for you. It’s for the spirits.” So she put one tray on the front steps and the other in the backyard, burned some incense, said a little prayer, and then popped inside for a minute to chat. Most Lao people are Buddhist, and they usually have a little spirit house in their yard, where they leave all kinds of treats: bananas, sticky rice, noodles, beer, Coke, cigarettes, fake money, etc. We don’t have a spirit house, unfortunately, but I guess the next best thing is to make an offering in an auspicious corner of the property. Hope it worked.
Vientiane Shopping Excursion
My fantastic EAL coordinator, Carine, invited me on a shopping excursion last Saturday with our new school counselor, Leslie, and our new special ed teacher, Barbara. We went to Home Ideal, a smallish version of a Chinese K-Mart; a rattan shop, where I bought a shoe shelf; the “Morning Market,” a crazy collection of Laos handicrafts and Chinese crap; a pharmacy; and then a lovely Mekong Riverside restaurant. So civilized!
Lovely Light Fixture
We had been living in this house for more than a week before I really noticed our living room light fixture. Its awesome-ness simply can’t be captured with a camera. The center looks a big like a bunch of grayish grapes. Five large beige scallop shells surround the grapes, but the extra long fluorescent lightbulbs stick out the ends of the shells. The most truly fabulous part of all is the rope lights with colored Christmas-y twinkle lights inside. Pink, green, yellow, orange. You really cannot imagine how truly hideous it is. But it makes me happy every time I look at it … which is a lot. I just keep picturing our landlady at Home Depot, thinking, “Ah ha! That is exactly the most perfect fabulous light fixture I ever saw! I must have it for my house!”
First Impressions – The House
A driver took us to our new home straight from the Vientiane airport on Aug. 1. When Mr. Lamon pulled open the huge metal gate, the wildly overgrown yard distracted us momentarily from the two-storey French Colonial home. He unlocked the side door and beckoned us inside, where we found a layer of dust blanketing the vinyl furniture and hardwood floors. Gecko poo dotted the white walls, and the kitchen counters and cabinets showed signs of rodent infestation. Ant trails criss-crossed nearly every surface. Upstairs, dirt filled all the nooks and crannies of the rattan beds and night stands. The built-in closets and drawers of the four bedrooms were desperately in need of a good scrubbing.
As our spirits sank, our new superintendent Steve Alexander popped in and cursed a bit. The landlady had promised to clean up the house and yard, he said. He placed a few calls, and before long a cleaning crew showed up. Their efforts made the house habitable in the short run, but we knew a lot more elbow grease was needed before our shipment arrived. Luckily for me, Tony suffered terrible insomnia for the first week, so he whiled away the hours mop in hand while I enjoyed Ambien-induced slumber.
After just three days, the movers delivered our shipment – 124 boxes! We happily replaced the landlady’s furniture and began setting up our home. Slowly, it’s coming together. Tony fixed a stopped up shower drain, assembled several shelves and took down two hideous light fixtures. The permanent shower rod was installed too high, so water splashed under the shower curtain and all over the bathroom, but I solved that problem by purchasing a spring rod and installing it a bit lower. I also came up with the brilliant plan of covering the front door with a Turkish kilim (and using the kitchen door exclusively) to open up the living room space. Every day, we get the house a little more organized, a little more decorated. Today, I woke up and went downstairs for breakfast without having to move anything out of my path. Progress!
Any idea how to make the captions show up? If you’re interested, click on the photos to go to flickr.com.
Vientiane International School Primary Assembly
Here are a few pics from my first assembly at Vientiane International School. I can’t figure out how to make the captions show up, but if you really want to read them, click on the photo to go to the flickr page.
Moving On
It’s always hard to say good-bye to family, friends and the familiarity of the States at the end of our summer vacations. However, Tony and I usually look forward to getting “home,” wherever that may be. Two weeks ago, we took off for a new home in Vientiane, Laos.
In those last two weeks, we finalized the purchase of a summer house in Michigan, traveled for 31 hours to Laos, moved in to our new house in Vientiane, hired a maid named Daeng and a night guard named Ae, received our shipment from China, unpacked everything and found a place for most of it, started new teaching jobs at Vientiane International School, bought a motorbike, found pants that fit Tony (no small feat in Southeast Asia!), got the internet and new printers set up at home, and began exploring our new city.
We still haven’t figured out how to work our stove.
Wow, no wonder we’re tired.
Farewell China Tour (Day 10)
Last Day of Our Adventure!
As we sipped our coffee at breakfast, the lace curtains fluttered in the morning breeze. Cath and I looked out at the mountains and sadly reminded ourselves that this was the last day of our fabulous adventure. We walked the Barkhor around Jokhang Temple a final time and popped in to a few shops. I bought a gorgeous yak bell that I had been eyeing all week at a quaint little store owned by a Tibetan family. I had to haggle quite a bit over the price, but I promised to tell all my friends about them (which I will do as soon as I unearth their business card…).
On our way to the airport, Chum Zhun took us to a supermarket to shop for dried yak meat. After sampling several varieties, I delegated yak tasting to Cath and bought the kind she recommended as a special gift for my dad. (Hmmm … I wonder if it’s still in his fridge?) We toured an incense factory that was overrun with Chinese tourists, quickly stopped to see an ancient Buddha painting on the side of a mountain, and then drove to the airport for our flight back home.
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| From Incense Factory |
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| From Rock Painting |
For the first time during our visit to Lhasa, we saw a major Chinese military presence. They clumped together in menacing groups, donned in full riot gear and holding protective plastic shields. We felt terribly intimidated. There was no obvious reason for the throngs of soldiers. In fact, the Tibetans went about their business as usual – buying breakfast noodles from street vendors, making the sacred trek around the temple, staffing the market stalls, chatting with friends, etc. After three glorious days full of meaningful encounters with the Tibetans, Cath and I had formed an idealistic image of the region and its peace-loving people. This morning, our unrealistic perception was shattered by the tangible reminder that Tibet was truly under Chinese occupation. We spent much of the morning in stunned silence, saddened by the nonsensical presence of troops at a place of worship and even more impressed with the beautiful Tibetan people, who regularly risk their livelihoods or even their lives to maintain their traditional ways.
Returning to Shanghai was bittersweet. Cath and I had shared an unforgettable journey, but it was time to face reality. She was moving back to Canada, and Tony and I were moving to Laos. It was time to say good-bye to China, and we agreed that our trip had been the perfect send-off. Zai jian! And Gale Zhu!
Farewell China Tour (Day 9)
Samye Monastery
In order for a monastery to be a monastery, it must have three things: holy statues, scriptures and monks. The Samye Monastery, founded in 775, was the first in Tibet to have all three. Located across the Brahmaputra River from the city, the monastery was a little tricky to find. We checked out of our hotel early, hoping to catch the first ferry. What Chum Zhun didn’t tell us was that the “ferry” was really just a rickety boat that didn’t run on a regular schedule at all. Rather, it left when full of passengers.
We drove the short distance to the dock around 9 a.m. As we sat on the concrete steps by the water, a group of monks in ruby red robes arrived, chatted with the boat pilot for a few minutes and then left. Around 9:30, some Chinese tourists showed up, took a few pictures and took off again. At 10, Chum Zhun inquired about the delay. We were waiting for the monks, they said, who were enjoying a bowl of noodles for breakfast, so we would leave when they returned. Dejected, we returned to our posts on the concrete steps and watched another ferry approaching the dock. It struck a sandbar, and everyone climbed out of the boat and into the knee-deep water, straining to push the boat clear. We couldn’t help but worry that our boat would meet the same fate.
Finally, the monks appeared, ready for the journey with full bellies. They joined an eclectic collection of passengers and cargo: a motorcycle, several large stuffed bags (maybe grain?), lots of local Tibetans, a group of Chinese tourists (including one portly guy decked out head to toe in Beijing Olympics gear), an iron I-beam the length of the whole boat, and us (the only foreigners). As our boat pulled away from the dock, another Chinese family came running from the parking area. I thought for sure they’d just catch the next boat, but NO! We actually turned back to get them.
The pilot used a long pole to push us out of shallow water, deftly avoiding the sandbar, and then turned on the motor for our slow peaceful trip across the river. Cath and I introduced ourselves to a shy Tibetan girl named Minma, who had been staring at us and smiling. Although children are required to learn Mandarin in school, she didn’t understand me (obviously her poor country school hadn’t taught her enough Mandarin; I’m sure I spoke it perfectly!). One of the monks translated but then quietly turned away with his pink umbrella blocking the sun. Otherwise, our river cruise was uneventful.
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Once we reached land, we all piled in to the covered bed of a pick-up truck and sat on wobbly benches for the bone-jarring ride to the monastery. We toured the three main floors, each with a different style of architecture: Tibetan, Chinese and Indian. The Indian level should have come with a parent advisory, such as: “This floor is rated R for sexual content.” However, the sex was purely of a religious nature as depicted by a king getting it on with one of his two consorts in his attempt to reach enlightenment.
Cath and I decided to turn the prayer wheels that lined the monastery’s perimeter. We had just started when a monk came sprinting over to remind us that we were going the wrong way. He laughed and gestured, reminding us that Tibetans always walk clockwise at holy places. Everyone we encountered smiled, put their hands together in prayer and greeted us with an ebullient “tashi dele!” Deeply proud of this historic place, they seemed honored that we went to so much trouble to see it.
I didn’t want to ruin the spirit of hospitality by snapping too many photos, so instead I just tried to remember all the meaningful moments. One highlight that nearly brought tears to my eyes: We saw two adorable Tibetan toddlers giggling and chasing each other near some holy statues. Chum Zhun said Tibetan mothers routinely take their babies to temples and monasteries to teach them Buddhist rituals early on. One little guy waddled over to me with a crumpled jiao note (about a penny) in his tiny hand. He held up his money, cocked his head, looked at me imploringly with beautiful big brown eyes, and squeaked something that sounded like “Blah blah blah Buddha.” I just smiled at him, shrugged my shoulders to indicate I didn’t understand, and looked at Chum Zhun for help. She translated, “He wants you to give his money to Buddha.” By then the boy had skipped off to find a smarter adult tall enough to toss his money over the railing at the Buddha statue.
Cath, Chum Zhun and I dined on yak meat and potatoes at a humble little restaurant on the monastery grounds. A jovial group of monks ate at a nearby table.
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The pick-up truck/bus driver had told us to meet at 2:30 for the ride back to the boat. Punctual as always, that’s what we did. Within the next 30 minutes, we were joined by a group of Tibetan teen-aged girls, the Chinese tourists (including the Beijing Olympics fan), and some of the Tibetan villagers who were on the morning boat. And we waited … and waited … and waited.
Chum Zhun got off the bus to investigate and was gone a long time. Around 3:30, she returned, flustered. The bus driver told her that, once again, the monks were the cause of the delay, so she stomped off to the restaurant where they were eating lunch and sternly reminded them of the departure schedule. Although frustrated with the seemingly inconsiderate monks, she also felt guilty for being so rude to them. She noted the obvious: It’s really bad karma to scold a monk. She decided she could make up for it by offering her seat to one of the monks, but first she let him stand for about 10 minutes of the bumpy ride as punishment for his tardiness.
When the bus reached the boat dock, the three of us quickly boarded the boat. We were the only ones who did. Some people gleefully waded in the river; some stood in the shadow of the bus to light up their cigarettes; some made the ubiquitous peace-sign as they posed for snapshots; and some dipped their umbrellas in the water and opened them up in the quest for cool shade in the blazing heat. Chum Zhun sighed and said she had annoyed enough people today, so she asked me to say something to the boat pilot. “Zou ba!” I shouted in Mandarin. “Let’s go!” The pilot nicely explained that we were waiting for another group. “Five minutes,” he said. Finally, a bus pulled up with the same tourists who had arrived at the monastery for their tour when we were waiting to leave. In the time we waited, they toured the whole monastery and drove back to the boat dock.
The boat ride back was much livelier than our morning cruise. A Swiss tourist struck up a conversation with one of the monks, who was very friendly and eager to share information about the region. The Tibetan teens chatted with us in Mandarin. They had just finished their university entrance exams and had gone to the monastery to pray for good marks. They were gorgeous and giggly and took photos with a film camera.
We drove a few hours back to Lhasa and attended a dinner show with both traditional and modern Tibetan dancing. The buffet included sheep lung, sausage made from sheep intestines, several yak meat dishes, barley cakes, butter tea and barley beer. The only thing that made me gag a little was a yak-cheese cake that tasted like the smell of a cow barn.
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