HANOI: City of colors

We arrived in Hanoi mid-afternoon on an early morning flight from Taipei. We had applied for visas on arrival, so after getting off the airplane we went to a separate immigration post to pick them up. The process took about 10 minutes and then we continued through the regular immigration checkpoint and on to get our luggage. The Hanoi airport is around 40 minutes from the city center so we took a taxi from the airport to our guesthouse in the Old Quarter.

Old Quarter Hanoi has become a hub for backpackers of all kinds, but despite that reputation it has not become overwhelmingly commercial. There are many travel agencies, restaurants and bars in the area that clearly cater to tourists, but these businesses co-exist within the city's particular character. Sometimes a place that caters to tourists can feel dry and lifeless — Hanoi's old quarter is anything but. Thinking of Hanoi I will always think of movement, that sea of motorbikes, and the bright red, green, yellow of the buddhist flags.

The Hanoi Guesthouse where we stayed was a little more expensive than some at $20 a night, however the price was well worth it for the delicious breakfast and kind staff. It is quite likely the friendliest hotel or guesthouse I have stayed at in any country. Each morning we had our choice of coffee, tea or fresh juice and crepes, cereal, pho or fried sticky rice. My favorite was the fried sticky rice, covered with crispy little onions; I ate it almost every day.

The view from our room at Hanoi Guesthouse.

Looking back I wouldn't have stayed anywhere but the Old Quarter. Its streets were always crowded with pedestrians and motorbikes, but it was the endless crowding of street upon street, cafe upon cafe and alley upon alley that made this tortuous neighborhood so invigorating. The tumult of people and buildings was punctuated by sudden moments of calm in the form of a courtyard full of birds or a vacant coffee shop sitting like a gaping mouth on the edge of the road.

The Old Quarter's ubiquitous motorbikes.

Old Quarter intersection: cafes on cafes.

I mentioned that Hanoi was a city of colors, but I didn't add that it was also one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. Part of Hanoi's beauty came from the architecture itself which was a hodge podge of windows, balconies and unfinished arches. Coming from a place where the world is built inwards against winter it was lovely to see a whole city built to enjoy the breezes and open air. This image was reinforced in my mind by the habit of keeping birds about houses and stores. These songbirds added so many extra dimensions of loveliness to a building through their voices and through the simple fact of their being alive. I learned later that raising songbirds is a traditional art in Vietnam, generally practiced only by men. Thus, people say you can judge the character of a man by the health and care visible in his songbirds.

Old Quarter birdcage.

Birds in the courtyard of an Old Quarter craft house.

Many of the things I loved most in Hanoi I never meant to find. The birds were one and this craft house was another. An immensely peaceful building it was a communal craft house at a time when the Old Quarter was a hub for traditional handicrafts rather than tourists. The city's craft houses were repurposed during the French colonial period and many have now been reopened as showcases or temples.

View inside the craft house turned temple.

Other discoveries included: this man carrying a kumquat tree on the back of his motorbike,

students behind St. Joseph's Cathedral,

and this wall art depicting the legend of Hoan Kiem lake.

'Hoan Kiem' means 'heavenly sword' and Hoan Kiem in the past was said to be the home of giant turtles, one of four mythical animals. I love the strange suspension and animation between the waves, clouds and lotus blooms.

We happened to be in Hanoi about a week before the Lunar New Year and so, got to see a bit of Vietnamese tradition and culture firsthand. As in Taipei, markets here were preparing for the new year with effusive red and gold stalls, envelopes and candy. However, on our third day in Hanoi we saw something a little different. We were waiting in the lobby of our hotel to go on a day trip outside the city when a women arrived by motorbike delivering, not fruit or bread, but three bright red fish swimming in a plastic bag. The hotel staff explained to us that in Vietnamese tradition there are three spirits related to the home — one in the kitchen, one in the whole house and one in the local area. One day a year before the Lunar New Year these three spirits go to Heaven to report on the household. Each household or business then keeps three red fish outside their home on this day for the spirits to ride to Heaven.

If you can't tell already I was captivated by Hanoi and from the first day we arrived there to the last I felt like I had to return again.

On libraries, new beginnings, and eating alone

I have been trying to write about February. I wanted to tell you about this month that loomed so monumental in my mind while being in all other respects so minimal. February is a short month, an odd month, forced to change every now and then from 28 days to 29. It is the most abysmal month of winter in many places (I include Korea in that list) and the most difficult month to spell. Yet it is also the month of the Sochi Olympics, the month of Valentines day. February was the month of my middle school's graduation ceremony and the last month of our ample winter vacation. For me, this month had another meaning; for me this was the month to make it or break it.

I had a choice between living in Gumi with my host family for the month of February or living in Seoul, as many of my friends were doing. I chose, for a variety of reasons, to stay in Gumi and spend my time studying for the GRE and building relationships in my placement city. It was a difficult decision, no less because staying in Gumi meant self-managing my time, whereas in Seoul I would most likely have taken language classes. By staying in Gumi I wanted to test myself, to see how well I could sustain an energetic and productive life entirely on my own schedule.

Now, in early March I can say I did enjoy that time. I loved it. I had the freedom to study hard and the freedom to sleep. I had the time to visit friends and the time to read. I had the time to make new friends, to make new habits. Of course, not everything happens simply because you have enough time. Coming back to Korea from my visit to the States and my vacation in Taipei and Hanoi left me in the right mind to make the most of my time.

However, this time was not always pleasant. In the midst of my school's graduation, as I watched a performance of Apink's "No No No" and waved balloons for my favorite 3rd graders, my co-teacher leaned over and told me that 25 of our students were not at graduation. They had been banned for participating in the beating of several 2nd grade students just two days earlier. The news was both sad and shocking. Our school has always been rough around the edges, but I never expected something so intentionally brutal. At the same time I know that school gangs are a nation-wide problem in Korea and that for many students the choice might be between participating and suffering from bullying themselves. Over the next few days I discovered that, of the 2nd grade students, one had broken his collar bone, one had a ruptured ear drum and another had to have all his teeth moved back into place. In many ways, I became more anxious to return to school.

Saying goodbye to my other 3rd graders was sad in a very different way. I have about 245 students in the 3rd grade alone, so it's difficult to get to know any of them very well. I know I taught them only one semester and that only about 16 lessons. Of the few students who really shone and made my lessons exciting to teach, I had little belief that they would wish me a tearful goodbye and ask to stay in touch forever. Yet many students came over for a quick hug or a handshake. I was so touched that they wanted to say goodbye, especially those who told me they missed my class in the last few months.

Shortly after graduation I travelled to Seoul to visit my friends. I went twice in February. Once when I couldn't bear to study any longer and again as soon as I finished the GRE. Having a place to stay in Seoul was wonderful (thank you friends!) and as my friends were all taking classes or doing internships during the day I had a lot of time to do the touristy things in Seoul that I hadn't had time for on other weekend trips. I went twice to the National Museum of Korea, whose smoky paintings captured a facet of Korean life new to me. The museum is truly spectacular with three stories of art and artifacts from prehistory to the modern era and entirely free. In my two visits I have only conquered two of the three floors, but I was able to see the evolution of Korean calligraphy, Korean paintings — from portraits, to landscapes, to insect studies —, a re-created 'sarangbang' or Korean scholar's study and artifacts from every kingdom of Korea up to the Japanese occupation. I highly recommend a visit to anyone who will be in Seoul.

Beyond museums I spent time in cafes from the college areas of Hongdae and Idae to the tourist-turned-artistic-area of Insadong. Around Insadong I also visited the Hanok village, an area of Seoul where traditional Korean houses (circa. the Joseon Era I believe) have been preserved and are still lived in. It happened to be warm and sunny on this day, and the streets — which ask tourists to be quiet in respect for the residents — were full of screaming school children. Later I met some old friends for dinner in Myeongdong, a popular shopping neighborhood, and visited the new Seoul Museum of Modern Art, which was having a free night. Although it's not the same as living in the city, I was able to do a lot on my visits, so I now feel very comfortable in Seoul and have crossed a lot of items off my bucket list.

In Gumi school has started again. Some things are new, some are not, but the greatest change is in my confidence as a teacher. It has only been a week, but I feel that I have stepped up my game on all levels of teaching, from lesson planning to execution to classroom management to connecting with students outside of class. It has only been a week, but I have really good feelings for this semester. I again have about 700 students — 7 classes of 3rd graders, 7 classes of 2nd graders and 6 classes of 1st graders. My returning students have been surprisingly polite in class. Not sure if this is due to our continued rapport, my new classroom management plan, or some strain of first week shyness. The new 1st graders are a joy to teach. They are so eager to participate and several of the classes I've seen so far seem to be quite high level. I also have a new co-teacher for my 1st grade students who I like very much. She is both kind and efficient. I'm excited about what we can do with our classes for the rest of the semester.

I've made a few lifestyle changes for the new semester as well. I joined a gym halfway through February and have been going everyday when I can. I'm really enjoying the classes there. After a yoga class I always find my mood and motivation lifted. I've also decided to stop volunteering at the Hana Center in Daegu. This was a difficult decision to make since I really enjoyed working with my mentee and the community feeling of the center. However, commuting to Daegu once a week while working a full teaching schedule was a strain on my time and my relationships with my host family. This semester I am adding a club class to my teaching schedule, bringing my teaching hours up to 22 a week. With the added prep time and knowing my difficulty in commuting last semester I just couldn't commit to doing the program again in the spring. It would be unfair on everyone else involved for me to commit when I was unsure I could fully participate. If I stay in Korea another year, without the obligations of a host family, it is something I hope I would be able to return to.

However, whether I will be in Korea past this July is still undecided and as such I am suddenly pressed upon by the many things I have yet to do here. It's for this reason that I want to keep my weekends this semester free. If last semester I was committed to getting my bearings in Gumi, this semester I hope to roam more. I had an epiphany of sorts this February while visiting Seoul. As I said, I had a lot of alone time there as well as a lot of time in the evenings talking to my friends. But it was while I was sitting, eating alone in the restaurant of the National Museum of Korea, looking forward to drinking wine with my friends later in the evening when we were all done with our work, that I realized this is what I want to do with the rest of my semester. If during the week I am 100% committed to my school, during the weekends I want to commit myself 100% to teaching myself. I had such a feeling of comfort in my solitariness then — full of the pleasure of intellectual pursuit and the sure knowledge of my kind friends waiting for me later. We're always a bit alone in Korea, even and despite the ever present circles of host family, school family and Fulbright family. Yet there are some moments of clarity when you can turn that aloneness into something new — freedom, comfort, a new discovery. Those are the moments I will cultivate this semester and those are the lessons I want to learn.