Little did I know!

It was a half hour prior to my departure for my first Vietnamese class and one of Eric’s teachers from school asked me why I was traveling downtown for a class when they offered language classes to expats down the street at a neighborhood restaurant named Snap and I could walk there in five minutes.  Hmm, good question.  At that moment, I seriously contemplated not going to the class that I informally committed to the night before via the phone.  I knew that I was in trouble when I couldn't understand my instructor over the phone.  I considered it a major issue that I couldn't pronounce her name, Kim Vi Tran Lam and she kept referring to herself as Vee and I just didn't get it! How was I going to learn to speak Vietnamese from a person whose English I didn't understand?!?

She sent me an email welcoming me to the class. It outlined the five week itinerary.   Lesson one, What is your name?  In a moment of panic, I emailed her back to ask her if there were basic requirements for the class and I explained that I didn't even know the alphabet and I was seriously starting on square one!  She reassured me that the attendees had zero foundation of the Vietnamese language, so do not worry.

Please remember that I am hearing impaired and I honestly didn't think that I had a fighting chance in hell in understanding the minute details of the Vietnamese language.  It is a tonal language and just the rise and fall of the pitch of your voice determines the literal meaning of the word.  I figured that at least I could learn to read the language and perhaps that might improve my chances of sounding out the words and somewhat succeed in communication with the locals.

Part of the adventure was finding this lady’s house.  I traveled via taxi to District 3 during rush hour traffic.  I felt prepared with the complete address 51/67/1 Cao Thang Street and a Google map on my  I phone to give to the non-English speaking driver.  The map included a 5 block radius so I thought I had it covered.  Not!  The driver dropped me off on the main road, 1 Cao Thang Street.  Foolishly, I assumed that I was in the vicinity.  Well, not exactly.  1 Cao Thang Street covers the entire distance of the road.  I did not know this and I basically assumed that I was lost.  Somewhere in my upbringing I was taught that if I needed help in any desperate situations I should ask a man in uniform and he would graciously help me without any questions.  So, when I stumbled into the military compound for the district and asked for directions the man in uniform was unable to act as my knight in shining armor.  He looked at me with a stone face and quickly escorted me out of the compound and left me standing on the street in a middle of a swarming pod of motor scooters.  I stood there, firmly gripping my purse with one hand and squinting to read the small print of the map on my phone while wearing my utilitarian high heeled sandals because I foolishly thought I was getting door to door taxi service.  I swallowed my pride and paraded up and down the same block 4-5 times before a young man in broken English explained to me that I needed to walk down the street for several blocks until a found a plaque on the street identifying the alley number 51.  I found it, OK great.  Now I watched the plaques on both sides of the street to find the number 67.  I was the only white girl walking around the neighborhood as the sun was setting and people were sitting on the street after their evening dinner rapidly speaking in a native tongue that was completely incomprehensible to my ears.  What was I thinking?!?  Seriously, I have no chance in hell understanding this language and now I am putting myself in danger.  Finally, I found where 67 should have been, but there was a gap in the sequence of the numbers on the outside of the building.  I stood dead still in my tracks when I remembered that earlier in the day I had a Vietnamese lady from the residence service center at my resort write down on a piece of paper in Vietnamese, “please help me, I am lost” including the address.  A very nice elderly lady smiled a toothless grin when she read my note and politely pointed down another alley.

 

The final alley was maybe three foot in width and I was walking at a good clip when a motor scooter road up behind me right on my heels and proceeded to pass me in a very tight corridor.  This was pushing me to my limit and I was getting scared when a young lady stepped out of a door and magically welcomed me to the class.  I was 15 minutes late and the second to arrive.

Scott, an economics teacher from New York, who has been living in Vietnam for the last 3 years, was the other student.  They were sounding out the alphabet.  The letter “a” has three pronunciations and we had to repeat after the teacher based on hearing alone.  All of that effort and I am still screwed!