Virtual-Doug

Onwards to Albuquerque

Okay - I admit it.  I rode into Colorado just enough to be able to say I was in the state.  My goal on this trip was to ride through seven states, and I've done it.  Fourteen states down - only thirty six to go.

Last night I stayed at a motel that serves Monument Valley.  Think the landscape of a Roadrunner cartoon.  Spectacular.  Some of the formations leaked outside the park and stayed right there waiting for me to photograph it.

On the way into New Mexico last week, somebody had stolen the welcome sign, so I had to get a shot of the New Mexico sign on the Arizona side.

I got to Bloomfield, and while gassing up, saw  Blake's Lotaburger across the street.  For a former New Mexican like me, who still craves green chile, a Lotaburger with cheese and green chile is heaven in the mouth.  Good stuff - and the chile made my chapped lips smart a little.

At one time, US Route 550 was the most dangerous highway in the state, with the three lane road making for many head-on collisions while cars were passing.  Its all four lane now.

But the spring winds of New Mexico were about.  They got pretty fierce, and as I rode into Albuquerque from the north, I saw a dust storm approaching.  The gusts were strong enough to make the cars and trucks slow down.

Dinner with old friends Carol and Larry,  Good ol' flat enchiladas with green chile and an egg on top.  Oh yum!  The food was almost as good as the conversation.

Life is good.

(States visited so far.)

Return from Vegas

After trudging through the lobby of the casino/hotel, carrying my top case and waterproof bag, I checked the oil and the tires.  The scoot fired up and I headed home on Wednesday, April 24..

I wasn't able to avoid riding the Interstate.  I wanted to go through southern Utah to ride some twisties, but had to ride the super slab to get there.  Boring!  The only interesting part of the trip was coping with the very stiff cross wind just north of Las Vegas.

But the ride along Utah Route 9 made it worth it.  Actually, the road is Zion National Park.  Normally, one must pay a $25 entrance fee, but the smiling park ranger at the gate said "Its all free this week", and I rode in.  

There is too much other traffic to do the kind of centerstand-scraping twisty ride a lot of motorcyclists might want to do, but the scenery was spectacular.  There is a mile long tunnel cut through the rock and spectacular vistas.  They have done a great job of providing lots of pull-over places for photos and ogling.  I chatted with a couple from Manitoba on their BWM.  The ride through Zion park made the day.

Then on back into Arizona, down to Page, AZ, where the Glen Canyon Dam blocks the Colorado River.  Gassing up in Page, I listened to the local high schools kids talking in Navajo and realized I was on the reservation.  

When I lived in New Mexico, I didn't pay much attention to all the buttes and mesas in this rugged country.  It is both stark and beautiful.

Night found me in a motel in Kayenta - right on the Navajo reservation. 

Across the 48th State

The high mountain town of Eagar, AZ, was gorgeous in the early morning light.  When I went to breakfast, it was 39 degrees, yet when I returned to my room, it was already 45.  The sun was warming the world quickly, so I eschewed the long johns, yet still wore the other stuff.  I filled the tank at a convenience store that wasn't open yet (but the pumps were on), then down the road towards Show Low.

This was the kind of morning that keeps me coming back to riding.  Bright sun, gorgeous high mountain scenery, no traffic.  I came upon high mountain ponds as well as elk crossing signs,  I had bugs in my teeth.

A cup of coffee in Show Low, then I began the long drop from over 7,000 feet to Phoenix' 1,500 feet - the change from 39 degrees to Phoenix' 91.  I had to shed some extra clothes as I descended.

Phoenix must have a lot of motorcyclists.  I waved at lots of them as they rode up into the mountains - I suppose to get out of the heat and to ride some twisties.  Lots of chrome - clean chrome - not dirty bikes like mine.  I may ride a scooter, but at least its not a garage queen.  Stopping for gas in Payson, I struck up a conversation with a three Harley riders, and I fielded the usual "You rode from Texas on THAT?"  One of them had owned his bike for seven years and had 5,000 miles on it.  I've owned my scoot for two years and just turned 27,000 miles.

I made a mistake in my trip planning - I routed myself through Phoenix.  Yuck!  Saturday traffic - people out shopping, retirees poking along, and lots of stop-and-go.  Once out of the city, I was out on the desert - very different from the mountains.  The town of Wickenburg is a small artsy cowboy kinda town.  

Next stop - Las Vegas after a ride through the desert.

Christmas - Special as Always

Of course it was fun - it’s always fun.  It’s even more fun when watching an adult experience Christmas for the first time.

Ái Nhân has been in America since August and has grown accustomed to American ways - but Christmas, with all its variables, was new.  After the stress of semester-ending exams and after turning in the requisite research papers, she took a few mornings to sleep in, recover, and refresh.  Then it was off to shop with Cindy, make cookies, listen to Christmas music, and watch the requisite Christmas movies - you know the ones:  “Its a Wonderful Life”, “White Christmas”, and “A Christmas Story.”  She’d already seen “Home Alone.”

She jumped in with both feet, which is her style of meeting life.  With Cindy’s family all together, we went to the Christmas Eve service - packed with visiting grandkids and absent the grandparents who traveled. 

Ái Nhân has never been afraid of a microphone.  She and her freshman classmates threw a Christmas party in 2005. Parties mean karaoke in Việt Nam and the microphone was passed around the room.  Six years later, when the chance came to sing with the music team at church, she was ready - candle light and all.  I marveled that she sang the old Christmas carols with the same flawless gusto as someone who had sung them all her life.

(As always, be sure to click on each photo to see a larger version of it.)

Ái Nhân is not a Christian, yet that makes no difference to the people of St. Peter & St. Paul Episcopal Church.  She is part of the family and they have embraced her as such.  Hers is an inquiring mind that asks questions about the ceremonies of Christianity.  Because a considerable number of people in her home city of Huế are Catholic, she has seen people make the sign of the cross.  She has asked questions about the meaning of some of the actions of the priest during Communion - and recognizes that there is something special about the number three.   And she patiently sits in her seat while Cindy and I go forward to receive the bread and wine.

Christmas is also a time for sharing gifts, and guess who played “Santa’s Helper” by passing out the presents from under the tree?  She was, after all, the youngest. 

Grandma unloaded her Christmas stocking and enjoyed the new “closet” Ái Nhân made for her Barbie doll clothes.  The Vietnamese are great gift-givers and are not as enamored as we with giving expensive gifts.  Gift from the heart are important to them.

We did get a chuckle when one of the blouses Ái Nhân received from Cindy’s brother Don was discovered to have been made in Việt Nam.  What a small world we live in.

Christmas is also food.  Cindy prepared the usual table-groaning feast - with Ái Nhân’s help of course.  Family together - from the matriarch to the newest member.

Of course, some were missed - certainly Trang, Tuan, and Thanh were part of our Merry Christmas, if only in our thoughts.

My life continues to be so blessed.  I love my family, whether by blood, the one I married into, or my newly acquired family of Vietnamese.

I am blessed indeed.

The Book

I’ve been living with the thing for almost two years - there were times when it came close to overwhelming my life. 

Well - that may be a little too much hype, but still, it was a lot of work.

I am speaking of my first (and last) book - “Same River, Different Water:  A Veteran’s Journey from Vietnam to Việt Nam”.  It is finally at the publishers.  I am waiting for the copy editor’s feedback - I suspect there will be a lot of rewriting to do - and that will take time - but at least I can see the end of this thing.

Thanksgiving saw three Vietnamese in our home - and it has become the norm to have Vietnamese share and learn about this wonderful American traditional celebration of excess in food and football.  But this year, we had a couple join us whom we had never met.  Being our age, the husband was a Vietnam vet.  He enjoyed being around the Vietnamese, but he could not imagine himself going back to the place where he had created so many bad memories.

I’ve had that reaction from veterans so many times since we returned in 2006 that I expect it - and whats more, I understand it.  Knowing why they are mistrustful of a place that had such a negative impact on their lives is the prime reason why I deal with the topic early in the book - in the first few paragraphs of Chapter One.

Trying to decide what stories to tell and what not to tell has been one of the more difficult decisions while writing the book.  I wanted to concentrate on describing today’s Việt Nam, but as my editor kept reminding me, the only association Americans have with the country is the war - there would be no connection otherwise.  But I also did not want to write another “My Year in The Nam” book either - there are a lot of those out there, and most of them written better than anything I could write.  I had to figure out how to combine my two views - my time in the country when there was a war going on compared to the very different country it is today.

And that took time - a lot more time than I had anticipated it would take when I first started writing the thing two years ago.

Here’s one of the 123 photos in the book - part of the skyline of today’s Saigon.

Muleshoe 3

Leaving New Mexico in 1999 and moving to Texas was difficult for me - I lost a large part of my inventory of jokes.  New Mexicans see themselves as being a bit better than Texans and have many jokes to prove it.

Therefore - “The wind isn’t blowing - its just that Texas sucks.”

The last day in Muleshoe, both were true.

Sunday morning dawned bright and calm - and we wondered about the dire predictions of the Lubbock television weather guys who said we were under a high wind warning, a blowing dust warning and a dust storm warning.  By mid-morning, we realized the forecast was correct.

Winds picked up to 65 miles per hour gusts - and all the freshly plowed top soil in the area began to move itself from one county to the next.

(As usual, be sure to click on the photos to see the larger version.)

We had planned to attend a quarter horse race in the afternoon, but after seeing how fierce the storm was, we knew no right-minded cowboy would race his horse out in that mess.  If you are standing in the field, you can close your eyes, but when racing, it is best to have your eyes wide open.  These poor guys were in a field near the race track.

But the weekend was about two brothers who live too far apart.  Fueled by my brother’s excellent home brew beer, an occasional cigar and the absence of wives, we swapped many a story and opinion.

I even had the chance to snap a few shots of him just being himself.  He kinda looks like one of the locals, doesn't he - - except for the ball cap that says “Colorado Native.”  The bib overalls made him right at home at the auction.

So - thanks, Bro.  I had a great time.  Even better, I reconnected with my great brother.

And yes, Muleshoe was the perfect place to reconnect.

Relationships

A story in the local newspaper grabbed me.  I’ve been preoccupied during the past few months writing a book about my experiences in Viet Nam -- both experiences - during the war and and again while living there in 2005-06.  Once upon a long time ago, my son had asked me what I would have been like if I hadn’t gone to Viet Nam, but that question was asked before I’d ever thought about returning.  He meant the war, but if he were to ask the question today, I’d have to ask him to clarify whether he meant the war or the country.

There aren’t many Vietnamese living in deep south Texas, so when the story in The Monitor appeared, I read it immediately.  Once again, I was struck by how I was changed by my experiences in Viet Nam - and in this case, by living there as an English teacher.

It is said that if you really want to learn about your own culture, live in another one for awhile.  I learned a lot about my American culture in 2005-06.  I learned how intensely individualistic we are.

In America, older people have a mantra that says “I don’t want to be a burden on my children”, so they live by themselves, away from their adult children.

In America, kids are expected to be out of the house by age eighteen - go to college, join the Army or get a job, but you’re outta the house.

In America, a boomerang kid (someone over the age of 21 who comes back to live with Mom and Dad) is considered a loser.

And - most certainly - one does not ask Mom and Dad for help.  We want to do it (whatever “it” is) by ourselves.

To the Vietnamese, all the above are anathema - you are part of a family and expected to always be a part of a family.  While teaching a course in American Culture to my third year university students in Viet Nam, I started one lecture by saying I was the oldest son, yet my 89 year old mother lived by herself.  There was an audible gasp in the room. In their world, the oldest son cares for his parents.

Though it is changing as Viet Nam becomes more westernized, many homes have four generations living in it.  If I had been Vietnamese, I would not have been caring for my Alzheimer’s stricken mother from 2006 to 2009 - my grandchildren would have done that.  They would have grown up with Grandma around and just considered it the normal course of things to care for her.

As I read the newspaper story, I wondered how many Americans would have said “Thanks Dad, but I’ll do this by myself.”

To the Vietnamese, things are done on the basis of relationships.  Need a job?  Call a distant family member.  Need a loan?  Talk to your family.  Need somebody at your business whom you can trust to do the job right?  Hire someone in your family.  We call that nepotism - they call it smart business.  They don’t separate business from relationships.

So - what would I have been like if I hadn’t gone to Viet Nam?  Maybe I am a little more appreciative of relationships, and a little less prone to think I can do everything myself.

I’m just sayin’

Back to School

Yeah - school is back.  After a long and boring summer,  I have work to do again shooting high school sports for the local newspaper.

This is Texas, and that means football.  If football is much like a religion in Texas, then religion could learn a lot about becoming more of a part of the fabric of life in America.    Football seems to inspire more loyalty on Friday nights than churches do on Sunday.  Lots of people will tell you who their favorite team is, whereas most Christians are a little nervous about saying anything about Jesus.  (I’m just sayin’)

(Click on each photo - you'll see a larger version of the picture if you do.)

I had two games to shoot this week - one on Friday, then another on Saturday night in the same stadium.  (Two high schools in the same school district.)  Its named “Tom Landry Stadium" because Tom Landry not only played his high school ball in Mission, Texas, but led the Eagles to a 13-0 season in 1941, ending with the regional championship.  (There was no state championship in those days.)

I was a lot like the athletes - during the first half of the game, I could tell it was my first game of the season - kinda rusty.

But - the ladies are back in action too.  Volleyball actually starts earlier than football.  The girls have one week of practice before they start playing for keeps.  In my opinion, volleyball is one of the most difficult sports to take photos of.  Not only does the net cause the camera to focus in front of the players (there are work arounds) but the athletes are so very quick.

And - this is the beginning of a new year for my selling photos too.  I don’t make a lot of money from RGVSportsPix.com, but its enough to buy some new toys with and have some fun.

Trip to Ohio – and a New Arrival

Road trips – they are tough on an old body, but also a lot of fun.  We spent the last 1 ½ weeks on the road and we did a lot in that short time period.

•    We picked up Tuan (say two unh) in Houston.  Affectionately known as “T-Bone” by the Americans in Huê, Tuan has come to America to study for his Ph.D. in Environmental Science at the University of Texas – San Antonio.  That’s about a four hour drive for us, so we won’t be seeing him as frequently as Trang.  Tuan was a frequent visitor to our apartment in Việt Nam.  He calls the Mystery Guest Blogger “Mom”, though he has a wonderful mother and father of his own.  The routine in Huê used to be like this:  Knock on door, walked in and said “Hi Mom – what do you have to eat?”

•    To northern Kentucky to see our son and his family.  They recently moved there from Orlando – career move and all that.  As usual, sitting outside with cigars as son and I solved the problems of the world.

•    To Ohio for a family reunion on the Mystery Guest Blogger’s side.  Not only did I enjoy it, and not only did Trang and Tuan experience a little bit of Americana, but I also am doing a photography project about it. 

•    Played tourist in the Amish country of Ohio.  I was deeply impressed by the Amish.  I took very few photos.  Why?  Because the Amish don’t like to have their pictures taken.  (I wouldn’t like having tourists poking cameras at me all the time either!)

•    Back to Houston for some excellent Vietnamese food courtesy of Tuan’s aunt, then a short drive to San Antonio with all his “stuff.”  He found a room near campus and signed the lease.  This coming weekend, I will drive with him back to San Antonio to help him move in and get started on the myriad things that need to be done prior to the beginning of classes.

Welcome to America, Tuan.  Yes, he’s a photographer too.  He’s just started a blog titled “Tuan in the US” where he shows off his considerable skills.

And, Trang is getting to see more of America – in this case, a wheat field in Amish country.  It’s hard to believe she’s been in America for a year.

Do I live the good life or what?

Re-Entry

Call it a “camp retreat” – the kind of get-together where people sit around the campfire and sing.  In a way, that’s what the Mystery Guest Blogger and I did last weekend.

There was a purpose, however.  It was a meeting to equip those of us who had just returned from teaching in Asia with the tools needed to readjust back into our own society.

To which the Gentle Reader is saying “Are you nuts?  What’s there to readjust to?  This is America, the best and richest country in the world.  Yer gonna tell me you miss Việt Nam?”

In a word, yes.

Some examples:  I rode a 100cc Honda motorbike during the past nine months.  I filled it up for 30,000 to 40,000 Vietnamese đông (between $1.80 and $2.50) every two weeks.  It is a bit exasperating for the newly returned to see that the idiot driving a Hummer doesn’t seem to understand he is part of the cause of gas being so expensive.

In this picture,  the MGB and I are both wearing ponchos.  Rainy weather?  Put a poncho on, and expect your feet to get wet.  Get back home to America and watch as people almost drive into the Wal-Mart to avoid getting wet – as if they might shrink.

I also left friends in Việt Nam. Good friends.  It was kinda kewl when Tuân came over and asked the MGB (he called her Mom) for some hot chocolate.  I miss running around the countryside with my friend Mr. Cu, the photographer. I miss my students.

Okay okay – I’ll stop whining.

But, things changed while we were gone.  When we left, our church met in a store front – now it has its own building.  (Yes – we saw it last summer.)  New people have moved in, and some have left.  A friend’s business closed.  My mother has memory loss.

And with all the change, we have nobody to talk to. That’s right – nobody to talk to about what we did for 1 ½ years.  People don’t ask because they don’t know enough about what we did or about living in another culture to ask a question.  So once the conversation starts with a perfunctory “How was Việt Nam?”, the topic soon reverts to the scores of last week’s football game or the latest baby in church.

Think about it – if you’re a man, would you talk to a woman about giving birth?  You have no idea what to ask or say, so men don’t talk to women about giving birth.  With no commonality, folks just don’t get into a conversation about our time in Việt Nam.

So we don’t talk about it.  At least that was the response until last weekend when we learned we need to be proactive.  We won’t keep it all inside.

We’re home – happy to be home – and we are going to share our experiences.

To my many veteran friends:  You may be surprised to know that the MGB and I found much of our experience not unlike coming back 36 years ago.  (For those of you who don’t know, we met in Việt Nam in 1969 – she was a nurse and I was a grunt.)  No – we weren’t in combat this time, but the same inability to talk about our experiences, and the sense of leaving behind the folks you deeply care about are very similar.