goodbye to travel... almost

One last leg left. I'm in the Ferihegy Airport in Budapest, Terminal 2, waiting for my flight to London Gatwick to board. I've got an odd nervousness in my stomach. Part of it was how sad it was saying goodbye to Max this morning at 6 a.m., and some saying goodbye to my very dear friends later about 3 p.m. And part of it is going to yet another new place for a short time and figuring out the logistics of that.

Side note, the woman who checked me in scolded me because the maximum is 20 kg for two check-in bags, and mine weighed 27 or so. We'll see how I do getting into the States; I don't think there's a strike at Heathrow that would let me get away with not paying the extra fees. How is my stuff this heavy? Also, how much luggage are we allowed to have? I don't know the answers to either of these questions.

So. I'll be in London doing who knows what for five days, then I'll head back to SoCal on Christmas, getting into LAX in the afternoon. I'll stay at my parent's house in Irvine for two weeks, then go up to Yale early on January 7th and Max will help me move into my new room with Shoshana. I bought motorcycle lessons for a Christmas present for myself!

It's been nearly a year of travel and adventures, and I'm tired. I thought I was a traveler, and I think I will always have a bit of wanderlust in me, but it's time for this girl to go home. I'll put up London photos or something soon. I have a picasa album of photos I show to my parents; lots of them have appeared in this blog over the past year as well: http://picasaweb.google.com/yenergy/MoreFall2008?feat=directlink and http://picasaweb.google.com/yenergy/Budapest?feat=directlink

"Failure at blogging" is my middle name

After almost a year of blogging on a tri-, then bi-, then -, then semi-weekly basis, I have fallen to a once-a-month "this is what happened!" thing. Again, many of my adventures (at least, those shared with szivem Edward) are on edwardinhungary.blogspot.com. Notably our five-day ridiculous Berlin trip is well documented there. "Szivem" means "my heart" in Hungarian, colloquially they use it the same way Americans use "darling." So I call Edward szivem (though I guess I do use the word "darling" a lot).

So Berlin and midterms are the big thing that happened over the past month. Oh except that I went on a spontaneous weekend trip to Romania with Shira and Amelia. I'm a member of couchsurfing.org, an online website for frequent travelers to meet locals/get a free couch to stay on. I've surfed in Brussels, Pisa, Florence, Milan, Dublin, Berlin, and now Romania, technically. But once I got this apartment with Shira and discussed it with her, we thought it would be nice to return the favor. We've hosted two girls from Switzerland who hit on Max E. (not my Max), a couple from Germany who left their jackets here, an Australian dude and his girl from Romania, and a man from Alabama. So during this spontaneous weekend a week before Berlin, the three of us girls headed out to Cluj, Romania, and spent some time with our friend Lavinia and her flatmates. We ate, drank tea, watched a lot of chick flicks, and climbed through salt caves. It was a nice weekend.

Somehow caving has been a large part of my life lately, which is odd given my claustrophobia (our metro car stopped for a few minutes the other day between stations and I FREAKED OUT). Sometime after the last time I blogged my Hungarian class went to the Budapest drip caves (cseppborlang) and hiked through those for an hour, then got pastries at the place that Gabor had taken me and Shira at the beginning of the semester (I guess it's famous). Then we all went to Nagyi's Palacsinta, which translates to Grandma's Pancakes. It's delicious.

Another weird thing: Erika, our Hungarian teacher, is actually Max's host mom. This one day Max was sick so I went to his house to make him soup and be a compassionate nursemaid (I'm actually horrible and did the thing you do with babies, the whole airplane thing). Erika came home and I awkwardly bumped into her in her kitchen. Yeah... that's weird. It's like dating your teacher's son, but it's even weirder because it's her host son.

Boo I don't want to leave Budapest. Not that I do a lot of Hungary-specific things here. I speak a little bit of Hungarian and know a little bit about Hungarian culture, and I know a lot more math and feel much more confident about my math. I'm scared of going back to the "real world" of Yale (heh), and also of leaving Max (aww), and of coming back to my friends and them changing and me changing too in the past year, and of America generally. I won't be travelling anymore. Blows my mind.

It's finals time. My MAP final is going to be ridiculous. If you recall, our quantum logic midterm was oral, e.g. we had to solve problems on the board in front of the professor while he asked us questions. This time, he'll have eight slips of paper, and we'll each draw two. On each will be a topic. We have an hour and a half to write everything we know about that topic. Essentially, the four of us have to be able to teach the class by tomorrow afternoon. eek.

Photos: 15 of us for Thanksgiving dinner potluck before the break, Shira in Romania, me eating sausage in Berlin.

it's like catching lightning

What's so interesting about living here in Budapest is that I'm with more Americans than I've been with in several months, not counting my week and a half at home in June with my extended family.

Math is incredibly difficult and incredibly rewarding. I can't believe I'm doing all of this. Skip the math camp on crack business, it's like we're all on mathstasy and the Mathlete commission is going to ignore the test results that said we're all on mathroids and let us run the race anyway. Our Halloween party at Dinah and Diana's was wildly successful. I was SohCahToa, Max was TanGent (with cane and bow tie), Shira was the New Math. There were a lot of contradictions, Sign & COSign, a set of linear equations, etc. There were normal costumes too, like a three-toed sloth, Hungarian fashion, and a turtle. No one ever said a bunch of math majors were normal.

Then Hungarian National Radio was at my house on Election night for some reason, when a bunch of people were here and stayed up til 6 a.m. to watch the results come in. That was extremely intense. I went to bed at 1:30 after the first came in and woke up at 6 to celebrations. Barack means peach in Hungarian, so we had a bunch of peach drinks. Our election sleepover was much better than the debate that Shira, Amelia, and I had gone to a few weeks ago at some university in Budapest.

As usual a lot has happened over the past month, notably that Max and I started dating. Last weekend we went to Hortobagy, a giant plain in Hungary (largest in Europe!) just to get out of the city. It was a three hour train ride, but knowing my luck with public transportation it took us much longer and cost much more to get there. I'd like to make an exhaustive list here of my bad luck with public transportation that began this year of travel:

1. Going home on December 21, 2007: I was supposed to grab a 5 a.m. shuttle to JFK and fly straight to John Wayne. Instead I missed the shuttle, flew out of Bradley at 11, got stuck in Chicago for awhile because I missed my connection to Phoenix, and ended up at LAX several hours later.

2. Didn't have a hostel booked for my last day in Spain because my flight was at 7 a.m. so I just stayed up til the metro opened. But my metro stop was closed or something, so I had to run to the next one and barely made it to the Barcelona airport on time.

3. Got robbed outside the Brussels north train station. Hence had to get another bus ticket, but there were no buses until the next day, thus I was stuck in Brussels for another night and missed some classes that Tuesday (we had Monday off).

4. Just missed my train from Amsterdam back home to Paris, actually ran to the station across town and got to my platform as the train was pulling out. Bought another ticket and went home a few hours later.

5. Heading home from Paris, my RER (to Charles de Gaulle airport) kept getting canceled and delayed, so I took a taxi to the airport. Then I barely made the check-in cutoff, but safely made it onto the plane. There were questionable issues with the engine, and we all had to get off the plane and get our luggage and go somewhere else. I ended up on AirFrance and spent my last two euros on a pay phone telling my parents when I'd be at LAX.

6. In Vietnam I kept on taking the wrong bus and ending up at the end of the line, then have to stay on the bus as it turned around and went the other way. That was pretty embarassing.

7. Lost my bus ticket to Prague and barely made it before the bus took off (it was impossible to find!). They let me on anyway, which was great.

8. Missed our train to Hortobagy so took another one, missed the transfer stop, had to pay extra to take another train back to the transfer stop and lost two hours.

Those are the major ones, but who knows how many times I've been late, delayed, or canceled because of my incompetence with buses, planes, trains, metros. I love public transportation, but it does not love me.

Oh and of course October 24 is a national Hungarian holiday in which riots and demonstrations break out across the city and everyone else leaves town. It commemorates the 1956 revolution. Shira, Dinah and I went to Dublin! We couchsurfed there with this guy named Eric, who's a fitness instructor with a degree from Trinity in economics. We had tea, climbed a big rock in Howth, ate a ton of fish n chips and pies, and watched three plays: Delirium, an adaptation of Brothers K, Happy Days by Samuel Beckett, and Waiting for Godot (in Korean). They were all absolutely fantastic, and it was a great trip with the girls and wandering a gorgeous city.

In two weeks I'm going to Berlin with Edward over the Thanksgiving break, while Shira and co. go to Turkey. Max still has no plans, but he can't come with us because he and Edward are like two positively charged magnets. We're going to the baths today because Emma and I were so depressed after our ORAL MATHEMATICAL PHYSICS MIDTERM yesterday. Any one of those words, I imagine, is terrifying to certain people out there. But all four together is pretty much the worst experience ever. The five of us in this class took from 2 to 5.30 yesterday of our MAP professor's time, each of us went in for about half an hour individually and proved some problems on the board to him and he asked us questions. It was terrifying. But also the idea is pretty cool, an oral math exam. It really pushes you to your mathematical limit. The analogy I made earlier this post, while ridiculously, does pretty aptly describe the way we here do math. A bunch of people are taking the math GRE this morning. This is a group of dedicated mathematicians, and it feels like athletics.

I had a great conversation with Edward about this the other day, how talent has some but not a lot to do with our abilities as mathematicians. If this discussion is too nerdy for you pretend that I'm an athlete, a musician, an actress, anything more understood than this particular niche that I fit into. Once you're past a certain point, there are Olympics-talented people and a whole lot of average for the above-average crowd. Ignoring the Olympics people, you're left with those for whom perseverence and enthusiasm for what we do alone will determine our success, independent of natural born talent. So the question is, how enthusiastic am I? After that oral exam I'm not sure.


Photos this time, many courtesy of Max: Hortobagy in the foggy morning, many people at our election sleepover around 2 a.m., me as SohCahToa with Big Dan in the background and paper folding numbers, a fresh fish market at Howth, me and Max's dinner at the Hortobagy Tavern, Max and I at the Hortobagy bridge, the view of Dublin etc. from Howth's Black Rock or something, Shira with a teacup, Shira and Dinah running through Irish woods.

OMG I'm in Budapest!

And I've been here for a month and a half. And I've traveled to Prague and Vienna. And I haven't blogged. But my dear friend Edward has been fantastically blogging, so I'll be lazy and put his link here: http://www.edwardinhungary.blogspot.com/. I feature prominently there, which makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

So. Hungary. Yes.

For the first two and a half weeks here, we had an 80 hour intensive language course that met 6-7 hours each day. On day one, we learned to say "Yen vagyok. Amerikai vagyok. Nagyon oroluk." (I am Yen. I am American. I am very pleased [to meet you].) Now I can chat with my neighbor, saying things like "Kerek internetadik. Internet van? Vasarol internet OK? Szeretek internet." (I would like to use internet. Is there internet? Buying the internet OK? I like internet"). Shira and I spent those weeks studying, buying pots and pans etc. for our apartment, and going on this crazy internet quest. We learned how to pay rent, where the grocery store is, and what 'Sziget' means.

Sziget: "island" in Hungarian, or a week-long crazy Eastern European rock festival that featured the Killers this year. For 8000 ft (about $40), we spent 8 hours walking around Margit Sziget, checking out bands on three stages, munching on langos (Hungarian fried dough with sour cream, cheese, and garlic) and other foodstuff, and doing jigsaw puzzles in an alternate world populated with punk rockers from all over Europe. It was the best introduction to Hungary ever.

Vienna: Our first trip, we took a three day weekend and ditched Hungarian class. Friday through Monday, nine people, several museums, a Mozart concert, a pirate bar, schnitzel fast food, and dancing Hungarian children. I bought a cigarette case to use as a small wallet, a Swiss army knife, and "Exorcism of the Dead: Return of the Austro-Pop Zombies" for a euro at the gigantic flea market.

Prague: I just went with Dinah to another picture-perfect city, and we hit up the Jewish quarter, had the best meal of my entire life, and went to an amazing Dali exhibit as well as cleared a dance floor on Sunday night with a high school student who had class the next day. Delicious.

Classes: I'm in far too many courses. Six, to be exact. It's about 18 hours of class a week. Quick rundown:

Intermediate Hungarian and Hungarian Art & Culture: These two classes together count as about half a class in terms of effort, but they each meet for three hours a week. I thought I'd take some humanities to save my sanity, plus Yale makes us take Hungarian. I am learning nothing, but having a lot of fun with it. I'm translating song lyrics for my class.

Graph Theory: We are in a desert, trying to find a city. Our professor is our guide, on a camel. He sees the city and leads us there. But first we must go to oases in order to rest in between. This all makes sense so far. Then he blindfolds us for several hours and leads us to a tree. He points at some sand, but we are still blindfolded. He takes off our blindfolds and we are dazzled by the light and heat of the desert. Edward asks for water and our professor replies no. Suddenly we are at the back entrance to the city. This happens every day in class.

Combinatorics: Let's count things! Let's count super complicated things!

Mathematical Physics: a.k.a. Quantum Logic. Our professor looks exactly like our friend Nick, who is in the class. I love this class so much. It is delicious like rice pudding, but complex like a millefeuille. It makes me feel smart and stupid at the same time.

Advanced Abstract Algebra: Devil course! This takes up all my time, energy, stress, and love. Infinitely difficult and infinitely rewarding.

Hungary is amazing and confusing. There are 61 students in our program, which means I am with many more Americans than I have been over the past year. Budapest is a normal city, not picture-perfect like Prague, Vienna, or Paris, nor developing at light speed like HCMC or Hanoi. I spend my free time doing math, buying groceries, and writing for http://www.lalunchbox.com/. We are all getting math-burnt out, but loving it at the same time. This is math camp, on crack.

Pictures: A beautiful church in the Prague castle, Shira and I on top of a castle north of Budapest overlooking the Danube, the Wombats playing at Sziget, the Butterfly House in Vienna, a Hummer parade in picturesque Prague, costumed Hungarians on August 20th a.k.a. Saint Istvan's Day, langos.

Say my name say my name

On a lighter note from the last blog, and still in the personal range. I used to hate my name. I hated it hated it hated it. Yen is great. Nuh-gock is not. Nor is Dwong. But then I came here.



Everytime I say my full name to someone, they say it's a beautiful name. Duong Ngoc Yen. (Yu-ung Nghup Ee-en is the best I can to write it phonetically) The director of the national math institute told me that it's the name of a beautiful woman very skilled at martial arts and poetry in Chinese folklore. After seeing my grandfather's grave with Duong An engraved on the headstone and thinking about my dad, who was an only child, I realize that I haven't given Duong enough credit, because I'm so close to my mother's side of the family, the Hos. But I love and am proud of my name, and of being a Viet Kieu and having different ways of pronouncing it. I prefer the Vietnamese sound for my middle and last names.



Speaking of being a Viet Kieu, more on that. I have a definite advantage now because I know more Vietnamese, but even if you don't you're still welcomed back to the home country. People are generally very excited to meet me and talk with a Viet Kieu My (American overseas Vietnamese). We get the Vietnamese, not the tourist, pricing, and extra friendliness and real conversations because we're Viet Kieu. That also means that some tourists think we're Vietnamese from VN and treat us as such, which is... interesting. Especially when people speak louder and slower in hopes that I'll understand more e.g. "do you know LAKE? Hon Kim LAKE?" "Well actually it's called Hoan Kiem lake, named after the restored sword in the legend, and it's down this street and hang a left. Bye."



Then there are many other tourists who love talking with me because I've got an inner look at Vietnamese culture; I've been to houses and chatted with shopkeepers etc. And there are many Vietnamese who aren't as friendly to Viet Kieu too. We're in between: Vietnamese know we aren't Vietnamese from VN, and foreigners think we are. It is a home but not my home, it is a unique experience which is great, but then makes it harder because we relate with neither group but with ourselves alone.



Hungary in a week! I was definitely not expecting myself to keep blogging.

Heartwrenching homecoming

I've been trying to write this blog since coming to VN like I did in France, but it's too personal here. This is my home country, and it's my first time coming back. I've walked the street my dad used to walk with his cousin to school everyday at dawn, I've floated along the river my mother swam in as a child. I've visited her university, his old house, her cousins, his half-siblings. I've seen things in Vietnam that neither of them have seen and done things neither of them have done. I so wish that my first time here could've been with them, so that I could hear their stories as we made new ones together. Instead I'm here alone, meeting family I never knew I had and making close friends knowing we can never fully understand each other because they cannot understand the part of this sentence preceding 'and'.

I don't know how to write this blog- so much goes on, but there's so much to say about the emotions here. So much more than my previous trip. I wish my parents were here, but I've got a teddy bear and box of tissues instead.

It all started the Saturday morning I went to Cai Rang floating market and my mother's village at 7 am, and I felt a huge lump in my throat as my students from Cai Rang told me to tell my mom about the new bridge, and how that special tree was torn down to widen the main road, and how big the town is now. All I could think was that I wish I didn't have to tell her, I wished she was there with me and telling me about what it was like when she was a little girl growing up among the sampans in a clear blue river and wobbly bridges and a smaller street.

The rest of the week was a blur of class and enjoying my new motorbike, and then I went to Phu Quoc, Vietnam's largest island, for a long weekend with five of my students. It was a few hours of bus and then a few hours of boat and then we were at our resort for a rainy beach weekend full of motorbiking and touristy things. First off, I don't do well in large groups. I prefer travelling by myself or with one other person, with the whole independent thing. Second, for my entire life I've been called chau, em, con, and occasionally chi (niece, little sister, child, or big sister). But Vietnamese culture respects teachers, so I spent a weekend being called co (teacher) and getting way too much attention. Third, again, I missed my parents, especially when I turned around in the ferry and saw all these elderly Vietnamese men laughing at the comedy we were watching and I thought about my dad's smile and wished I could share this experience with him.

It was a heartfelt, heartbreaking, and wonderful weekend. My students now know about this blog and they already know how I feel about being taken care of. We went to so many places and had such a cool time together, pearl farms, night markets, sea eagle sanctuary, old US military prison museum, beaches, motorbiking everywhere on rutty fun roads and taking lots of pictures. Shared a lot of personal experience, memories, and thoughts and heard a lot which has changed my perspective in many ways (which no, are not being shared here).

These are things I need to write about: Vietnamese massages, parties at students houses, attitudes towards drinking, attitudes towards children, pizza in Can Tho, the expat lifestyle, finally visiting my grandfather's grave and being the first of his grandchildren to light incense for him, motorbikes, eating out in Can Tho, Vietnamese junk food, well-meaning but misunderstanding extended family, giant class party, karaoke. But right now I need to put the tissues away and sleep. I'll figure out the pictures later.

"This is neither fun nor easy!"

I've made it to my homeland, Can Tho. My mom was born in a village not far from here, so I'm visiting it tomorrow morning at 6 am with my students. There's a big floating market there, called Cho Noi, and I'm pretty excited to see Cai Rang. One of my students is from there and he said he'd take me around.

I was in Saigon for three days. It was cool- more about that city when I go back there in three weeks. Vi and I got to our guesthouse on Sunday afternoon after taking a car and an unexpected ferry ride here- it took about four hours from HCMC. Our guesthouse, which we later nicknamed the Hell House, was essentially the worst possible lodging the university could have given its foreign volunteers. The plumbing kept breaking, we had no fridge (although we had a toaster oven and a sink of cockroaches), the fans worked intermittently (obviously no a/c), and we were missing some walls, as in Vi's bedroom had three walls and a scrim that didn't even cover the hole. Also no internet and holes in the walls (purposeful, for ventilation). It was pretty awesome. We also had a kitty and the university gave us two bicycles.

This week has flown by. Teaching English and the TOEFL is a blast. We both teach two classes, one at 7:30-9:15 and the other 9:30-11:15. At first I was very very nervous, but making lesson plans takes very little time and reading essays and homework is pretty fun. I adore my students, almost all of whom are older than me, who call me Teacher. After the first few days we started hanging out with our students, but the Hell House took a lot of energy out of us. Vi got crazy sick from eating duck fetus egg (after riding on the back of my students' bicycles, an experience from which the title of this post is derived) and on Wednesday I scoped out hotels and we moved into one. We lasted three days in Hell House, but it seemed like so much longer...

After Vi and I get on the backs of Minh and Thuy's bicycles: "See, it's easy to ride on the back of a bicycle? See? Easy! It's fun!"

Several seconds of telling myself I won't die and clutching the seat of a badly wobbling bike in need of air later: "No, Minh! This is neither fun nor easy!"

Possibly the best advice I've received in Can Tho so far: "Just think about what I'm saying! Don't think about the bicycle!"

I hope to rent a motorbike tomorrow. I already have my awesome helmet that Adrian got me in Hanoi, and although I don't have a license I can always pull the "American!" card.

Pictures: me on the back of Minh's bike, the unexpected ferry ride, banh xeo (one of my favorite Vietnamese dishes), hot vit lon (duck fetus egg) in tamarind sauce, Old Man Monkey who sits outside a restaurant that we like, and my room in Hell House. Pretty, isn't it? Looks can be deceiving.