Like A Local: The first days of learning Vietnamese

What's a new and nervous expat going to make of learning Vietnamese, one of South East Asia's most notoriously difficult and confusingly accented languages?

After four years, I've gained enough experience in horribly, violently butchering the language and have gained at least a little conversational know-how, if only through making mistakes so often.
Let me give a little insight into how I made it from level zero, all the way to at least fourth-grade fluency, and how the art of being open to ridicule is going to make your language learning adventure in the early days in Vietnam a lot more bearable.

My love affair with learning languages began to blossom later in life than most kids in the modern world, at the ripe old age of ten. Our Japanese teacher visited our 5th grade classroom every Thursday for an hour or two and pretty soon the whole class could sing, remember basic greetings on cue and took delight in chiming "Arigatouuuu" as we bowed deeply.

Continuing the same lessons and extending upon them in my elective subjects in high school, I gradually picked up the grammar structure, the nuances of the pronunciation, and had a moderate amount of kanji characters in my repertoire. I never reached a high proficiency level, nor was I able to muster great confidence in speaking, having not once, but twice using the word for "Sorry" instead of "goodbye" in my spoken assessment examinations. After graduation, my Japanese skills gradually faded away into nothingness, the old trope of "use it or lose it" being evident and punishing my laziness.

I did not study any other foreign languages in the four years that followed, until my trip to Vietnam in March 2013. Using a few simple language apps to master the words for "Hello," "Good bye," "My name is" and other basic essentials, I felt at least prepared for at least the first few seconds of my time in Vietnam.  Studying more vocabulary from a small Lonely Planet phrasebook on the plane en route to Hanoi became useful later when I blurted out the word for 'hospital' to the taxi driver after my friend Shannon had had an accident and needed stitches.

Over the first few weeks during my volunteer stint in Hanoi, I managed to piece together some simple phrases that I felt were most important and urgent enough to memorise, including "How much is this?" "I am vegetarian" and "Where is the toilet?" I used those three phrases so often within the last few days of my trip that it must have seemed to outsiders that I was suffering from some kind of digestional discomfort from all the reasonably priced vegetables I was eating. In the last few moments of my Hanoi days, I finally managed to pipe up a meek "please stop here" in the taxi at the airport. He clearly didn't need reminding as there was nowhere else for a white girl with all her luggage to be 40kms out of Hanoi, but I felt accomplished nonetheless.

Coming back to Hanoi in September of the same year, I felt more confident to use Vietnamese in the next phase of life in Vietnam, learning more carefully how to master the tones and how not to accidentally say "penis" all the time, which is frighteningly easy and a story for another day.

For people only starting out in Vietnam, I would strongly suggest locking down a Vietnamese friend in the early days and having them give you an hour or two per week in basic communication and practising the correct pronunciation of greetings, numbers and phrases.

Nine times out of ten, when you go to the market as a budding expat and you're filled with hope and excitement, you will forget your Vietnamese in the hustle and bustle and cacophony of it all. You will accept a price which has been carefully hiked up to a hefty double or triple amount to suit your assumed wealth, and a swift "Không" and a smile will swiftly let it be known that you are not to be fucked with.
The woman who's cheekily asking for you to mortgage your moped in exchange for watermelons will suddenly change her tune. With a bit of apologetic flirting, she'll give you a price that's still far above the local rate, but will at least suffice, until you can gloriously master "I'm not a backpacker, don't lie to me"and the whole village will bow down to your blind confidence in awe as you sashay out of there with mountains of still-just-barely-above-local-rate produce. You'll make the best salad of your life and enjoy every bite, still probably not realising that though she might have come down on price, she's given you the oldest tomatoes from the pile or the ones that fell off the cart this morning.

Sometimes, less is more, and I can't even imagine counting the amount of times I've muttered ONE WORD in Vietnamese and market ladies/taxi drivers/acquaintances will exclaim "WOW she speaks Vietnamese."
Your fragile ego will take whatever acknowledgement it can to counterbalance the embarrassment of fucking up LITERALLY SO, SO OFTEN.
You'll have a sliver of success in squeaking out a few words pf baby-level Tieng Viet, and pretty soon you'll be shouting "EM OI" with brash confidence in the typical waiter-summoning style of your new home.

Once you've got "What is this?" down-pat, you'll soon enter a new level of language learner proficiency, and locals will delight in giving you an impromptu Vietnamese lesson as you point at salt shakers and pomelos and chopsticks and sandals excitedly as your vocabulary grows exponentially and you make an absolutely dick of yourself.

The beauty is in making a dick of yourself, and not being afraid to. The more dickish and ridiculous you look, even as your parents visit and laugh at you as you haggle with a cyclo driver, even as you consistently say "stupid" instead of "sleep," the more the locals cackle at your frail attempts, the better! You're making it, and every little bit of Tieng Viet helps your day to day goings on in Hanoi, your new home and the centre stage of your newest and scariest language adventure.

Stay tuned for a more exhaustive list of how Vietnamese has its fair share of tricky words to be wary of, and how to go from nervous newbie to pompous pro in a few excruciating years.

Until then! Cháo Bàn!
(Shown incorrectly to mean 'porridge table' instead of 'goodbye.' Told ya.)

Like a local: Visiting Nha Trang

Sunny seaside fun and a much needed winter break.

Tet decorations greet us in Alana Hotel

A busy city life can be draining no matter in which corner of the world you may be. In Vietnam, a lifestyle in the city can take a toll on your physical and mental health pretty quickly, and often the best way to shake the dust and noise of the city's chaos from your boots is to jump on a plane and head south. Having just completed our New Year celebrations and feeling the cold of Hanoi's winter, we jumped at the chance to explore Nha Trang.
This February, my partner and I were lucky enough join his sister and her boys in this idyllic tourist beach town in the south of Vietnam, just a two hour flight from Hanoi and a popular holiday destination for Vietnamese locals. Casting my inner backpacker (who am I kidding?) aside, I set out to observe how families in Vietnam travel on their annual new year break. 

Check in at Alana. Complimentary arrival drinks. Smiles optional.

We hopped on a Vietjet domestic flight and grabbed a taxi to our first hotel, feeling calmed and energised by the sea breeze and the greenery passing by on the 40 minute journey to the town centre. Expect to pay between 250,000 ($10USD) and 400,000vnd ($17USD) to get to your hotel from Cam Ranh Airport. 

Me and Quang Anh see how many business executives in speedos we can spot from the rooftop.

Our first hotel, Alana, was an instant injection of luxury and indulgence, and was located right in the middle of the tourist-heavy beachside area of Nha Trang.  The priciest of the three hotels we had in store, it delivered on rooftop pool views, amenities and all-inclusive buffet breakfasts. I mused over the concept of "saving the best for last" and how it was all but a cultural rarity in Vietnam. 

A quick walk-around of the town delivered all the usual sights, including Aussie-bait bars where 90's classic pub-rock roared from stereos and Russian-marketed stalls offering hair braiding services and temporary tattoos. At night, crowded seafood buffets were filled with domestic and Chinese tour groups sharing their evening meal, seperate in their sameness and sharing their baffling love of eating soup in summery weather. 

A beautiful mural is a sure fire white-girl aesthetic trap. #story #suckerfornostalgia

Familiar with Vietnamese cuisine we opted for novelty, and found an Indian food restaurant for the boys to experience for the first time. Rice, naan, butter chicken and assorted masalas were instant kid-pleasers, to my relief and to the boys' greedy gusto. 

Freeing the children of Vietnam from the shackles of their chopstick dependency.

A post-dinner ice cream and a long walk on the beach were in order, synonymous with my childhood family holidays. Young couples gathered on the beach on woven rattan mats, a stones throw away from a blisteringly loud and bass-heavy DJ show. The noisy affair seemed carefully cultivated for Russian tourists who sat at the surrounding tables sipping their fruit-based cocktails. The whole stage threatened to vibrate the whole beach and would later keep me awake from our 12th storey hotel room into the early hours of the morning. 

Smiling through the pain/shame. 

The next morning, disaster struck in typical slow-burning fashion when Trong, dutifully undertaking his uncle responsibilities at the beach, was dunked by a strong wave and managed to dislocate his shoulder. Unsure of the exact protocol and having to cut his body-surfing demonstration short, I whisked him away in a taxi, still dripping and shirtless. We arrived at a nearby emergency room as I desperately tried to contact my nurse mother over Facebook chat and as Trong's groans intensified as he clutched his frozen forearm.
I had been in Vietnamese emergency rooms before, and knew I had to had to be prepared to have our bill tripled should they decide to charge me based on my nationality. I soon felt uneasy at the thought of having to be overcharged and stuck in an understaffed ward. 

Wild goose chase for a doctor.

It took nearly an hour and two X-Rays, my patient's pain levels growing gradually, for the doctor to arrive. 

After examining the shoulder, he promptly removed his rubber sandal, stuck his left foot in his Trong's armpit and yanked the joint back into place with a deep crack which echoed throughout the simple room, fellow patients laying in wait and watching through the corner of their eyes. I was of no comfort and desperately tried to look away as I stroked the patient's ankle pitifully for reassurance, but almost immediately the pain subsided. 

He lost his glasses and $6 but not his smile.

After receiving our bill (which came to a staggering $6US), a happy Trong and I took a taxi back to check out and grab a hearty seafood lunch with the family. We felt grateful our situation turned out favourably, unlike the poor lobster we'd chosen from the tank to become our lunch, listing the things that could have easily gone wrong during our medical misadventures over Chao Tom Hum and mango lassi. 

Delicious lobster congee and an unfortunate end to our crustacean friend.

Later we took a ferry across the inlet to Vinpearl resort, the commercial darling of Vingroup, an omnipotent business presence in Vietnam's economic structure.  

Anything is a buffet if you're brave or Chinese enough.

The next few days went by peacefully, and we were able to squeeze in visits to Vinpearl land, sauna and jacuzzi sessions, and thrice-daily buffets, which were a major roadblock for our budding beach-bods. Vinpearl resort seemed to be catered more towards Chinese guests and domestic families of privilege, the all-inclusive model used to create the illusion of luxury for less.



I was surprised by Trong's sister's active approach to holidaying, wanting to see and do as many activities as possible within a short space of time. Working in a demanding office job, I was curious as to why Trang didn't follow the more relaxed Western style of wanting to slow down and 'take in' the experience. I chalked this up to her valuing efficiency within her tight holiday schedule, which I'd say is a trait she shares with most full time workers in Vietnam.

Exploring Vinpearl Land - matching sandal scheme unintentional.

Despite sporadic rain showers,  we enjoyed the mild thrill of amusement rides and game arcades, and of watching rude line-cutters being asked to leave for trying to bring their screaming infant on a rollercoaster. 
Musical water fountain and dolphin shows were available twice daily and performed to arenas packed with blank-faced iPad photographers, selfie-stick aficionados and squealing kids, the whole experience becoming a tad overwhelming at times, depending on how far we were from our latest meal. 

Vinpearl's Iconic cable car towers visible by night.

With interesting yet overcrowded aquariums with expensive and with lacklustre food options, the park certainly had its downsides, but the boys enjoyed their time, the littlest even being coerced into trying some of the scarier rides. The scenic alpine ride impressed me beyond all measure though the line for this ride was a ridiculous 3 hour wait, so we waited until the rain had scared some of the more vain tourists away so that we could enjoy our thrilling whizz down the mountainside. 

Happy moments before the little guy was almost ripped out of my grasp by the G Force. #CheckYourSafetyStandardPrivilege

Back on the mainland and away from the isolated bubble of Vinpearl, we checked into Regalia Hotel, the cheapest (a gentle 1.5 million Vnd for an ocean-facing double room) and closest to the beach we'd had yet. We said goodbye to Trang and the boys the next day, and joined our Russian hotel-goers in electively sizzling in the sun by day, cider in hand, and sourcing trendy summer attire and pedicures by night.  

Locals gather under the shade of trees, already-red Russians stand deliberately in scorching sunlight. Lilo, eat your heart out.

Seafood Pho is next-level. 

Our preferred lazy Western customs of room service and excessive sun exposure balanced out the more adventurous aspects of our trip and left us feeling refreshed and a tender shade of pink upon returning to Hanoi. 

 We didn't even miss Pho, taking the opportunity to try its seafood-laden Southern cousin in a small seaside eatery.





Nha Trang was a vibrant and commercialised but altogether enjoyable holiday destination, whether you're a local, a foreign tourist or an expat seeking a trip out of the city. Personally, the modern luxury of Alana was the clear winner in terms of relaxation and comfort, and the commercial style of Vinpearl Resort wasn't really my cup of tea. Regalia was a decent and affordable place to stay, and given I live only a few hours away, I would consider it again in a hot Hanoi second should I ever need a beach escape from city life.

Nine out of ten burnt Russians agree, it's the place to be. 

Beach Bummery engaged. 

Part of the family: My first Tet as an honorary "Con Dâu."

Part of the family: My first Tet as an honorary "Con Dâu."

Tet holiday is a traditional new year celebration which is observed every year on the first day of the lunar calendar, typically falling in late January or early February. It is the most widely celebrated festival in Vietnam and an event that is centred very heavily on bringing family together and welcoming in good luck for the next lunar year.

As this was the second time spent with my partner during this time, and the first that I had spent in Vietnam for Tet, it was expected that we celebrate the lunar new year traditions of his family. As the day neared, I felt honoured to experience the event within a Vietnamese family.

Year of the Rooster family dinner, wine and spring rolls galore with Trong's parents and his sister's family.

During the past year, family friends of in my 'future in-laws' and my colleagues had jokingly called me "Con Dâu Tây," which was a play on words which consisted of melding the words "daughter in-law" and "Western," which, mixed together, translate to "Strawberry." 

An's haggling skills are second to none and a street market essential

I jumped at the chance to go through the preparations involved in the new year celebrations, consulting my future mother in law, An, about the right kind of peach flower branch I should buy, the best kumquat tree to decorate the house with and the amount of lucky money I should prepare for young relatives in the coming days. 


As humbled as I felt to be able to enjoy this new celebration (or rather, one that I had only ever observed as an 'outsider,') I also felt a hint of trepidation about the sheer volume of family members I was going to meet and greet throughout the day. 

Preparing auspicious fruit, sticky rice cakes and lucky money.

The previous night was spent watching a famous live comedy show (Táo Quân, which is aired annually on the last night of the year), and eating a selection of dried and candied fruits in my in-laws house. Though I couldn't really understand a lot, or really any of the jokes that were not physical-comedy or, weirdly, hemorrhoid-related, my boyfriend and his parents seemed to enjoy the show. At about 11pm, the two of us took the motorbike to join the hoards of youngsters meeting friends out in the shimmering glitter-lined streets to welcome in midnight, some opportunistic teens having already shot their paper glitter cannons ahead of schedule.





This year fireworks had been banned in the city centre, following a local government initiative to prevent too many injuries amongst overly-zealous and under-cautious locals who take their home fireworks game too seriously. At the stroke of midnight, some rogue fireworks still lined the horizon as we watched from a rooftop bar overlooking Hoan Kiem lake, the whole affair a tad underwhelming in comparison with recent years.


Driving home again, past cheering locals chanting "Chuc Mung Nam Moi" crowded on plastic stools that lined the streets, it was easy to feel like a part of the spirit of Tet. We greeted my partner's parents once more to officially wish them a happy new year, and for me to receive the first of many "I hope you have a baby soon" comments of 2017.

Green tea, green bean cakes and candied fruits.

Being the first to cross the threshold of the house after midnight is also another tradition that we observed, with your chosen 'first guests' determining the luck you'll receive in the new year.
This year the honour was given to me as I sashayed through the front door of our apartment, full of sticky rice cake and candied fruit and ready for bed.



The next morning we donned our finest threads and were off to visit the first of many relatives, Trong's maternal grandfather.
On the first day of the year, it's customary for Vietnamese families to visit their extended family in order of age, typically beginning from grandparents and then eldest brothers and sisters and so on. 

Ong Ngoai poses for the camera with us in front of his late wife's memorial shrine, wearing his best suit.

Posing for new yearly photos and sharing stories about old ones in an old French-inspired apartment, Ong Ngoai fussed over us and ensured we had plenty of green tea and candy. 

Carefully labelled and organised photos are shared.

Pretty soon I was the centre of attention, feeling the pressure of having to try and extend my rudimentary Vietnamese among the growing number of uncles, aunties and family members coming in an out throughout the hour. To each, we wish a happy new year and I tried desperately to remember the names of nephews and nieces I had not yet met, whilst observing the correct pronouns (the list of ways to say "you" and "I" in Vietnamese is exhaustive and a constant source of anxiety for me in day-to-day conversation).


I wondered how "demure" I should present myself to be among these new acquaintances, but after a full morning of signature Vietnamese hospitality and a full serving of sticky rice cake, I was feeling confident to be myself, cracking jokes and tickling kids who dared to wander close to the "Tây," squealing and feigning fright for the scary "Aunty" and doing it all over again. 

A red li-xi packet is prepared for the next set of nephews

We visited four more houses and four more sets of relatives throughout the rest of the afternoon, on arrival in each house we are greeted with green tea, fresh and dried candied fruit, nuts and other sweets. These auspicious treats bring good luck and in the old days, were a rare luxury. 

For the children, we provided red envelopes containing lucky money (li xi) which are given from parents, uncles and aunts, older relatives and close family friends to children of schooling age. The amount of money can vary from 20,000vnd ($1 US) for acquaintances and neighbours to 500,000vnd ($20 US) for close relatives. It seemed to be a strange phenomenon to doll out cash to little kids I'd never seen before, but the little ones jumped at the chance to collect as many red envelopes as they were given. Most children use their li xi money to buy new clothes, shoes, schooling supplies and toys throughout the year, depending on the family's situation. 





Normally, the hectic and harrowing Hanoian streets are a tangled and noisy web of chaos during the late afternoon but during Tet, the streets were relatively tame as we crossed the city for the last time, following Trong's parents' bike as we drove to Aunty Hoa's house, where we were again given good wishes and this time a "Banh Tet" cake, a cylindrical tube of rice and green bean that we would enjoy for breakfast over the coming days. 

Aunty Hoa gives me a sticky rice cake she prepared.

Coming home, I felt delightfully bloated, a little dusty, and full of good cheer and green tea. I had performed as best as I could, and met a whole battalion of new relatives, as well as familiar ones, all of which had welcomed me into their homes and insisted of me having "Please more, please more" of everything sweet and savoury treat they had to offer. 

If you ever get the chance to experience the "real Tet," whether it's within a Vietnamese family or with close friends, it's something that you will always treasure.

The Lunar New Year celebration is yet another occasion to observe the gregariousness, selflessness and exuberant generosity of the people of Vietnam, and how lucky I felt to be given the chance to witness this, center-stage.

Chuc Mung Nam Moi! 

I tried: A pottery workshop

Pottery is one of the oldest traditional crafts in Vietnam. Archeological findings show that Vietnamese people have been involved in making ceramic and porcelain items as early as 10,000 years ago, when, during the Ly dynasty (1010-1224), ceramic pieces were typically glazed with a distinctive brown or blue glaze.

Nha Gom Chi's gorgeous selection of ceramics are often reflective of ancient glazing styles.

Vietnamese families continue to  treasure their porcelain and ceramic items within the home, with minimalist and Japanese-inspired styles being popular in recent years.

Nowadays, the famous village of Bat Trang, located fifteen kilometres from the heart of Hanoi, is still preserving the traditional craft of pottery, and it is a thriving hub of activity in the spring and summer, with local tour groups looking to try their hand at one of South East Asia's oldest crafts.

A local pottery workshop and ceramic retailer popped up on my Facebook feed recently, offering a full Saturday afternoon of learning how to throw and shape clay on a wheel - I decided I had to get involved.

The class started off with a short tour of the workshop and an overview of the family's history in clay-sculpting and pottery making. The friendly husband and wife proprietors explained that the family had been in the business for over 100 years, the family business originally located in Bat Trang village.

Glazing completed, time to decorate.

A total of nine of us eager and multi-national students sat down to observe our teacher demonstrate the art of glazing, something that definitely looks easier than it is. Each of us took a turn in dipping a terracotta plate into the glazing liquid and allowed it to drip as demonstrated, some of us luckier than others with the result of the quickly-drying glaze. 

We then applied shades of deep indigo and cerulean pigment next, some of us choosing to first carve nature-inspired designs onto the newly glazed plate with various knives and tools. Others (me, I'll be honest here) hoping to look effortlessly talented by bumbling through an abstract-esque design and praying that the thing would look a little more refined once the it had been through the firing process in the kiln and the colours of the paint had intensified.

Our teacher: The natural.

Next, our teacher showed us to the main event, throwing the clay on a spinning wheel. He demonstrated the correct way to shape the clay and definitely made it look easy with his confident hands and his skilful spinning of the wheel to keep a consistent speed.
 The workshop offered us either the electric wheel with a foot-pedal or the more traditional (read: backbreaking) manual wheels.


As we all sat down to our wheels and began flicking clay across the room and regretting our clothing choices (new jeans were a no-no, so I discovered), another instructor with delightfully broken english began guiding each of us, shouting "NO" or "OKAY" intermittently depending on how badly we were doing.

Not pictured: "NO NO NO..... Okay?"

As he approached my burgeoning bowl-like blob (see below that I selfishly claimed the automatic wheel out of sheer laziness) and began guiding my hands I couldn't restrain my desire to give my best  rendition of "Unchained Melody" from the famous Ghost scene, but I'm sad to say that nobody in my class got the reference.

The first of many blobs of clay on my outfit struck at about the 2 minute mark.

Looking around at my classmates I could see that everyone was truly enjoying the process, with a really mixed group of locals and expats, couples and singles and people of different ages. Patrick-Swayze scene flashbacks or not, everyone was visibly loving the process of making something by hand, and as my bowl began to take shape I started to fall in love with the craft like I'm sure many before me also had. 

Also not pictured: Me mercilessly hogging the automatic wheel for nearly 30 minutes.

Surrounded by beautiful home made ceramic wares and with my right-hand-man trying his luck at an ashtray beside me (though he doesn't smoke?!), it was easy to feel inspired by the many centuries of Vietnamese ceramic styles that had been passed down for generations. I felt giddy with excitement at the thought of breakfasts served in my own hand-crafted ceramic bowl, and as it began to take shape my giddiness caused it to topple.

Supported by my classmates to try again, I didn't let my disappointment get to me and soon I had finished another bowl from scratch, then a plate, then a cup. I even let others use the electric wheel and opted for my own muscle-motored clay-throwing experience. Pretty soon all of us had created a small selection of pieces that were to be put aside and 'fired' in the next week. 

Different levels of confidence/sheer panic went into these works.

We stuck around a little while longer chatting to the other students and browsing some of the beautiful items for sale in the workshop. Though the proprietors' English was still developing, we felt there was no miscommunications and the additional staff helped with any major translations.

The total price for the workshop was 330,000vnd each (about $14USD) and for the fun we had, plus our painted plate and two of our handmade goodies that had been glazed for us and were ready to be picked up the following week, it was definitely worth it. I discovered on collection day that only one of my creations hadn't survived the firing process and had exploded out of pure shame in the kiln. Oh well.

Our new collection deserved its very own place upon the bookshelf: 

Breakfast bowls galore!

Nha Gom Chi is located at 43 Van Kiep street, just a 10 minute taxi ride from either the tourist quarter or Xuan Dieu area. They offer workshops every second Saturday, be sure to message them in advance to reserve your spot! Children receive a 30% discount.

If you're a Hanoi local or a traveller in town, contact Nha Gom Chi here for information on their upcoming workshops - I can guarantee you'll not be disappointed!