We are back to blogging. And with a vengeance.

Now let's back up a couple months to our arrival in Vietnam. If memory (and indisputable fact) serves me, our last post was on the rigors of our grueling CELTA course. Well, our time on the CELTA wasn't all work and no play. Au contraire (that means, "to the contrary"), the students planned a day trip for all of the trainees on the second Saturday of the course. They prepared a lengthy itinerary with a start time at the fiendishly early hour of 8AM, which is roughly equivalent to a Western noon here in Vietnam as everyone seems to get up around 5AM (this is not at all hyperbole, by the way).

Suffice to say, none of us sane folk were too keen to rise and shine at that most unholy hour on our day off so we hemmed, hawed, and hacked our way to a mutual understanding: we would skip the Reunification Palace segment and meet after. And thus it came to pass that we found ourselves at the wholly reasonable and respectable hour of 11:30AM outside of said Palace where we met the students and melded into a single unit - a bike gang of the most innocent variety. But the Heaven's Angels almost could not ride for, you see, helmets here are the law and we were two helmets short. Kate and myself, being the chivalrous duo that we are, offered to buy the missing helmets after an unsuccessful soiree to pick some up. And while we figured out the logistics of who would borrow who's helmet to buy more, Tien, our fearless leader, snapped up two used helmets from a motortaxi (xe om) driver for 90,000 dong, or about $5.70.

Now… now we were ready. We paired up and began the perilous trek out of the city center. And about 5 minutes later we were lost. Later, we discovered that of the 8 students driving us, only 2 knew the way. Difficult at the best of times and damn near impossible when one is trying to navigate through swarming seas of motorbikes. Several phone calls and missed turns later, we did eventually arrive at our destination - an enormous restaurant (all of them seem to be here) with a gigantic terrace about 45 minutes outside of the city. The students ordered all the food off the strictly Vietnamese menu and we dined on a veritable cornucopia of comestibles, including the delectably delicious Sour Soup, made with a whole river fish, chunks of pineapple, and a healthy selection of local vegetables.

Post-chow, we motto'd on over to the nearby One-Pillar Pagoda, modeled after the pagoda of the same name in Hanoi. As you might expect, the pagoda does, indeed, rest suspended on a single pillar which juts out of a lake filled with tiny turtles. But there is more to the complex than just the pagoda and we spent an hour or so wandering through the various Buddhist temples and shrines, leaving smoking incense to carry on our prayers. Amongst the worldly delights of the cloister was an ancient looking tree with beautiful flowers right outside a chapel warning against a less-than-holy life through graphic and actually quite disturbing images of torture in a hell much bloodier than anything Dante imagined.

But our quiet sanctuary would not last for long - nay, we were soon back on the bikes and once again got lost on our way to a cafe where we hydrated, chatted, and relaxed before the dusty trip back into the city, which fortunately was much faster now that we knew the way.

Our next bit of extra-scholastic fun arrived on the last day of the four-week CELTA, which is a day reserved for make-ups though, as no one in our course missed any lessons, it became a day reserved for partying. We'd been forewarned by the trainers that we would most likely be kidnapped by the students and smuggled away to a place where we would be forced to drink coffee and sing songs - the infamous and ubiquitous karaoke bars - but, thankfully, the students left the kidnapping kit at home and instead put on a variety show.

After an hour or so of taking pictures in as many configurations as possible, we settled into our seats as the students passed around grapes, sour mango, lychee, and moon cake (which does not, as I was sorely disappointed to learn, contain any mooncheese whatsoever). Once we were all fed and the braver of us were watered, the show began. The first play was a touching story of unrequited love, and the second, a masterpiece entitled Dangerous Milk, about a doctor who tells a drunk that he must give up wine and instead drink milk. At first, the drunk hesitates, convinced - quite rightfully so, I might add - of the dangerous side-effects of milk and is only turned when his buxom wife presents a creative solution.

After the plays, the students and several CELTA trainees sang songs including a rather impressive and impassioned rendition of Frank Sinatra's seminal 1969 tune, "I Did it My Way," and then we headed to lunch. The plays were mostly performed by the intermediate students with more English, so it was the elementary students who took us out to eat. We were a tad uncertain that we could find a restaurant nearby to seat 30, but as we should have known, that is no problem in this city. We ended up in a huge Bahn Xeo place, or Vietnamese rice pancake, place. Think crepes meet lettuce wraps. Again, the students ordered everything, taught us how to eat it, and one woman took the responsibility of the hostess and served us as well. Towards the end when we were all stuffed but with plates of food still left on the table, several of the ladies began wrapping them (they were much more skilled than us) and sweetly forcing them on anyone who would take them. At the end of lunch we were presented with a giant jello cake which, as I can personally attest to, does not bounce, no matter how hard you throw it.

That officially ended the course (well, that and the overpriced but fun dinner and drinks that followed) but that wasn't to be the last time we saw our students. Nay, the Sunday after the course, the students arranged another outing for us - to the Cu Chi tunnels. We couldn't get out of the 8AM start this time around so we sucked it up and bordered the chartered bus for the two hour ride out to Cu Chi. Though some of us may have been more interested in sleeping, the students would have none such shenanigans and quizzed us with riddles and games complete with candy prizes.

We arrived after ten to the the Cu Chi complex, a tropical forest crisscrossed with paths leading to various points of interest, including a short video about the tunnels made in 1967, at the height of the American War, as they rightfully call it here. The propaganda was a bit heavy handed but the video was incredibly interesting to watch as both a historical artifact. It was at times a little uncomfortable, as Americans sitting next to Vietnamese students, to watch a video of our forebears slaughtering each other but the day only seemed to reinforce what we had heard previously - that the Vietnamese look forward and don't dwell on the past.

The students helped translate the general details about the tunnels before we entered the underground world itself. First up was a short (10 meter long) tunnel, which was good to start with as a few people couldn't take the claustrophobia and backed out immediately. The hardier amongst us really didn't think the tunnels were too bad, especially as they've been expanded several times to accommodate visitors. The next tunnel we went into was significantly longer with a stop near the beginning at a meeting hall filled with creepy mannequins. After that stop, however, a long, twisting, turning crawl deposited us near the hospital ward, also with creepy mannequins. As part of the tour we were treated to a typical meal of cassava dipped in ground peanuts and tea (much needed nourishment as we hadn't had time to grab breakfast) and then shown through the homemade weapons museum, which was filled with hidden death traps, spiky bombs, and all other sorts of creatively evil (my favorite type of evil, by the way) weapons.

The tough stuff behind us, we then retired to the nearby restaurant on a barge with a thankful, lazy breeze that gave us the opportunity to watch heaps of water plants floating by while we gorged on more (much needed) delicious Vietnamese food. This was, of course, right before we went to the firing range where, for a dollar a bullet with a five bullet minimum, you can shoot pretty much any gun you could find in the Vietnam War. But it felt a little wrong so we both abstained and after finding out that battle weapons are really, really, really loud, we got back on the bus and dozed our way back to the City (of Ho Chi Minh)...