Monday, 26 September 2011

What the ...

This week has been one of those weeks where I have to periodically pinch myself to check I'm not dreaming. I have; cycled to a market with a Violet on the back of my bike, eaten at a pagoda, bycicled to a ferry, played with small children, worked through my entire repetoire of camp games, gone to a bingo hall where lady boys sing the numbers at you, climbed onto a roof while fairly inibriated on lime-flavoured rum and miranda soda, climbed onto a roof while even more enibriated on rice vodka and coke, sung jingle bells at a karaoke bar, also Sweet Caroline and Hotel California, had dinner at a random student's house, biked all the way to said random student's house with a Violet on the back in 700 degree heat, picked fruit out of trees in someone's back yard using a fruit picker, found presentation topics for half a class of students who spoke little/no english, been told I am beautiful more times than is healthy for my ego, sustained more bruises and cuts than is possible to count, eaten at least 8000 different noodle dishes, regularly sung and/or danced with scant regard to my dignity in front of various groups of students, added coffee with condensed milk to my list of main food groups, taken mainly showers so cold they made my toes curl and then finally one warm shower which made me happier than is normal, been force fed wine by a student's father, taught people how to do the macarena, the hand jive, the Las Ketchup dance and the box step, eaten fruits I don't even know the name of, some of which dipped in salt and chilli flakes, danced around Violet's flat with Violet in our underwear because it's too hot for clothes, scandalised Tra Vinh with shorts that barely cover my knee caps, worn pants and a sweater in the blistering heat for modesty's sake, been greeted/stared at/touched purely because I am white,

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