Why did the the chicken cross the road?

I'd been warned about the traffic in Hanoi but it's something you have to experience for yourself. And by "experience" I mean run screaming from. My second day here I walked for that felt like two miles on the same side of the road without turning until I ran out of road. I was going out for water and even though I saw a place that might have sold the big jugs I was looking for, I still refused to cross the street. It scares the bejesus out of me for a good reason--these drivers are totally insane. They weave in and out of each other, turn without warning, and seem to follow instinctual driving rules rather than actual ones. It's like watching bees in a hive. A hive does not have traffic lights or lanes, and yet they all seem to know where they are going without colliding into each other. One guy in our group showed us how it's done the first day. You just walk. That's what he said. I also find it helpful not to look. You find a small opening in-between motorbikes, do not cross in front of buses or cars, and walk straight ahead. The bikes swerve around you with inches to spare. Today a fellow teacher stood next to me and started chanting "just go, just go, just go," took my hand, and together we stepped off the sidewalk and walked blindly into traffic across. Yes, I need a hand to hold. When it comes to crossing the street here the foreigners have the skills of a toddler (me included). So yeah, I want you to hold my hand when we cross the street and read me a bedtime story before I go to bed (no seriously, as soon as my phone is set up I want my stories, dammit). At least all of us English Teaching Assistants are learning this together. The real scary part comes after we are separated and must fend for ourselves, or at least learn how to hold our own hands.

The Beginning

I created this blog to function as a "captain's log" of sorts. I turn 29 in September and this is my first time traveling abroad. This blog will serve as both a time capsule and a digital newsletter.

In five days I will be traveling to Vietnam to teach English for two semesters at a University in Vietnam. In preparation for my departure I have been eating too much cheese and reading as much teaching abroad advice as I can get my digital hands on. What has been catching me off guard the most about preparing to leave is how much the language people use resembles and even mimics that of a terminally ill patient. There have been a lot of "think of the good times" and "I don't want you to go" talks with people lately. This is why they need a hug service. You can send everything else in the mail why not a hug?

Plus, I think I'm not panicking much about the move because I'll still be teaching. I love teaching. I would do it anywhere. I'd teach in a cardboard box in the basement of an abandoned haunted house if you asked me to (please don't). And Vietnam is an amazing country with a rich culture that I've always wanted to experience for myself, so the "good gracious, I'm leaving America!" panic hasn't really set in. I'm too excited. I've always talked about living abroad and now I'm actually doing it. I'm turning 29 half way across the world. This is going to be a very good year.