The Sweet Smell of SuccessMonday was a day of successes. No, there was nothing akin to the carbonized filiment at Menlo Park or the wheel right maneuver holding the high ground on Little Round Top, but little steps start great journeys. The first of my minor triumphs was the simple act of getting downtown. I biked to the cafe I like to frequent taking no wrong turns and not once did I find myself heading the wrong direction down a one way street. The waitress understood my "ca phe sua da" without the need for repition or having to ask me in English if I really wanted iced coffee with milk. Granted I've been ordering the same thing for nearly a week straight, but I prefer to think of this as an advance in my effort to learn vietnamese rather than simply having become a regular at this lakeside cafe. After reading the paper and drinking my coffee I went to the street-side key maker who I knew could copy our odd shaped front door key. The route I took was not quite the one I had envisioned when looking at the map, but I got there none the less. Although I suspect I said five noses ("lam mui") instead of fifty ("lam muoi") I was able to confirm the 50,000 dong price and that the key would be ready at 1:00. I bought the weekend edition of the International Herald Tribune and discovered -- joy of joys -- it does indeed publish the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle. It wont arrive in Viet Nam until mid-day Monday but that will certainly be a weekly expenditure to put in our budget. I don't consider changing money at our bank to be a success as, despite the austrailian accents, the tellers all speak fluent english. But I did remember to park my bike on the customer, not the staff, side of the pull-in. And I did get the transaction fee waived by showing my account card. From there it was off to the transformer shop. There are numerous store fronts in Hanoi that sell nothing but voltage converters and current stabilizers -- not something that could be considered a high volume business in the states. Despite the lack of a common language I was able to convey that I wanted two 1000 watt 220 volt to 110 volt transformers plus a pair of power strips with surge protectors built in; that I wanted them delivered (the dictionary came out to find "giao") but that I would not be home until 4:00. With the use of a pen and some scrap paper I was able to let the proprietors know I was also in need of a plug, cord, switch, socket and lightbulb. This puzzled them at first as clearly they didn't carry such things, but when I pulled out my map they were happy to point out where I could satisfy my more general electrical needs. On the way back to pick up my keys, the seat of my bicycle loosened under me. This could have broken my string of unbridled successes but I was quickly able to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. I stopped at a curb-side repair place. You see these on every fourth corner in Hanoi -- simply a guy with an air pump, a bucket of water (to locate leaks) and a small low-slung basket of tools invariably covered by an oily rag. By demonstrating the play in my saddle I explained my need and shortly he had retightened the bolts. When I arrived at the head of the street suggested to me at the transformer store I found a string of shops selling minor lighting equipment. I chose one at random and was able to point to the plug, the socket and the bulb that I wanted and with hand gestures indicate that I needed a switch as well. With my booty in the basket of my bike I returned home to find the usual late afternoon scene in our living room -- Khanh and the boys sharing the floor with another nanny, her 3-year-old charge (neither of whose names I know) and the (similarly nameless) old woman from around the corner. All were happy to watch me splice the switch into the cord and with the judicious use of red electrical tape attach the whole kit to the boys' doggy night-light. At 4:00 on the dot the transformers arrived. Monday night I went to bed knowing that I had accomplished nothing particularly important but with the happy sense that soon I might feel at home in Hanoi. |
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