Vietnam Seems Far Away

Vietnam seems very far away at the moment. It’s below zero here and I’ve been running for ten days to catch up from . . . being in Vietnam. In a few days’ time I’ve gone from the leisurely life of a poet in a tropical clime to being a professor of literature living beside a frozen river and teaching, in addition to a class about Vietnam, an American Literature course. The distance, both physical and psychic, is considerable. Perhaps surprisingly, I have felt on top of things in the classroom despite my preparation being a little on the thin side — my students have filled in any gaps I’ve left, bless them. Also, I came home from Vietnam filled with enthusiasm for various projects that I’ll get too as soon as things settle down a bit over on the teaching side of life.

I’m teaching the first half of the American Lit survey, which in twenty years at Clarkson I’ve never done before, and while I can’t work up much enthusiasm for the likes of John Winthrop and Jonathan Edwards, we’re quickly moving on to Emerson next week and I’m rereading some of the central essays with real pleasure and greater understanding than previously.(I’ve found Emerson something of a pious pill in the past, I confess.) Emerson sometimes seems tantalizingly like an American Buddhist, but then he starts talking about superior and inferior intellects in a way that seems contrary to the spirit of enlightenment,i.e., that while there may be quick and slow people that all are capable of enlightenment; the slow require “indirect” teaching (rituals and chanting, etc.) while the quick can grasp the truth sometimes from a single sentence or the way light glances off a bowl. Emerson, on the other hand, seems to condemn “the mob” to live their unenlightened lives as best they can — and women as well, though he never comes right out and says this, perhaps because he had lively daughters. Still, it’s hard to escape the feeling that the audience for “Self-Reliance” consists of young men of a certain class.* In getting ready to teach thias essay, I find myself wavering between asking students to defend themselves against Emerson’s charges of conformity and questioning Emerson’s assumptions about the “nature” of the individual. Of course, I’ll do both.

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There is an provocative complication to this observation in “Self-Reliance.” When Emerson compares the “Vermont or New Hampshire” country boy to the effete city boy he seems to be making room for a broader distribution of “genius,” but this strikes me as more of a rhetorical flourish than a heartfelt sentiment; that is, Emerson seems to be using the figure of the farmboy to beat up the city boy a little bit.

Observation

Sitting in LAX waiting for the redeye to JFK. I haven’t experienced any delays because of increased security. Hanoi’s Noibai Airport was not crowded today and everything worked smoothly; Taipei was no problem, either, though they were doing random searches after clearing the gate and before getting on the plane. And LAX was all right, too, in terms of security. The problem here was not security, which was thorough but efficient, but the local infrastructure and Delta Airlines. After clearing Customs (easy), I had to hump my bag three-quarters of a mile to another terminal and haul it up a flight of stairs, then stand in the “bag drop off” line for an hour while three or four agents did triage, pulling out passengers who were about to miss their connecting flights and rushing them through. Oh, and it is possible to run an airline that does not treat its customers like cattle: I flew China Air on this trip and the service was efficient, the food was good (and free), and the airplane clean. I’ve had the same good experience with Vietnam Airlines and Cathay Pacific. The pilots put us down each time as if we were landing on velvet. Unfortunately, now I have to get on Delta for the final leg of my trip.

Later: I’m home now and have slept for about fifteen hours. To cap the trip, Delta didn’t manage to get my bag onto the last leg of my flight home, so they had to put it in a van and drive it the 150 miles from the airport to where I live. But it and I have arrived safely after one of my best and most productive trips to Vietnam. Details to follow. Oh, and I absolutely agree with Sam’s assessment, in his comment, of travel in Asia versus travel in the US. For my part, I just repeat a little Buddhist mantra: May I be filled with loving kindness, may I be well in body and mind. . .

Cafe Nau Nong

I am well and truly here, now that I have had my first cup of cafe nau nong–literally, hot brown coffee–at a cafe beside Hoan Kiem Lake. On my first morning in Hanoi, almost fourteen years ago now, I stumbled out of my hotel and found a small cafe, where I had my first taste of Vietnamese coffee and ever since then I have associated the taste of sweet strong coffee with this city. At home, I drink my coffee black, but here I have cafe nau nong, a small cup of black coffee which conceals a dollop of sweetened condensed milk on the bottom of the cup. Stirred up, the milk just barely changes the color of the coffee from black to dark brown. After my coffee and a croissant I strolled slowly around the familiar streets north of the lake, an old gentleman in a black fedora. From the side or back, I might have been mistaken for a Vietnamese grandfather taking his morning constitutional–well, if I had been wearing my belt up around my navel, that is.