Vietnam

Now that I live in Melbourne, somewhat closer to Asia, I find myself trying to agree to go to conferences that I never would have considered attending when living in North America. An example: a couple of weeks ago I attended a conference in Vietnam. The conference was great. The main organizer was originally Vietnamese, now living in the US, bringing excellent research back to his home country, while also helping an international community see the great things Vietnam has to offer. He was helping to shrink the world a little bit, if you will. That is noble.

But me, I suffer from culture shock. This was a particularly difficult trip for me in a few ways.

Way number one: The currency. It was very hard for me to figure out what things cost. One hundred US dollars was about 1.3 million Vietnamese dong. So there were at least three extra zeros attached to every charge, and those zeros were sometimes suppressed. For example, the taxi from the airport. The meter read 84.5. What does that mean, when the only thing in my wallet is 500,000? I gave the driver one 500,000 bill, and he said "Two". So I gave him another. Then he looked confused. Then I looked confused. Then he spoke to me in Vietnamese. Then I spoke to him in English. I pointed to the meter. He pointed to the meter. After some back and forth, he gave me back 500,000, plus an extra 200,000 and two more 100,000 bills, and threw me out. So I think 84.5 meant 84,500 and he figured out his own tip. Ok. Thank you taxi driver.

Way number two: Daylight. We were only three hours earlier than Melbourne time, but somehow the time zone was shifted so sunrise and sunset were earlier than you would expect. Sunrise was 5:15am. I was awake by 5:30am my first morning. I looked outside, beach front view, and saw that the beach was crowded! Apparently the locals get up at 5am and go swimming between 5am and 6am.

So I got up, too. I walked up and down the sidewalk along the beach. There were people swimming, playing volleyball, and lots of groups of older women dancing.

After my short walk, shower, breakfast, and conference talks one, two, three, I went back out to the beach. At noon, the beach was almost totally and completely empty. Apparently swimming is only for 5am. (And 5pm, near sunset.)

Way number three: The food. Choose your own seafood.

Then the restaurant will cook it for you.

I have no idea how much it costs. Just hand over the appropriate number of 100,000 bills when you are finished. Oh, and get a coconut for drinking.

When submitting receipts later, it turned out that meals ranged from $5 AUD to $18 AUD, which made them really quite cheap. It was hard for me to comprehend prices, though, with all those extra zeros on the bills.

Way number four: Shopping. You're supposed to negotiate, and bargain. I wanted to buy a traditional Vietnamese dress:

But with the coaxing of friends, I ended up with the banana dress instead:

And it cost about $20AUD, after I went home and did some math. I think the shopkeeper won that bargain. But it was worth it. Mine was the best dressed talk the next day.

Way number five: The weather. It was warm and humid and sooo lovely. I wish I had a job in a climate that is warm and humid. Like a warm hug. It feels so good on your skin and lungs. But I live in a climate that is cold and dry in the winter. And I went from warm and humid back to cold and dry and winter. The result? Within a week, I came down with a mean cold. Today, I am in the grip of that mean cold.

In fact, I am writing this post while all hopped up on cold medicine, at 5:30 in the morning. And here, I am the only one awake at 5:30 on a Sunday morning. There is no one outside swimming or dancing or playing volleyball. It is just me, in the winter, in the cold, with a cold. But at least I know how much money is in my wallet.

Panic spikes

I haven't been teaching this semester. I've just been hiding away in my office working on interesting research problems. Working almost exclusively on research has been very fun, which totally surprised me. I think this is the first time in my life when a research-only position has been more fun than stressful.

This semester isn't the first one where I haven't been teaching. But somehow during other teaching-free semesters, I felt a lot more pressure. I had to get a project done or I wouldn't get the next job. Or I wouldn't get tenure. Or I wouldn't be able to write up a sabbatical report. This time around, the report isn't due for two years. Plus I got the promotion I had hoped for last year, so I don't feel any pressure to impress. And so research is just ... fun. It really is mostly fun. Even the parts I normally don't like, such as getting stuck. It feels ok to be stuck. It makes me learn things.

Anyway, because of this happy research place I've been in, I've felt exceptionally calm. That is, my base level-of-being seems to be calm. Again this was totally surprising. It's been a long time since my baseline was calm -- if that ever happened. My whole life I have been a tumbling ball of stress only just keeping things together. But this semester, I have been enjoying working on research, and feeling exceptionally calm.

One of the strangest things about being calm, is that I can actually easily identify things that happen in my life to break that calm. I have been able to identify things that cause my panic level to spike. It has been educational.

In no particular order, the following life events definitely lead to panic.

1. Public speaking. Yes, giving important talks for work are stressful, but I have realized that even unimportant, low-key public speaking assignments make me panic. Like speaking to undergraduates in the informal seminar. And it isn't just standing in front of the undergraduates that causes my panic level to spike. It is receiving the email from the people organizing the undergraduate talks that pushes the panic level. Just thinking about giving the talk terrifies me. And yet I signed up and gave a talk again anyway. Because it was my turn.

Just think about it: when I am teaching, I am giving one of these panic-inducing lectures multiple times a day. No wonder I've had chronic gum problems, eh?

2. This is probably the same thing, but I'm writing it separately. I also panic when high school teachers say vague things like maybe they should get me to give a presentation in Jonathan's class. I spent years and years giving math presentations to Jonathan's classes. But when his current teacher said they maybe would think about inviting me to speak, I felt my panic level spike. I have *not* volunteered for this one. Because it is so scary!

3. Travel. Finding the hotel. Getting a plane ticket. Applying for a visa. Making sure I've filled out the appropriate paperwork for work to reimburse me. I've done it dozens of times. But it is still totally and completely terrifying.

4. Running the meeting. We're talking electronic meetings, with a group of enthusiastic volunteers who are happy to be there and will do anything they can to make me look good. But I so much don't want to run the meetings. Just starting to plan makes the panic meter spike.

5. Adult interaction. Yes, we can totally have those people over for dinner, and I know it will be fun. But getting myself ready to host people ratchets my panic level up from "calm" to "not so calm." Maybe not "anxious" yet. But I am clearly and identifiably an introvert.

6. Buying a house.

Flat Stanley 2019

Flat Stanley here, reporting on my fabulous adventure in Melbourne Australia.

Melbourne is the capital of the state of Victoria, home to about 4.5 million people. That's about 200 times more people than Roseburg, Oregon. For every person in Roseburg, if you took 200 extra people, then the city would be as big as Melbourne.

But if there were 200 more people for everyone in your class, how would they all possibly fit in Mrs Lomica's classroom?

In Melbourne, they fit into tall buildings like the ones you see here.

One of the first things I learned in Melbourne was how to say the word "Melbourne".

You don't say "Mell - BURN." You say "Mell - BUN."  Bun and not Burn. If you get that wrong, you might end up in the wrong city.

Even though it was spring in Oregon, it was autumn in Melbourne when I visited. See the pretty autumn leaves?

Melbourne is on the opposite side of the earth from Oregon, so when it is spring in Oregon, it is autumn in Melbourne. When it is summer in Oregon, it is winter in Melbourne. And when it is winter in Oregon, it is summer in Melbourne.

In Melbourne, they get Christmas in the summer! People go to the beach on Christmas.

But I didn't get to do that, because I visited in the autumn. 

Australia is home to some of the strangest animals in the world, so of course one of the first things I did was take a trip to the zoo to see some animals.

Here is a picture of me with three rainbow lorikeets.

Rainbow lorikeets are a kind of parrot, and they just fly around the city here. It's hard to tell from the picture, but the rainbow lorikeet and I are actually wearing the same outfit.

Here's a better picture (from Wikipedia):

See how we match?

Some other weird things:  The swans in Australia are black instead of white. Here I am with some black swans.

And penguins. Penguins live in Australia. This little guy is called a "Little penguin." Really, that's what it is called. Little penguins live at St Kilda beach right near the city.

Can you think of some other animals that live only in Australia?

...

Well, can you?

...

How about the koala?

(Photo from Wikipedia)

And a kangaroo?

(Photo from Wikipedia)

Flat Stanley, you are saying, those are nice pictures of a koala and a kangaroo, but why aren't you in the picture with them? Well, friends, I tried to be in the picture. The koala would not come out of its tree to get its picture taken with me. Boo.

And I asked the kangaroo to please come closer, so I could show it to Mrs Lomica's class. But it ignored me and went to sleep. Stupid kangaroo.

Have you ever heard of a platypus? A platypus is an animal that lives in Australia. It has the beak of a duck, but a soft furry body, and it swims around in ponds at night.

There is a platypus in the zoo, and I took its picture. It looked like this:

Ok. The picture didn't work, because it was dark in the platypus house, because the platypus only comes out at night. Here is a platypus statue, though, so you can see what it looks like.

When the first Europeans landed in Australia, they tried to describe a platypus to their friends back home. The friends didn't believe that there was really a furry animal with a duck beak. They thought it was made up.

But I know it isn't, because I saw a platypus.

The platypuses in the gift shop let me take their picture. 

So did the kangaroos and koalas.

Ahem. Where were we? Animals.

Did anyone think of snakes? The three most venomous land snakes in the world live in Australia. Here I am posing with a Coastal taipan, the third most venomous snake in the world. If this snake bites you, you had better get some anti-venom immediately!

What about butterflies? One of the largest butterflies in the world lives in Australia: the Cairns birdwing. They had birdwings in the butterfly house. Come here, butterflies, so I can take your picture.

No, come here.

 Yikes! There is a butterfly on my leg! Get it off!

Even the caterpillars that turn into birdwings are huge. It's like the size of my arm!

You can learn very interesting things at the Melbourne zoo. Like things about animal poo.

For example, did you know that wombats poo in cubes? Cubical poo doesn't roll around, so wombats can use their poo to mark their territory. Here is a picture of me with a heap of sleeping wombats.

My mother told me that I am not allowed to mark my territory with my poo.

I learned a little about trees in Australia, too. They have fat trees with trunks that act like bottles to store up water in the desert. This is called a bottle tree.

They also have fern trees in the rainforests. There are both deserts and rainforests in Australia. (And I saw them both in the Melbourne botanic gardens!)

The most common trees in Australia are called eucalyptus trees. Koalas live in eucalyptus trees, and so do big squawky birds called cockatoos.

But in Australia, some people chop down all the beautiful trees and animal houses and turn them into toilet paper.

Toilet paper?

How would you feel if someone turned your house into toilet paper?

The people at the zoo don't want animal houses made into toilet paper, so they ask you to please use toilet paper that is made out of recycled paper. They have signs all over reminding you about toilet paper.

And a giant toilet paper roll. Here I am with a giant roll of toilet paper! I am probably the only Flat Stanley who got his picture taken with a giant roll of toilet paper. So lucky!

My trip to see Australian animals was fun.

But the animals in Australia aren't the only strange thing. The people in Australia play their own sports and games that are different from the sports everywhere else in the world.

For example, they play Australian football, which is nothing like football in Oregon. In Australia, they call it "footy."

After watching a footy game on TV,

I got to go to the huge football stadium in Melbourne, called the MCG:

And see a real live footy game.

Do you see how the footy field is round? It's also almost four times bigger than a US football field. And those footy players run around the field nonstop for about 80 minutes during a game, except for a 20 minute half time break where the fans get up and buy Australian meat pies. Yum.

Anyway, I really enjoyed my visit to Australia.

 I hope that my good friend Sophia can visit Australia too, sometime soon.

Goodbye, Melbourne!

Christmas tree

I threw away the Christmas tree today.

I know, you are thinking. Christmas trees should be thrown away in early January. We are almost to the end of March here, so it seems a little late to finally deal with the Christmas tree.  You are envisioning a brown stick with a carpet of needles under it. And you have the right vision.

But it wasn't supposed to end like this.

We bought the tree alive, in a pot, from a reputable florist. At least they seemed reputable. The cost was enough that we expected the tree to grow on for a good ten years.

It was green enough when we bought it. It stayed green through Christmas. Early in January we moved it outside to enjoy more light, because the bits away from the window seemed to be turning brown. We watered it regularly, but it kept turning brown.

And then we noticed it wasn't draining at all. So we stopped watering to see if that would help.

Nothing helped. It died. And we were in denial. Surely it could recover? The falling needles only indicated a minor flesh wound. Not death.

I decided when it turned a lovely shade of beige that the tree was fully dead.


Two garbage bags later, and after a long time on the balcony sweeping up needles and dirt, we are Christmas-tree free again.

Alas. Oh Christmas tree. Thy leaves are so unchanging.

The choices we make

We ended up at a neighbour's house for dinner. They live one unit across and up. There is no lift (elevator) in our complex. They claim that climbing the stairs and not owning a car has kept them feeling young and healthy, late into their 70s, and I don't doubt it. That's the life that Tim and I want, too, growing old.

But they report that their friends, the ones who didn't choose the life without a car at the top of the stairs, those friends aren't feeling young and healthy. They have friends who can't visit them for dinner anymore, because the friends can't climb the three flights of stairs. And so after looking around at their friends, our neighbours have decided to move, to give up the unit where their family grew old, and take a place on the ground floor. 

I've been thinking a lot about how our choices affect the people we spend time with.


It is hard to make friends, and most people have networks of friends and family already where they live. We don't. And we made our choices knowing that we wouldn't, and we don't regret any of our decisions. But when one is the only one making certain choices -- even though one knows those choices are the best choices -- one can still get a little lonely.

Anyone want to come over for dinner?

Heat wave!

Yesterday was the official first day of autumn, because recall that first days of seasons here are governed by the calendar and not by the equinox or solstices. But, probably to make up for a few chilly days earlier in February, summer has decided to take a last fling, with highs stretching up to 37C for a few days (around 95-100F).

Me, I love the heat. I love giving my summer clothes another week of wear. I love opening the windows late at night and smelling the summer air blow in, cool and scented. I love having bare feet and warm toes all at the same time. I love the sound of the lorikeets screaming with joy early in the morning.

But this is one of the weeks of the "exchange" part of the French exchange program that Jonathan signed up for. That is, we have a little European boy (LEB) staying with us. For the three weeks he is in Melbourne, we are supposed to be showing him around, helping him learn English, and seeing all the good things that Melbourne has to offer.

Of course, Melbourne has a lot of good things to offer. But most of the things we take people to see are outdoors. Last Sunday, when the temperature was only 30C (that's only 86F), we took him to Federation Square for a festival. He was melting. We had been off the tram for five minutes, when he ducked away from us into a patch of shade, pulled out his water bottle, and took a long swig. He had just come from European winter, which is cold (near freezing every day), and even his (northern) European summers don't often break 25C. But to me, 30C is the perfect temperature. Warm but not hot, sun-on-the-skin type of weather.

We left the square and ducked into the movie and video games museum, and spent a couple of hours there instead where the air conditioning ran freely.

So this weekend, it is 37C, which pretty much means we can't do anything outside.  We've looked into museums, but the exchange group will be going to our favourite ones as a group as part of their excursions. I thought maybe we could go to a movie, but there isn't much playing. Tim suggested holing up in the public library, where the air conditioning runs on taxpayer funded dollars. That could work, if the LEB would be satisfied hanging out quietly in a building full of words in a language he is only beginning to understand. Of course there are comic books. Manga. And a shelf of French novels, but they mostly look like serious things written for French adults, boring to me.

To make things even more complicated, last week Jonathan's geology class spent five days on a camp at the coast. Jonathan love love loved it. But that meant he was away and Tim and I were trying to entertain the exchange student on our own in the heat. Luckily, Jonathan is now back. We dragged LEB to Jonathan's ice skating lesson yesterday evening, and payed for public skating for all of us. LEB had never been skating, but he was determined and learned quickly, and was gliding around slowly by the end of an hour, with only one painful looking fall. And the ice skating rink was also gloriously cold, payed for by outrageous public skating fees that we were happy to fork over. That was a success.

But what to do this afternoon? Probably it's not the day for a pleasant walk through the botanic gardens. Nor even a hike through the temperate rain forest on the far edge of the train line. Maybe the beach? Except with no shade at all, it seems like a bad idea to take LEB there. We'll probably take him to the end of the pier at dusk to see the penguins, in spite of the fact that it is predicted to be 32C at 8pm, after sunset. But Saturday afternoon? Sunday afternoon?

Good luck to us.

Resolutions

How are your New Year's Resolutions going?

I stopped doing the push ups within two weeks, but I'm still mostly keeping up the steps on the step counter. I'm not writing on the new novel as actively as I could, but I've almost finished writing another chapter of the graduate textbook. I've spent much less time on social media, but I've spent much more time playing video games. I stopped participating in a group that was more painful than helpful. But I'm missing the good people whose lives brushed against mine because of that group.

So mixed. 

But on the purely goodness side, I've made it to the art museum.

Watched the sunset over the river.

Sent the boy off to camp.

And then sent him off for the first day at a new school.

I've watched a mob of kangaroos scatter before sunrise.

And awakened to the chatter of cockatoos. Magpies. Currawongs.

So while maybe some of the resolutions haven't yet stuck, it hasn't been a disaster of a year so far.

In fact, I'd call it a pretty good one.