Vietnamese kids LOVE a digital camera

My family and I went to see the construction of a church that my grandmother and father are financing, in a small rural village across the river from where my dad was born. We got there to find massive amounts of kids just fascinated by our digital cameras. They followed me and my sister like we were the Pied Pipers. I hope to send them copies of all the pictures I took; my guess is, not too many foreigners with cameras come their way.


The first time I suddenly - and playfully, I might add - swung the camera around to shoot them, the kids broke into a panicked run. One boy tripped and hurt himself. 


Me and the kids.


They made me take about 20 pictures of them.


Jackie and the kids inside the church. 


They thought if they opened their mouths, it would make me want to their picture even MORE. And they were right.  


The girl in the middle is already 13! She looks so much younger. 

Vietnam!

I'm in Vietnam! Got here over a week ago. It's been hot, humid and rainy, and I've met more Vietnamese people so far than I did on my last two trips combined. Some people have been incredibly generous and curious, and some have ripped me off mercilously (yeah, I'm talking about you, boy who sold me an illicit Lonely Planey guidebook. I don't know care if you're a street orphan, that is the last time you'll pull one over me).

The most harrowing experience I've had so far - besides being dragged by my parents to what must be every rural Catholic church in Vietnam - is crossing the street. You figure out real quick who your daddy is. If it isn't the Vespa barreling straight at you, it's the Honda bearing a small family that's still heading straight at you. I no longer snidely think, "The pedestrian has the right of way." Thousands of motorcycles beg to differ.

But after much practice, I can now cross the street about 90 percent of the time without screaming. Jackie, my sister, offered some advice from a guidebook: walk at a steady pace. No sudden movements, and by God, don't ever stop or run! They'll go around you, even if that swerve comes at the last minute.

So I keep faith, mutter "don't-look-don't-look-don't-look," and haven't died yet. This might be partly because my method includes using septuagenarians as human shields. I figure if there has to be a casualty, then by all means, age before beauty.


A pretty bad example of how tough it is to cross a Hanoi street (I swear, it really IS scary), but hey, I managed to put up a picture!