The Pursuit of Adventure

I am sitting in class, our tutor is trying to explain the nuance of “used” so that, in future, we can explain how to use “used” to our students.

The windows are slightly fogged. Our brains are slowly turning into stew. It’s not that the material is hard its that… well… I’ve never had to worry about using “used” before.

She used to be a bitch. The only sentence I can think of. Does this mean she was a bitch, and no longer continues? I don’t know. It means, in the past, she had a habit of being a bitch, but she no longer does. Oh, I see.

I stay quiet. Better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.

My first 40 minute lesson was this morning. I don’t know if the students learnt anything, but they had fun. What did I learn?

Stay CALM, don’t talk so fast I thought I WAS speaking s-l-o-w-l-y. Speak naturally, not too slow. Give instructions, and then ask a checking question to make sure that the students know what to do. Don’t get angry. Whatever you do Don’t Swear (oops)

I miss riding my bike. The course is at such intensity that everything else falls aside. Today is Wednesday, my first evening to myself, but I do have homework… but not due until Friday for my next lesson.

“Zoe, are you listening”

“uhhhhh… yeah?”

“Give an example of the present perfect”

I bat my eyelashes and stick out my lower lip.

“I am pouting?”

He leaves me alone, I’m too loud, too easily excited. Find most of the work relatively easy. If only I was quieter. I sit on my hands and bite my lip so as not to answer too many questions. Being gray is not my thing.

Five pm rolls around. An early mark, no homework due tomorrow. My free night!

15 mins later I roll my motorbike out onto the street, to the bemused glances from the locals. They still seem surprised to see a foreign girl with a moto and no man in tow. Here, I am an anomaly.

My bike is red, and handles like a dream, except for one thing. The stalling. Pulling into the traffic, she stalls. Then again at the lights, I can hear the chorus of honking behind me as it takes a few seconds to get going again. I drive up the street with a thousand other bikes my confidence is growing as I manoeuvre into prime position to get around the corner fastest, whilst avoiding the buses and bicycles, and pedestrians.

Two right turns later I am at JoJo’s Bar. This is a funky, western run bar seats around 30, sells everything at Aussie prices, and has a great feel. My wine is $7 USD. Probably more than I would pay at home for house, but its a welcome respite from hectic Vietnam. Here on this couch, i could be anywhere in the world. Buble is on the stereo, there is no one around. I cosy myself into the corner bar and kick off my shoes, fold my feet underneath me and notice my skin sticking to the pleather. It could be leather. I wouldn’t know the difference anyways.

The staff have lit candles, making the whole bar seem very romantic. I know the manager, but it’s not like that. In fact, I’m not even sure he knows that I am female.

The romantic feel highlights that I am just one of many single white females in Hanoi.