(Flowers, chocolate, and jewelry might be a Valentine dream [...]]]> When I was younger, I would’ve been pissed off if I’d gotten all books for the holidays. I can’t remember what exactly it was that I wanted, but books always seemed boring and a cop out. But now I can’t think of anything I’d rather get.

(Flowers, chocolate, and jewelry might be a Valentine dream come true, but this year my darling husband gave me a Kindle and I just love it!)

As in the past, my kids are going to mainly receive books this holiday season. I figured I may as well buy something they’ll enjoy and get more use from than a piece of plastic that makes noise when they so robotically press a button.

Here’s the eclectic list of books one of them will receive:

Gene Luen Yang’s powerful graphic novel, American Born Chinese (First Second, 2006). Centered around three main characters, the stories are empowering, educational, and witty.

Sherman Alexie’s semi-autobiographical novel, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (Little, Brown, 2009), about a Native American teen who dreams of a life outside the reservation.

Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief (Knopf, 2007), a novel about a girl who steals books in WWII Germany and shares them with her neighbors, including a Jewish man who hides in her basement before he’s sent to Dachau.

And Marie Lu’s debut, Legend (Putnam, 2011), a dystopian novel about two teens who come from opposite socio-economic circles and together fight to learn the truth their government is hiding.

My younger kids will also receive books, along with a few blocks sets. I’ve bought them some Grace Lin picture books, Ni Hao Kai-Lan books, and some nice picture books that tell stories with Chinese characters.

Happy Holidays!

I woke all three kids up at six, prying the two little ones from their beds/cribs as they cried and begged to go back to sleep. But we had a flight to catch.

Or rather, number one son had a flight to catch. And since the husband [...]]]> Another busy morning today, but this one was planned.

I woke all three kids up at six, prying the two little ones from their beds/cribs as they cried and begged to go back to sleep. But we had a flight to catch.

Or rather, number one son had a flight to catch. And since the husband is working today, I was on my own with three kids at O’Hare.

It’s quite beautiful driving up to O’Hare International Airport as the sun comes up. Decorated for the holiday season in blues, silver, reds, and greens, the airport grounds welcomed us as the kids finally woke up.

Going through security proved a little challenging as the two-year-old refused to budge from his stroller. Removing his jacket was another tantrum trigger. But we made it with fifteen minutes to spare, which was 14 minutes more than when we did this last winter.

We grabbed a bite to go from Rick Bayless’s Frontera Grill O’Hare outpost, then headed to the gate. Number one son snarfed down his bacon and queso tortas while the little ones were pacified by Frontera’s fresh lime and mango juice, all before the two-year-old dropped his yogurt parfait all over the carpet.

Then it was time to board. Black cowboy hat stationed in place, number one son bid us farewell and flew into the fog reminiscent of his birth city of San Francisco.

An hour ago I received a call from him. He’d landed safely in Phoenix and was making his way toward my mom, who was waiting for him in arrivals.

Happy travels!

To celebrate this historic event, I received two books today about Myanmar. The first [...]]]> Now that Hillary Clinton will visit Myanmar next month, will we see an increase of US tourism to that country? After all, it’s been 50 years since a US Secretary of State has visited Myanmar (the country formerly known as Burma).

To celebrate this historic event, I received two books today about Myanmar. The first was a travel guide, To Myanmar With Love (ThingsAsian Press, 2009) by Morgan Edwardson and Steve Goodman.

And the second a travelogue, Defiled on the Ayeyarwaddy (ThingsAsian Press, 2010) by Ma Thanegi.

I have a cute story about Myanmar, which was still called Burma, from 20 years ago. I was planning to cover most of Southeast Asia the summer before my 21st birthday. I chose some places like Vietnam and Cambodia, which were off the beaten path back then. And Burma. It was really only possible to enter Burma with a package tour, so I was willing to shell out a chunk of cash for a quick trip to Rangoon and Mandalay.

But when my mother and one of her best friends found out, I received a letter (only snail mail in 1991) from my mom strongly advising me not to go. The repressive government, the dislike of foreigners (Americans), and so on. So I caved and instead used my money to ride a train for seven days without a shower.

Twenty years later, guess who’s booked a trip to Myanmar?

Bon voyage, Mom (and her friend).

Do you know anyone planning to travel to Burma in the near future?

This play told the story of an American businessman who travels to Guiyang, China to drum up some clients for his sign business [...]]]> One of the highlights of my summer was attending a series of three plays written by David Henry Hwang. My husband and I kicked off the series in July with Chinglish.

This play told the story of an American businessman who travels to Guiyang, China to drum up some clients for his sign business back in Ohio. I laughed so much, tears gushed from my eyes, although I also walked away feeling sad. Chinglish has left Chicago, but will debut in New York next month. If you’re in New York, read this blog, and wish to see one show there, you won’t go wrong with Chinglish!

In August I took my son to Yellow Face. We met some good friends there and enjoyed this semi-autobiographical play about David Henry Hwang’s stance during the Miss Saigon casting fiasco. My son, friends, and I loved Yellow Face so much, we bought tickets to Family Devotions, the last play in this series.

And that’s what we saw tonight.

Family Devotions is even darker than Chinglish. Tonight was the final showing, so the stellar all-Asian cast stuck around afterwards to chat with the audience, one on one. I spoke to an actress who played one of the grannies (she was quite a bit younger than me in real life). We discussed Chinese dialects, English accents, and Chinese geography. My friends’ daughter recognized an actress from Yellow Face, so talked to her for a while.

Then the cast had to strike the set, so we bid them farewell and headed two doors down to a Vietnamese restaurant. About 30 minutes after we sat down, who should walk into the restaurant but the entire cast, along with their partners and friends. They even sat next to us. So on our way out, we asked for a group photo and they all too kindly obliged.

What a delightful way to end the David Henry Hwang series in Chicago!

Alexandra Fuller’s new Africa memoir is probably the book I’m most looking forward to [...]]]> Now that it’s September, summer is quickly coming to an end. The kids are back in school and the days are getting shorter. To help get through the coming cold months, I’m excited to read a few new books this fall.

Alexandra Fuller’s new Africa memoir is probably the book I’m most looking forward to reading this fall. I loved Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight (Random House, 2003), the story of her childhood in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe. And now she’s written Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness (Penguin, 2011) about her mother’s childhood in Kenya and the early days of her parents’ marriage.

I’m also anxious to read Deb Olin Unferth’s memoir, Revolution: The Year I Fell in Love and Went to Join the War (Henry Holt, 2011). I’m always game for a story about 1980s Central America. It takes guts to run off with a boyfriend to war-torn countries. Deb Olin Unferth’s story sounds fascinating.

And then there’s Ariel Sabar’s Heart of the City (De Capo, 2011), a collection of nine stories centering around love in New York City. With the 10th anniversary of 9/11 quickly approaching, I thought it’d be nice to read something uplifting about NY in this time of reflection. Sabar’s memoir, My Father’s Paradise (Algonquin, 2009) was a great read, so I have high hopes for his latest book.

What are you planning to read this fall?

Months ago, Ayelet asked her Facebook friends to come up with some cities she should visit on her paperback tour for Red Hook Road (Random House, 2011). I suggested [...]]]> Last night I attended a reading with author Ayelet Waldman. It was a fun, entertaining event. It was also something I sort of helped plan.

Months ago, Ayelet asked her Facebook friends to come up with some cities she should visit on her paperback tour for Red Hook Road (Random House, 2011). I suggested Chicago so she put me in touch with her publicist. After some fun e-mails with her publicist, the night of the event arrived and I walked in the bookstore a little early to make sure the icebreaker games and giveaways were all set.

Okay, so they weren’t ready and the staff suffered from mass confusion, but a quick e-mail to the publicist straightened everything out.

Ayelet Waldman

I introduced Ayelet by asking the audience questions about her background (she chimed in some risqué ones). Everyone who answered correctly, or almost so, received a gift card for Caribou Coffee courtesy of Random House and the publicist.

Some of my questions included:

1. In which state does Ayelet live?

2. In which city?

3. Which US President did she go to school with?

4. Who is she married to?

5. How many kids do they have?

Audience at Ayelet Waldman's reading in Winnetka, IL

For the grande finale, Ayelet pulled a name from a tote bag Random House had also sent, along with three new books they’ve published this spring. The lucky winner (the woman in the front row, second from the right) walked home with the bag and books.

Ayelet was funny, swore a bunch, spoke about the ins and outs of publishing, and kept everyone in stitches for an hour. It was a great event and I’m proud to have been a part of it.

On the morning [...]]]> You don’t know how thrilled I am to feature another guest blog post from Ali Swanson. Vietnam is very close to her heart in many ways and she’s so thoughtfully written about her father’s and her experiences there on this day that commemorates the Fall of Saigon 36 years ago. Here’s Ali:

On the morning of April 30, 1975, tanks from the People’s Army of Viet Nam (PAVN) rolled through the gates of what is now known as the Reunification Palace. The invasion of the PAVN forces and surrender of the South Vietnamese President, Duong Van Minh, marked the end of 107 years of Western colonial rule.

Reunification Palace

For many Americans, the fall of Saigon to the communist North Vietnamese forces signified the humiliating failure of American military and foreign policy. We lost a war to an enemy that was rarely seen, and one that followed political beliefs anathema to those of the vast majority of Americans. However, by war’s end, a small, but vocal, group of people–my father included–wondered if fighting a populace searching for its own voice, its own power, on its own soil, was the right thing to do.

Phu Hiep, 1967

My father served as a mechanic with the US Army in Vietnam from 1966-1968. He used to tell stories of how, at night, he and his bunker-mate would crawl on top of the bunker (in case anyone threw a grenade inside the bunker, “well, we’d just be blown off the top, maybe land in a field somewhere”), share a joint, and watch the fire-fights occurring in the jungle around their base. My father spent most of his time in Vietnam completely wasted–high on reefer or speed.

“I would spend the daytime hours, when we weren’t going in after the fire-fights to clear out the heavy machinery, reading all I could about Vietnamese history. The more I read, the more I wondered what the hell we were doing there. There was no way to make sense of any of it; at least if we were wasted, the fire-fights reminded us of fireworks back home.”

According to my dad, every fifth round of artillery fire was a “tracer” that would light up the night sky for miles, creating an effect similar to so many 4th of July fireworks celebrations.

Gates to Reunification Palace, 1992

I didn’t know my dad at all as a kid; Vietnam was an experience that took him almost 20 years to overcome. He was unable to maintain a job, have a family, or raise a child. By mutual agreement between him and my mother, he left when I was 3 years old. My earliest memories of him are mixed with memories of my mother showing me photos and reading me articles from Time and Newsweek about the war in Vietnam. For years I honestly believed my dad had died over there in one of the grisly scenes that appeared on almost every page of the magazines.

Cham temple, Nha Trang

When I was 15, I reconnected with my dad, who was still struggling with drug addiction, but who had finally settled into a job and somewhat stable life. It was a relief to see him in the flesh, but I still had so many lingering questions about the country that had left him emotionally traumatized. Without intending to, I ended up majoring in Southeast Asian History while studying at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. I was able to delve deep into the history of Vietnam, digesting not only the American period, but the French and Chinese periods as well–it was an amazing cycle of hundreds of years of foreign conquest and rebellion. I was hooked. I absolutely had to go and see the place that not only had such a rich history, but had also generated so much mystery and despair.

With the aid of a Henry Luce Foundation scholarship, I spent the spring term of 1992 at the University of Hanoi. I was overwrought with excitement for the trip. I wanted to get inside Vietnam, dive under the surface, and, maybe, if I was lucky, discover where she had hidden my father.

I spent three and a half months drinking in Vietnamese life–riding my bicycle hither and yon on the streets of Hanoi; sitting in the tiny food stalls in the 100-plus degree heat, slurping icy mung bean drinks; listening to the staccato cackle of elderly Vietnamese ladies as they discussed the cost of the betel nut; watching young kids light strings of firecrackers in the streets on Tet… . We crossed the country as a group, visiting remote villages, tombs of kings, and pristine beaches.

I never did find the young man I was looking for, but one afternoon, as we drove north from Saigon, our bus pulled over to some very old temples. They were Cham holy sites dating from the 700s AD. We took a tour of the site, had some lunch, and carried on with our journey.

Cham temple, 2, Nha Trang

One evening after I had returned to the US, over greasy Chinese food, I showed my dad all my trip photos. He stopped when he got to the Cham temples.

“Those are outside Nha Trang, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, why?”

Laughing, he told me this tale. “Well, a buddy and I walked off base one day. We left our guns back at the base, figured we’d go for a stroll. We walked, chatting, enjoying the sun and quiet, I don’t know how far. But we realized we’d better turn back when we got to these temples.”

A 25-year gap separated the visits, but a clump of withered old temples, dedicated to gods long forgotten, brought together a much-loved father and his daughter.

Happy Reunification Day, Vietnam!

Chúc mừng tót ngày thống nhất, Việt Nam!

I’m so thrilled to share another guest blog by Ali Swanson, a good friend who lived in Vietnam in 1992. Here’s Ali:

Ahhh, the Hotel Metropole, a HaNoi classic!

During my semester in VietNam, they were refurbishing this grand dame of colonial hotels.  Sometime in April or May of ’92, the [...]]]>

click to enlarge

I’m so thrilled to share another guest blog by Ali Swanson, a good friend who lived in Vietnam in 1992. Here’s Ali:

Ahhh, the Hotel Metropole, a HaNoi classic!

During my semester in VietNam, they were refurbishing this grand dame of colonial hotels.  Sometime in April or May of ’92, the hotel was re-opened, and they featured a Western-style, Sundays-only, brunch buffet. Given our regular morning meals of rice balls, or baguettes, and strong coffee with sweet milk, this was a feast.

Entrance to the buffet was a shocking $10US–the official exchange rate at the time was $10,000 Vietnamese Dong to $1US; you probably could have fed a family of 4 on $10US for an entire week. I had brought with me about $500US for the entirety of my trip and, by April, I had barely used any of it. I decided that the luxury of the buffet and the company I was in was well worth the cost.

Also, as there were, at this time, no official relations between VietNam and the US, we were completely cut-off from news sources except what came in the mail (and that took a month transit time each way!). At the Metropole, you could buy week-old copies of Newsweek for some scandalous sum of American dollars. I do believe that this is how we found out that the Rodney King riots had consumed Los Angeles.

The crew that trooped out from our “Foreign Students Dorm” at the University of HaNoi, was a ragtag combo of myself, one of my classmates, a couple of Japanese embassy folk, and one or two of the rarely-seen, American graduate students that were also enrolled at the university. Conversation during our meal was broadly political, occasionally philosophical, and always funny.

My classmate, Fielding, was a dapper, brilliant, former Yalie who, to this day, is the funniest person I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. I greatly admired him, and felt lucky to be invited to spend this time with him and the others.

One of my favourite days during my trip was on a Sunday, after brunch–Fielding had decided to spend some time that afternoon with one of the Japanese embassy officials and, as the day was quickly becoming hot and humid, he asked me to take his leather bomber jacket back to our dormitory. The only way I could tote the jacket on my bike was to actually wear it–flying down Hai Ba Trung Street on my bike, in Fielding’s beautiful jacket, I felt excited and giddy for the future. I was in an amazing place, interacting with fascinating people. Who wouldn’t have been thrilled?

When Ali Swanson guest blogged yesterday, she sent me a couple of images of the old Magasins Reunis building in Hanoi. For the life of me, I couldn’t successfully embed the link in the text.

So here’s one of those images.

It was quite a beauty even in black and white (another [...]]]>

Old Hanoi

When Ali Swanson guest blogged yesterday, she sent me a couple of images of the old Magasins Reunis building in Hanoi. For the life of me, I couldn’t successfully embed the link in the text.

So here’s one of those images.

It was quite a beauty even in black and white (another image showed a yellow building, not unlike the one Ali posted yesterday). I love the art deco clock on top and the bas-relief below it, which was covered by that striking Communist propaganda poster featured in Ali’s 1992 photo.

And what about Paul Bert, for whom this street was named?

I searched the web and learned he was a professional student in his early years, earning degrees in medicine, physiology, law, and zoology. Then he went into politics.

In 1886 at the age of 53, Bert was appointed resident-general in Vietnam.  The poor man didn’t last the year and died of dysentery in Hanoi.

I’m so excited to share with you this guest blog post from the phenomenal Ali Swanson–world traveler, [...]]]>

State Department Store (formerly Les Grands Magasins Reunis), HaNoi, VietNam, 18 May 1992. The sign on the front of the building says something to the effect of, “Follow the direction of Party Resolution #7 in daily life.”

I’m so excited to share with you this guest blog post from the phenomenal Ali Swanson–world traveler, health-care provider extraordinaire, and dear friend. Here she writes about when she lived in Vietnam, long before the US and Vietnam normalized relations. Here’s Ali:

During the spring term of the 1991-92 academic year, I was a foreign student at the University of HaNoi. I went as part of a small group of American students on a semester abroad trip arranged through the Council on International Educational Exchange.

We were lodged in the “foreign students” dorm of the University of HaNoi, in the vicinity of Lenin Park. Our closest friends were a crew of Cambodian students, Japanese embassy affiliates, and the occasional Russian or Cuban student.

Our first task after arriving in HaNoi was to go en masse to the bicycle store to acquire the Vietnamese version of China’s most popular brand, “Flying Pigeon”. Bicycle traffic in VietNam is terrifying–there are few cars, and everyone rides their bicycle as aggressively as possible, even when they have small children in baskets on the front of the bike!

Having mastered our bikes, we were on the loose in the city. Fortunately, our Vietnamese-American professor and the foreign student liaison from the University gave us tips as to the various places of interest around the city.

The State Department Store was one of the important stops–here, you were able to find any item available on the street and find out the state price for that item. With this info in hand, you could haggle competently with the street vendors.

Of course, unless you were extremely shrewd and skilled in the martial arts, you did not go to the State Department Store to actually buy anything–it was a madhouse full of people screaming, haggling, and thieving. Young thugs spied you as you walked in, followed you for a bit, and then had the audacity to look you in the eye as they relieved you of your fanny pack or small purse.

I was lucky the one day I ventured in–I was able to grab the arm of my thief and tear my purse out of his hands! The building itself is stately, and, of course, French–an original, sweeping, wooden staircase was still there when I went.  Down the street from the State Dept. Store were stamp and book shops selling Russian and Vietnamese philatelic treasures.