Notes & thoughts from my first month on Phu Quoc Island

• Tropical island heat is INTENSE. When I’m out doing research I have sweat dripping down my forehead, filling my eyebrows, rippling along my cheeks. I am a sweat festival within minutes of leaving the proximity of a fan. It’s like a Bikram yoga studio, 33 degrees and 80% humidity ... But in a studio there's no sun, beating down and searing your skin in seconds. I can literally watch my skin burn - if I've missed a spot with my sunscreen, I'll know within a few minutes, because a red patch will show up.
• I recently found some “granola” (basically corn flakes with some dried papaya), which I eat with yogurt for breakfast sometimes, when I don’t feel like having pho (thank you French colonization, for yaourt and for baguettes). However, I naively left the granola out in my room one night. When I opened it up the next morning, it was an ant city! There were probably over a hundred ants in the bag. I had to make a quick decision between no breakfast and granola-with-ants-and-yogurt. I went with the bonus protein option. I found a fridge to put the granola into, but ever since then there have been a few little ants in my breakfast each morning. Yum!
• The above ants also live in my computer’s keyboard now. I like to think that they are cleaning out all of the little crumbs and messes, like my personal cleaning squadron.
• It is common to see foreign men with Vietnamese women (I’m only uncomfortable when it’s older British men and younger Vietnamese girls who giggle at everything they say, uncomprehending). But it is rare to see a blonde woman with a Vietnamese man. Hence I get weird looks (from Vietnamese and foreigners alike) whenever I’m motorbiking or walking around with An (I also get weird looks in general, but I can tell when it’s the “what is she doing with him” look). 
• It’s interesting to learn the intricacies of a culture. Like women’s roles. I asked An about it and he said “Men make house, women make home.” Women do most of the child raising, cooking, and cleaning. It’s rare to see women in power positions. It’s also a harsh world woman-to-woman; in divorces or separations, women have very few rights, even if their husband was adulterous. The blame is often placed on the woman, and there is little sympathy (indeed often scorn) from other women.
• It’s the worst feeling waking up thinking there are bugs crawling all over you... especially when you realize there are actually bugs crawling all over you.
• I love motorbiking in the evening, especially through the forested parts of Phu Quoc. Massive bats and birds start flying everywhere, catching the dusk’s bugs. It’s beautiful - the whole jungle comes alive with buzzing and singing. 
• One day we were motorbiking along when something massive (like the size of a hefty grape) whacked me in the face. An even stopped to ask if I was OK because my reaction was pretty evident, despite sitting behind him. About a minute later An yelped – that’s when I noticed the giant wasp (that had hit me in the face) that was crawling along An’s back – I flicked the giant black-and-orange beast away. Within minutes An had a huge welt on his back – luckily it wasn’t a “toxic” wasp and the swelling went down within an hour or so. 
• Women cover up all of their skin from the sun – they wear high socks, pants, hoodies, masks, gloves, and wide hats. I feel like I’m naked in comparison, even wearing a long-sleeved shirt and shorts to my knees. It's not a matter of religion; just that having white skin is considered beautiful (unlike North America's obsession with tanned skin). I'm no tan-junky, I love my SPF, but I will re-emphasize my first bullet point - it is PAINFUL to have to wear any extra clothing than the bare minimum. I usually compromise with long shorts and a T-shirt.
• One day I was wearing a tank top, and two girls motorbiked up next to us, and one pinched my arm, yelling “WHOOEEE!!” in disbelief that I would let my skin see the sun. She then laughed, made a peace sign and biked off.
• Whenever I’m in a fishing village recording information about seahorses, I’m usually surrounded by anywhere from five to twenty people who are curious about what I’m doing. I can’t understand what they’re saying, so I always imagine them saying “The weird white girl is counting seahorses again, come look!”