A correction on communismIf you read the previous entry on Ho Chi Minh city, I was beginning to talk about Vietnam society, and how it is a communist government, yet it's hard to see it sometimes with the constant capitalist market howlers, motorcycle taxis and sunglass dealers. Over the last week, I've been privy to some stories that have changed my thinking on this matter. I refrain from making any overt opinions because in Vietnam, big brother may be reading this, even though the person may be only 5 foot 2.
Brief Story #1: Nguyen Ngu Center, Quy Nhon, VietnamThe first story takes place in Quy Nhon, roughly a nine hour bus ride from Ho Chi Minh city. In 1990, there lived a local named Nguyen Ngu, who fell on some unfortunate luck when she found out her sister was in a street accident. Nguyen became the principal caretaker while finishing high school. Over the next few years, Nguyen gains empathy for other handicapped locals, and begins a vocational handicraft program teaching anything from sewing, painting, and the like. Ten years later, the program becomes a full blown school. She gets so much success that the government takes the program over as she is moved to a smaller shop two miles down the road. Lisa and I go and see the shop as we see figure drawings from dozens of students and it's inspiring, so we grab some souveneirs for the homefront. My favorite being the cow with theupside down head.
I speak to one of the locals who is mentally disabled. He writes down on his hand "From:" as he nods over to Lisa. I say, USA. He presses his nose down like her nose is too small for the USA. I say Taiwan. He shakes his head in confusion. I say China. He smiles. I'm not sure what for.
Brief Story #2: Barbara from New Zealand, now from Quy Nhon This is a simple story of Barbara of Barbara's Backpackers guesthouse in Quy Nhon. She is a wealth of information for a city that is no more than a rest stop on to better tourist attractions. Still, she manages to get us a train ticket, make us a fruit lassi and tell us the sights of the beach, including one of a statue who is giving the middle finger to the Chinese. The statue representing the Vietnamese response to the third Chinese attempt at invasion in the twelth century. At any rate, I've been told that Barbara once had a much bigger hotel somewhere else. It did really well, then the government took it over. Now she gives local information to Sweaty tourists at rock bottom prices.
The moral of the story is that if you want to start a business in Vietnam, do well enough to stay in business, but slack off long enough to lose quite a bit of money so you don't seem that successful. That way you stay in business.
Beach life
A Stray Dog at the White Sand Dune, Mui Ne BeachYou may be wondering why we would fly six thousand miles away to go to the beach, when Hawaii, Baja Mexico, and even Thailand would be closer. I had the same thought as well, but we decided to try the beach anyways. Three towns and roughly six days later, I still wonder why we flew six thousand miles away just to go to the beach. But as I scratch my head, as some highlights start to enter my memory:
The Red Canyon, Mui Ne BeachI think about Mui Ne beach, a resort town roughly four hours north of Ho Chi Minh city. And all of a sudden I remember walking on clay looking at spirals that look like stalagmites in a cave. And I remember deep earth red. Part of a two hour tour, the red canyon of Mui Ne is one of the bigger highlights of the trip, as a river some time ago has carved endless paths and craters. We scramble up to the top and look over the Atlantic, only to realize that we may miss our ride back to the guesthouse. We scamper double time to the road just to be sure.
Local Kids Selling Sled rides, Red Sand Dune, Mui Ne BeachOn the same tour, I remember going to two sand dunes. One white, one red. I feel like I'm on the planet tatooine in Star Wars. Except instead of the little Tattoinites shooting arrows at you, little kids come up to you and offer sled rides for a dollar. We attract three of them on the red sand dune at sunset. They teach me the numbers one to five in Vietnamese and laugh at my pronounciation.
I remember eating barbecue mussels with fish sauce in a restaurant in Mui Ne for the grand price of five dollars. I remember going back there three times in two days.
I remember taking a bus ride up to Nha Trang as the wife and I are pleasantly harrassed by a Vietnamese hotelvendor to stay at their accomodation. I remember being very tired and just wanting to get to the guesthouse. We finally got to that guesthouse, and remember eating mediocre pizza at a french ex-pat cafe one block away. It turns out to be the best meal in this over-priced, undernourished beach town.
Cham Towers at Nha Trang But I do recall a good trip in Nha Trang to what are the Cham Towers. The Chams are an indigenous population to Vietnam, and have lived since roughly the fourth century. Heavily influenced by Hinduism, they build shrines to Vishnu and Shiva in their Brick Towers at the Loh Tom Pagoda. The Chams also enjoyed Buddha, so much that they erected a fifty foot Reclining Buddha. It's more like the sleeping Buddha, or the lackidasical Buddha. I digress. The stone workmanship is excellent, especially around the head reath. The tower also features an even bigger buddha at the very top surrounded by six monks, I'm not sure why six. He sits on top of a lotus flower, which represents spiritual enlightenment for the Hindus.
I was going to write one more memory about a bad experience I witnessed, but I'm not sure if it's necessary. Essentially it deals with a troubled veteran of the Iraq war on leave, most likely due to emotional stress. While not knowing his whole story, I befriend him while swimming in the ocean. I return to my chair to start reading my book when I hear shouting. The Iraq veteran becomes abusive with his argument, saying many names and hateful speech which I dare not recite. At first the locals laugh, and then they chide him away. The veteran gets on his motorcycle calling death threats to the entire shop. I turn to Lisa as we create our story of our fictitious Canadian Life for the record.
A train ride to fashion - somewhere around the 8th of October
It's 9 AM, and the waiting room is filling up. We've been sitting on the plastic cafeteria chairs of green and orange for about thirty minutes. The locals are arriving, old, young, male, female. The surgical masks serve as an anti-pollutant as well as a fashion accessory. The official at the entrance calls us on to the platform. We see the rusty green train pull up on to the tracks The wheels hum as they grind on the rails.
We board the train, find our seat and settle in for the five hour train ride to Danang. Air conditioning, a cheap lunch, television screens, toilets, all of the signs are existence are found. The passage doors between the trains are kept open, which allow for moderately loud clicking noises throughout the trip. I find out later that people throw their trash on the center aisle, a worker then comes to sweep this trash, pushes it through the passage door and on to the outside ground. The outside world serves as a big trash can. Efficent yet a bit unsanitary.
A few hours pass. Lisa is reading, and I am staring out of the window. The palm trees scream by the countryside. Thatched rooves of would be houses flash by in seconds. A toddler is sleeping in the back seat with a tank top and Army shorts. He wakes up, peaks his head over the seat to check in on his parents as well as the two six year old twin girls.
Hoi An - The silk road rest stop
The city of Hoi An sits roughly at 16 degrees latitidue to the north, roughly halfway between Saigon and Hanoi. It serves as a perfect rest stop on our trip northbound. The same could be said here roughly five-hundred years ago, as the Chinese and Japanese locals called this place home in the off-season. They would meet with the Europeans in Hoi An and trade everything from fabrics to elephant tusks. As part of our stay here, we hope to trade some of our Vietnamese money for some tailored fabrics, hold the tusks.
We had been given advice by the hotel receptionist to use a local family member for any clothing requirements. Toto tailors, two doors down. We go inside the shop to have a quick look. Lisa pulls out her Bloomingdales catalog to see if they can replicate the design. Two coats and two dresses, and three trips later, the short answer is yes. The tailors were fantastic, precise, and patient. Especially as Lisa tends to pick the fabrics at the bottom of the pile.
(Lisa with the Toto Tailors Owner)
It was only a matter of time before I got into the spirt of things. I had earmarked one of the Bloomingdales pages myself with Lisa's Fashion advice. Tweed wool coat, brownish-gold. I gave it a try. The next day I come back and the coat fits perfectly. I give high compliments to Anh, the head tailor. She laughs as I try to speak broken Vietnamese. Both her and Lisa sway me into getting the trousers. Again, more measurements. I sadly find out that I have bloomed to a size 34 due to the extra fried spring roles and marinated pork.
Food
When I look back on this trip years from now, the best part of Vietnam would have to be the food. Sweaty markets serve up everything from squid and vegetables, fresh spring rolls and fish sauce, coconut barbecue fish, and fried fish cakes. And that's just for breakfast. They even make spinach taste good, as it seems leafier, greener, and tastier. They even have a better nickname, calling it Morning Glory. I somehow manage to enjoy the spinach all day long.
We decide to investigate things a bit further by signing up for a cooking class at the Red bridge cafe. We start with a trip to the markets, as the guide identifies all of the different fruits and vegetables. She seems knowledgable enough, pointing out dragon fruit (spotted white fruit) as well as the different types of basil and lemongrass. She crosses the line as she points out the Chinese mushroom as being ugly like the Chinese. Lisa rightfully speaks out against the comment, but the guide resopnds to the momentary stressful situation with annoying giggles. I learn throughout that it becomes normal for many Southeast Asians to respond to confrontation with laughter. Still, it feels humiliating. We shrug it off later as an event due to undereducation.
The rest of the class is quite fun. We take a trip down the Ban river to the cooking school where Ngoc, the head chef takes over. He demonstrates Marinated squid with pineapple, Roasted eggplant in claypot, homemade rice paper spring rolls and Fried pancakes with vegetables and other stuff i cannot remember. We get to try the later three afterwards. The group is for the most part succesful. After two tries of making holes in the rice paper, my spring roll looks more like an overstuffed burrito than anything else. I never really minded the details of presentation.
Left: Lisa making a Vietnamese dish; Right: My unfortunate Spring Roll Result
And then there is Vietnamese Coffee, which some proclaim is even better than American or European coffee. The beans are roasted longer, then grounded and placed in a steel canister with preferated holes on the bottom. Boiling water then gets poured through the canister and into a glass and served immediately. It takes on a slightly sweeter flavor, and can be varied to be chilled with ice or mixed with milk. For me, I'm a black man who likes it hot in the morning. Please don't take the previous sentence out of context.
The other Stuff
Between eating and trying on clothes, we manage to take in some of the sights. The tourist bureau sells tickets in town which allows you to see one of the old houses, one of the old temples and assembly halls. The highlight of the visit is a trip to the Tan Ky house. Built over two-hundred years ago, it has hints of Chinese and Japanese architechture. The Chinese comes in as we see the five pilars with Chinese writing and 100-plus birds. They signify the elements of earth, metal, wind, fire and water. The three tiered horizontal support beams by the ceiling form a triangle, as each beam becomes shorter as you look up. The beams represent the three fabled places of heaven, hell and purgatory.
We take a look at the bowl of the legendary Confucious. We look closer and see a 3 mm hole in the bottom. The story goes is that you pour boiled water inside and make soup. And as you eat the soup, roughly 20% of the soup drips through the hole and is gone forever. While that sounds like a bad meal, the story teaches moderation. It's better to have 80% of the soup, then to try and eat all of the soup and end up with nothing. I get the concept, but I'll try to find the bowl without the hole in it.
We take a random trip to a place called My Son. Its served as the headquarters of the ancient Cham civilizations of Vietnam, starting way back in the 5th century. The highlight of the trip is a statue of the Linga and Yani, the male and female genital counterparts. Supposedly the Chams poured water over the linga and gets drained out through the Yani for good luck. People still do it today to pray for good luck on their exams, or gaining strength or getting pregnant. Good luck to them, but I think I'll pass on pouring water down someone's genitals.
Unfortunately the majority of My Son had been bombed during the Vietnam-American war. Bomb craters have replaced the temples in many situations. The more I look around, I can't help but realize that the complex is like Cambodia's Angkor Wat but not as nice. Still, it's nice to get outside and have a walk around in the countryside.
Onward to the North
Tomorrow we go to Hanoi by plane, flying out of neighboring Danang. Our last stop on the tour of vietnam, the country shaped like the letter "S". With any luck of an internet connection, I hope to tell you about this sooner than later. And with any more luck, I'll post some more pictures. Internet demand in Vietnam is high as local Vietnamese kids are playing a strange "Dance, Dance Revolution" game over the network. How can I compete with that?
Until then, keep travelling wherever you are.
-Travelling Sherman
