The Stylish Coat I was Never Allowed to Wear, circa 2005
What can I say about Hoi An, the UNESCO designated World Heritage Town? How about: “Deliciously relaxing, relentlessly sewing garment town?” I came to Hoi An in early 2005 and loved the town. I have to say it was one of the highlights during my travels through Vietnam. Despite the local’s efforts to persuade you to buy, buy, buy, the town seemed like a great place to relax.
Six years later, just as many garment shops line the streets, with all their employees inviting you come in to have something made. People selling tourist trinkets still demanded that you buy from them. Western tourists – young backpackers and older, package-tour travelers alike – still mostly outnumbered the Vietnamese in the old section of town. Little appears to have changed.
I don’t remember much from Hoi An the first time around except that I loved the food, I loved sitting by the river and looking at the boats, and I got a bunch of clothes made that I really didn’t wear much. My better half always made fun of one of my coats, so I donated it to the New York Cares Coat Drive. Now a needing New Yorker now has a pretty flash winter trench coat. I also donated most of the rest of the clothes I had made in Hoi An, but I do still use the stuff sacks.
This time, I didn’t really want any clothes made. I’d like to say it has to do with an intellectual stance that stems from a graduate degree in development, talking with visa applicants in the garment industry, and reading Pietra Rivoli’sThe Travels of a T-Shirt in the Global Economy, but really, it’s about being lazy. You would think that getting good clothes in Vietnam would be easy. Lots of the good stuff we wear in the US is made here, right? There are tailors everywhere begging you to let them make beautifully fitted garments for you. Your imagination is the limit.
Well, the global distribution chains preclude the good quality stuff from being available here in Vietnam. Those clothes are made for export. Many companies even buy the cast-offs so they don’t wind up diluting the brand image by being available overseas. And, then there’s the fact that I’ve done it once and remember the back and forth that goes with getting your clothes fitted – anything that isn’t super simple requires multiple fittings from people who really don’t care. How can you when you’ve got dozens of different people everyday coming through your shop? Well, OK, you can, but your pay is not determined by the perfect garment, rather the garment that gets that paying customer out the door and onto their next city. Because when you’re on holiday, what are the chances that you’re going to come back and complain? So quality, in general, and easy are kinda out.
Then you add in that I know that the person who made my shirt or jacket or coat earns about $200 per month, at most. More likely they earn about $150 a month. Yes, you read it correctly. One hundred fifty dollars. I have it on good authority – the workers themselves. A group from Da Nang came through and I asked each of them what they made. That’s what they told me.
So, when someone says a shirt will cost you $20, you know the worker who spends say 2 hours making that shirt gets somewhere between $1.40 and $1.90 of that $20. The rest is materials, rent, wages for the English speaking staff who took your measurements, and of course profit. As Pietra points out in her book, the girls in China who are working in textile factories are so much happier doing that in deplorable conditions than the alternative life they left on the farm, where mind-numbingly tedious repetitive tasks await them. It’s likely the same for the folks in the shops and garment factories where they work in Hoi An. Still, there’s something galling about the store-front person charging $20 when the person producing what I want doesn’t even see 10% of that.
So, with all this in mind, I was happy to just look, enjoy the clothes in the windows, enjoy the architecture of the old town, and soak in the little bit of sun we could get before the tropical depression arrived. And arrive it did. Before we get drenched, though, we got to do my favorite thing: eat. Not that the two are mutually exclusive, but eating is so much more pleasant when you’re not soaking wet.
My better half did a great job planning for the trip. She found a highly rated cooking class at the Morning Glory Restaurant. Let’s just say my faith in Vietnamese food has been revitalized by the delicious dishes we cooked. I don’t know much about traditional Vietnamese cuisine, but the heavy use of sesame seed and oil, as well as the “Chinese 5 spices” leads me to believe that Chinese traders in the town left their imprint in the cuisine as well as the architecture. Regardless of who can claim credit for the delicious cabbage soup, the to-die-for mango salad and barbeque chicken, or the bánh xèo, I ate it all and was very, very happy. The pace of the class was good, as were the portions of food. The only complaint is that the hard stuff – like some of the pastes and sauces – was already done for us. But, if that’s my only complaint and the plate below is just one of the things we made and ate … I’m fine with that.
Lunch
Back at the hotel, we rested and stayed out of the rain. For the money, the Hoi An Pacific Hotel was just fine. It was more expensive and lacked charm. It was a big Asian hotel. There’s not much more to say.
Bargaining with people was interesting. Now that I speak some Vietnamese, it’s a lot more interesting and challenging. It’s interesting because I can actually talk to them – a little. It’s challenging because in Hoi An, they speak with the “yuh” of the south. I would say something like “ow zai” and they would say “ow yai”. You think that’s not much, but through it into a native speaker’s mouth, at the native speed, add in some weak everyday life vocabulary of the listener (me), and you’ve got a real mind bender coming into your ears when all you wanted to know was how much this thing cost. It’s not a southern drawl to the New Englander’s ears, it’s a bit more like Spanish and Italian.
In talking and observing, I learned two things. First, the girl working at the state-run shop selling lanterns and stuff has a ninth grade education. She said her family had no money for her to continue school, so that was it. Where is the nearest Blue Dragons office? And why didn’t someone put her there? (Answer: Blue Dragons has the Hoi An Children’s Home that helps kids who would otherwise drop out of school, and I don’t know why she didn’t go to them.). What change can this girl see in her future? Marriage and kids. That’s about it. I know what makes me sad – it’s not her choice to work in that shop, it wasn’t her choice to stop going to school. She was born into a family that doesn’t have much money and she’s just stuck in that cycle.
The second thing I learned is that when you actually know what something costs, you’re much better at bargaining. Let’s go back to dress making. Marjie has a cute dress that she wanted replicated, except the dress is more like a Sunday outing dress than a work dress. If you just lengthen the skirt part below the knees, then you could. Easy, right? We walked into one shop and asked how much it would cost to replicate the dress. The employee said $55. I laughed, said we bought it for $12 in Hanoi, and we walked out.
This simply proves my point. We know what it cost to buy it off the rack. The other person didn’t. She took a wild guess for a price we might think is reasonable and came up way outside the bounds of what makes any logical sense given that we know about how much it should cost. Even when you add in a premium for tailor-fit clothes, you would think the cost shouldn’t get much higher than about $20. Oh well. Next trip, we might try to negotiate from the position of “This cost us $12 in Hanoi, can you make it for a competitive price?”
Though the 9th-grade dropout story makes me sad and the crazy prices of the shopkeepers irritates the crap out of me, I do love Hoi An. Good food, cool architecture, and best of all, my better half bought 10 small lanterns for $4. Now that’s a bargain.
How distant Hanoi seems when you’re sitting on the beach sipping mojitos, feeling the breeze from offshore than causes the waves to tumble into the shore, and munching deliciously fresh grilled seafood. There are no honking motorbikes, no ridiculous traffic, no miles of pavement. There are simply friends, food, and sea.
Where was this idyllic island? Just south of the southern tip of Vietnam, on Phu Quoc. It’s not an island paradise, there are fish sauce factories, let’s be real, but the Mango Bay resort was relaxing with it’s rustic bungalows and excellent food. The big group of us toured a bit of the island – the aforementioned fish-sauce factory, a gorgeous waterfall, beautiful white-sand beach, and lovely day on choppy water in the bay – and spent the rest of the time doing our own thing.
Sunset
I have nothing insightful or profound to offer about our time on Phu Quoc. When you go to a resort, even a rustic resort, you don’t have many stories because nothing really crazy is supposed to happen. You go, you have a great time, take some photos, enjoy the break from crazy Hanoi where you might get run over or find that you snap when the creepy guy in the building talks to you one too many times about some random subject in broken English, and hope to hang onto that bliss.
At this point you’re wondering, “If you’ve called this ‘An Observation’ and you’re not observing anything about Phu Quoc, when are you going to get to the point?” I’ll ramble on. The rest of the week away was a TDY assignment to the Consulate in Ho Chi Minh City where they do about triple the non-immigrant visa volume per day and have one of the busiest immigrant visa sections (5th is the number I hear thrown about). What’s interesting to observe here?
Fingerprints. Yes, this is additional proof that women do all the work in this country. You see it on the streets everywhere. It’s women who carry those old bamboo poles with thirty pounds of produce hanging off both ends. It’s women on the sidewalk setting up the portable luncheon food stall. It’s women in the market. It’s women in the rice paddies. Where are the men? Sitting, smoking, drinking.
The women work so much it wears into their bodies, into their prints. This past week, I had to take fingerprints (no ink, just a scanner). In doing a few hundred, I saw a few few categories of people. There are men (or boys) of any age; there are young girls; and then there are the women older than about 25 or so. Men, even men from the farm, seem to have good fingerprints. They can press hard and their fingers reach the scan areas much better. Younger folks – students or recent graduates – also have nice prints. Why? They haven’t worked yet or gotten married. It’s the 25+ women’s hands that show they who does the work that holds the country together. They’re fingerprints are cracked and scarred by what I can only guess is cooking, cleaning, and perhaps even the type of work they do in the field. Almost every woman has some sort of her fingerprint look like a sun-parched lake bed in Death Valley. Work simply wears their prints away.
I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked at this. I may even be wrong about why there is such a difference, but I’m pretty sure it’s the harsh chemical cleaners that must leave the skin dry and cracked. I wish I had a photo to show what I mean, but it’s really not necessary. Like I said before, you go on the street and see who is hustling for the family and who is lounging on the motorbike puffing a cigarette waiting for something to happen. And there you have it; a ramble that lead to an observation.
A couple weeks ago, we went with one of our friends to Chua Thay, the Teacher’s Pagoda, just outside Hanoi. It’s amazing how quickly the density of the urban cityscape gives way to the open rural rice paddies. It’s almost as if you’re traveling back in time. Except, the honking of horns and motorbikes whizzing by constantly reminds you you’re in a decidedly modern setting.
Our friend, the tour guide, knew how to get to Chua Thay. The driver of the taxi did not. As with most taxi drivers, the driver did not pay attention to the directions of the people in the car who actually know where they’re going, and instead continued on, missing the road leading to the village and requiring a 10 or so minute detour. What’s 10 minutes in the big scheme of things? Nothing, really. But we have to pay for the pleasure of the driver’s reluctance to take our directions. When you add up every time a taxi driver has driven you some crazy way to a place you know well, it just get frustrating.
Swiss Town in Vietnam
Lucky for us, the perfect solution to the frustrations of worldly life lay ahead of us in the blissfully serene Chua Thay. We drove through a rice paddy just off the main highway, past a sign advertising a massive, cookie-cutter development reminiscent of huge housing developments in the US, and into a town with a pond and a limestone mountain in the center. Our friend and guide told us this place is where the first water puppet show in Vietnam took place.
Toaist Buddha
Walking into the temple, rather than find the quiet respite from a busy world, we found a lively celebration. The temple was not just a museum piece, people actively came to pray to the Buddha, Vietnamese hero deities, and Toaist gods. Our friend explained the iconography, symbolism, and bits of history about how the Buddhist, Confucian, animist, Toaist, and ancestral spirit worship practices wove themselves into a mutually beneficial religious tapestry. In this image (on the right), you have a Toaist representation of the various things that happen to you in hell. But right in the middle are two golden Buddhas.
Mountain Shrine
Moving up the mountain, we saw a few other shrines. I can’t remember to whom each of the shrines were dedicated, but I do remember thinking about how green and peaceful the place is. From two spots, you can look out from the hill top into the countryside. What better place to focus on another world with views of rocks, rice, and life below?
Also in the mountain was a massive cave. Light filtered through a few holes cutting through the darkness and humidity like a laser. I could see why this cave would be a great place to meditate in the summer time because it was about 10 degrees cooler inside.
Lasers
After we made our way out of the cave, through the town, past the new temple, and back to the taxi, we passed through many different worlds. There was the spiritual world, the tourist trail, normal village life, and then back to our own lives. When you’re trapped in your routine, it’s hard to picture another way of living or doing things. Trips to places like Chua Thay break that routine. The monks who lived, taught, and died there for hundreds of years worked to create a tranquil environment that could help the mind focus on detachment. Even though I don’t understand the meaning of the symbols, scenes, and statuary in the pagodas and shrines, I could still benefit from the tranquility.
It’s obvious what I should write about now. Marjie and I went to Ninh Binh this past weekend to enjoy the luxury of a soft opening at the Ana Mandara. I’d put a link to their website, but I can only find reviews and articles about the resort.
Tub with a View
Let me be clear, the weekend was a blast, but there was always something nagging me. We paid a fair to high price for what got. Can you complain about a bathroom with a view like this? Probably not, aside from the fact that anyone on the second floor of that building in the distance can look in, so … nice try. The buildings for the Deluxe Bungaloos had intricate wood carvings and traditional looking ceilings with exposed cross beams. Despite the initial appearance of luxurious elegance it only takes a few attempts to open or lock the bathroom door, the one call to maintenance to show you how hard you have to pull to unlock your door, and seeing water stream into the room during a heavy rain storm to realize the resort was not necessarily designed with attention for certain environmental factors that seem to afflict Vietnam – heat and rain. See, when it rains, you’d like to think your room is not at risk of flooding because the door doesn’t really seal when it closes. And, you’d like to think for the money poured into the wood and carvings that the designers also thought about perennial power shortages and high electricity prices, resulting in a beautiful, highly energy efficient bungalow. Not really, there were many holes to the outside where A/C could escape and bugs could enter. For the days when the weather encourages you to open the window, the lack of screens and mosquito nets coupled with pools of standing water making you decide between saving the planet or getting malaria.
Alright, enough griping. OK, well almost. The food was really expensive and there wasn’t much variety. It tasted good, but it just wasn’t worth what we had to pay.
That was it. All the little quirks aside, we loved our weekend there. We took a tour of the area to visit the three caves – Tam Coc – a few temples, the green pagoda – Bich Dong – and took a long bike ride around the Van Long Nature preserve.
Did I mention it rained all weekend? Well it did. And I think we loved what we did even more. Marjie was hell bent on taking a tour to see the caves. I was less than enthusiastic – another tour? in the rain? really? I could tell this was not a battle that could be won, so I went along. She was excited and loved it. I loved it, too. I’m glad she was unwavering in her determination to brave the fringe weather of a tropical storm to check these places out.
The River and Karsts
We were rewarded with lovely views of a karst lined river. We saw old temples. While not trying to be Theroux poo-pooish, the sites were only slightly marred by the stream of tourists, buses, and tourist service facilities that surrounded each of the attractions. The whole series of attractions was like a theme park for Vietnamese history. Think of Bush Gardens in Williamsburg, but much more legit and filled with locals trying to sell you all sorts of souvenirs.
I have to say, my favorite part of the weekend was riding around the Van Long preserve because we were on our own, didn’t need to listen/talk to a guide, and we could just go at our own pace. Aside from getting soaked in the last 20minutes of the ride, the other two hours took us through some ruddy roads, jungle, and around the big mountains. Next time we’ll actually get into the preserve with our own inflatable kayaks.
Though this may not be the most well thought out, insightful piece, I want to get back into the habit of writing. My one observation, confirmed during a conversation on the shuttle on the way to work, is that land use here in Vietnam leaves much to be desired. There’s no coordination across the country, so you wind up with massive concrete plants in pristine places that sit idle. You have massive industrial parks that are connected to no major economic center because the roads are terrible. You have massive resorts that likely employ local people, but they’re right smack in the middle of traditional rice paddies.
It’s Sunday night after a nice weekend of getting none of my main tasks done. I did however get my Nook Color rooted with great, easy to follow instructions from Maurine Mongeon. That was an accomplishment only because it took quite some time to write the .img files on the microSD card.
But that’s not really why I’m writing. As I await my household goods patiently, I think about the things I look forward to most. They are not the things you might think a person who recently moved continents and left all friends and family behind might pine for. What are they?
First, a bit of back story, the shipment was originally supposed to arrive in Hanoi around 19 May. I headed back for a wedding on the 13th of May, so I had arranged for delivery of my stuff on the 24th. Incoming folks get a ‘Welcome Kit’ which includes stuff like a TV, sheets, silverware, etc. My sponsor recommended getting the Welcome Kit packed up and shipped out before my stuff was delivered because it just makes it easier to keep track of whose stuff is whose. I thought, that’s a great idea, so I had the folks pack everything up on the 13th, I went to sparring class, got beat up, showered, and hopped on the plane bound for Tokyo/NYC.
I arrive back on 23 May, read through my emails on the morning of 24 May only to find that there is no delivery of stuff for the 24th. As a matter of fact, the container is in Singapore waiting for more crap to fill it up. Hmm … now I have an empty apartment with no plates, no silverware (but I do have really sharp knives!), no pots, etc. At least I have amazing sheets.
As of this Thursday (2 Jun), the container should have arrived on Friday and I should have my stuff perhaps by Wednesday (the 8th), or so. Just another part of the game, right? Ship and wait.
So what am I missing? In order of descending importance, or read another way the item at the top of my list would produce the single largest decrease my overall level of annoyance by not having it.
I Need a Garbage Can
A tall garbage can – though the one we got for the wedding won’t fit under the sink and will look out of place in the kitchen, it surely beats the current arrangement.
Any other sized garbage cans – so I can occasionally through things away in the bathroom without having to walk to the kitchen.
Dish drying rack – as you can see, a pasta strainer works well … until you need to strain pasta.
Bath mat
Tripod – I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to take photos on my balcony that require the rock steady stillness that only a tripod can provide. Tonight is a good example. There was awesome lightning in the sky that I could have captured, maybe, but the crazy safety and balancing system I put together on my balcony ledge was a little too precarious and slip shod to trust for the length of time I would need for a good shot. Instead, this is all you get (see below).
Mustard – I haven’t wanted to buy it here because I know it’s on the way. Nothing else tastes as good on a sandwich of dark bread, tomato, and cheese. Though the chili fish sauce is good, it’s just not the same.
Pepper grinder – one of the Vietnamese guys on the soccer team brought pepper from a family farm for folks. I can’t wait to use it.
I Need a Dish Rack
Anything stand out as a shocker? Perhaps nothing on the list is that shocking. Perhaps it’s just that when Marjie put the garbage can on the registry, I wondered “why the hell do we want garbage cans on our registry?” She was very persistent about wanting them, and very excited to get one. Now, I’ll be excited when that silly garbage can arrives. Oh how life’s pleasures change over time.
To make myself feel better about being excited about a garbage can and dish drying rack, I will say that I brought the stuff I care about most with me, which includes all the electronics crap, camera, address list, and good pens. If I didn’t have the computer and regular Internet, I’d be crazy right about now … or I’d be insanely smart from having read a lot of books. Or I’d be brain dead from watching River Monsters and Man, Woman, Wild because those were the only shows that ever seemed to be on TV.
All I got from the crazy storm and lightning show today …
Front of the Front
Lightning
The video below isn’t really all that great, but you can see the wind suck the curtains right out of the apartment. When I step outside, you can’t see anything, but you can hear the ‘howl’ of the wind and rain if you have your volume up.
This past Memorial Day, a team of folks flew down to Ho Chi Minh City to compete in the 2011 Mission Cup. The flight to Saigon (we can say that) was only about 2 hrs and came with a delicious meal of instant raman and fish – or pork. Though I poke fun at the food on the flight, at least they served it on a 2hr hop. Can you imagine a US airline these days offering you free bathroom privileges on a flight that short?
The Pack
But, I digress. There are few photos from the weekend because I packed light. I only had my 65 liter REI Flash backpack … No, it wasn’t full, but you’ve got to have the essentials. Changes of clothes, cleats, your uniform, stuff to read, a small bag of 1st Aid items (ibuprofin, moleskin, bandaids, and sports tape), etc. My only complaint about the pack is that the detachable top does not have a strap to convert it into something like a messenger bag you can sling over the shoulder.
But I digress, again. The whole point of the pack photo is to add visual appeal given that I didn’t bring my big camera down to HCMC and instead relied on my iPod for photographic masterworks. I took no photos at the game, took few photos of sights, and even fewer of food.
Despite the crushing, 3-0 loss, I had a good time in HCMC. Fortunately, I can claim I had no part in the loss because I was never on the field. Or perhaps that’s the reason. My nuclear-powered uniformed was not dirtied up by the diluvial rains that started as soon as the referee blew the starting whistle. Hence, my shining beacon of a uniform on the sidelines (and dug out to avoid said rains) blinded my teammates, prohibiting stellar displays of ball skills and team work. I don’t think the field turned swamp had anything to do with our loss, or the hometown refs. Not that the Tigers don’t deserve their victory … But we’ll get the cup back next year.
The game was not just a game. There was a banner, there were dragon dancers for our pep rally, there were cheer leaders for both sides, and there were supporters. Lots of folks flew down from Hanoi and lots of folks from the Consulate came out to support the teams. It was a fun festive atmosphere with the Tiger supporters wearing fun, light orange t-shirts with just enough black straps in the shape of a cat’s face to know it’s a tiger. Very cool. Too bad I don’t have a photo.
Aside from being drenched at the game – I only got a little wet at the game – I proceeded to walk all over the downtown area of District 1 for the next two days. I probably sweat out three hundred pounds of water. I know my shirts at times were as wet from walking around as my jersey would have been had I played in the rain. No, it wasn’t all that hot, just humid as all get out.
Impressions of the City
Saigon, as compared to Hanoi, is orderly, clean, cosmopolitan, and relatively easy to navigate. I make this bold pronouncement based on the tiny area I walked around this weekend. To be more precise, being in District 1 was a pleasure. People followed the traffic rules. The flow of traffic appeared to have rules that needed following. There were intersections with lights to regulate flow. And for the most part, traffic did flow.
Overall, it just felt like a cleaner place. The buildings were taller. They looked newer. Someone compared Saigon to LA – a big sprawling city. Perhaps it is. But, District 1 is still much more organized and pleasant to walk around than any part of Hanoi I’ve seen so far. I’d say Saigon is a little more like New York and Hanoi is a whole lot like DC.
Food
Elbow Room Interior
Loved it. I ate at a few amazing restaurants. La Brasserie, The Brick, The Refinery, and Elbow Room. So far, I haven’t eaten at restaurants with offerings like these in Hanoi.
Let’s start with La Brasserie. I don’t have a good address for the place, but I know I wound up eating there in District 1, not 7 (go to the website to see what I’m talking about). The point is, two of us went out looking for some pho. Someone pointed us down the road. We walked and didn’t see a whole lot that fit the bill until we turned down one street. We saw a sign for pizza and thought that would do – not pho, but close alphabetically at least.
Lovely ladies from the establishment next door tried to lure us in, but that was not the sort of thing either of us were interested in. The first clue we should have had when we stepped inside was cigar smoke. Yes. Cigars mean you’re in a classy place, so prices are not going to be pho prices. I about choked at the idea of a really expensive meal, considering I had $10 in my pocket and I was a little worried about how much I might spend the rest of the weekend on a trip to Can Tho. We sat down anyway. Good choice. My calzone was absolutely delicious and huge.
The crust was perfect, the tomato sauce on top was perfectly done, and the oregano flakes just added that final dose of realness to the whole thing. Not Fat Boy’s pizza. The other guy loved his spaghetti, too. Well worth the money and a propitious omen for other meals to be eaten this weekend.
The Calzone
Cuc Gach Quan (The Brick Cafe)
The next good meal was at The Brick. I could read the website and paraphrase it for you, but this was Vietnamese food at a delicious level. We had vegetarians in the group, so we had tofu bricks, morning glories, mushrooms, brown rice (yes, brown rice in Vietnam), as well as chicken, beef, and pork for the meat-needers. It was all good. What else can I say? The ambiance simply added to the ease with which the mojitos and conversation could flow. From the Mad Men fan (shown in this photo) to the cool arrangement of dishes and the dangerous (in wet weather) staircase up to the second floor, it was a night of food to remember.
Death by Chocolate, Elbow Room
I only ate a chocolate mousse at the Refinery, but the set-lunch menu looked great. Elbow Room had a great looking menu of American cuisine – burgers, wraps, pancakes, and dessert. I got the death by chocolate (on the right). It was a gooey-center of molten chocolate encased in a crusty cake shell. After a Santa Fe chicken wrap, this was the perfect way to end my Saigon culinary experience. Other folks had salads, burgers, and the pancakes. All left full.
Killing Time
I taught one of our local staff the phrase killing time. I did a lot of that in the city. Between meals, I figured it was a waste to sit in the guesthouse room. And it would have been. I did what I did when I spent 18 months on the road. I walked around, took in the sights, got my bearings, avoided the people trying to sell me crap or talk to me – “Where you get that hat?” (yes, I had my Pearlis adventure hat on) – and just let my mind wander in a way you can’t let your mind wander in Hanoi. If you mind wanders you wind up under a bus, car, or motorbike.
I didn’t have any where to be and no place I really wanted to go. I don’t need to buy stuff. I don’t need to see another big market with lots of crap mass-produced in China – though I did walk through Ben Thanh to kill time and check the box. And I don’t really care about the local historical sites – yeah, a cathedral in Saigon. So, I got to wondering, how the hell I spent 18 months on the road, doing this day-in, day-out. I moved from hostel to hostel, carried a crap ton of stuff, and just kept going. Youth? I don’t know. All I know is that after just a few hours of aimless wandering and a little too much coffee, I was ready to be back somewhere to relax and read while not sweating profusely and not having to listen to crap music.
Perhaps I’m old and soft, but I don’t think so. OK, well, I’ve definitely gone soft – sitting does that to a person – but I think I’m just less inclined to be places I’m not thoroughly thrilled to be. My time is important to me and so I want to spend it doing what I want to do. Trying to kill time, anywhere, isn’t really something I want to do.
So, there you have it. A long ass piece about a few days in Saigon where is rained a lot, I ate a lot, and I walked a lot. I’ll be happy to go back whenever I get the chance.
I thought I’d take a little time to describe my primary mode of transportation in Hanoi, so far. Though lots of much more adventurous tourists take the motorbike drivers, I have only done it once. Though considerably cheaper, there are inherent risk factors one must consider in saving US$1.
First factor: sobriety. It’s a difficult determination at any point in the day, really, though bets are best that riding with one earlier in the day increases the chance for a sober ride. Second factor: helmets. Do they have them? If so, are they the ones that break when you look at them? Though there is a helmet law (and a recent editorial claiming that Westerners skirting the law were setting a bad example for the Vietnamese) , the practical implementation has been cheap, substandard helmet that shatter upon impact with soft-serve ice cream. OK, it’s not that bad, but I have heard eye-witness reports of helmets being dropped from waist-level and shattering on the ground. Third factor: awareness. The third factor is how aware do I think other drivers are of this motorbike driver and how well do I think the motorbike driver is of everyone else’s awareness of him? The only traffic law followed is the following: bus/truck squash car; car squash motorbike; motorbike squash person. The law is transitive, which means a bus can also squash a person. In navigation class it was called the law of gross tonnage – the biggest ship gets the right of way. Applying this to the third factor in riding on a motorbike, how well do you think your motorbike driver is tuned to the other vehicles not really paying much attention to anyone else because they’re bigger than everyone else?
This is not to say motorbike drivers are fatalistic. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I just sometimes (translate that to always) worry about my safety at the hands of someone else in traffic that only follows the law of gross tonnage.
So, when given a choice, I usually choose the taxi (only once having chosen otherwise) . Hence, I’ve had quite a few taxi drivers and experiences, even after just one month in Hanoi.
So, there are the silent taxi drives. Most of my taxi drivers have been this type. Most foreigners don’t speak Vietnamese, taxis drivers know this, and don’t bother trying to make any conversation with you. I usually don’t let on that I can speak any Vietnamese until perhaps it’s time to settle the bill. I suspect Vietnamese who take taxis have no interest in talking with their driver – other than to give them directions – so this is par for the course for the driver.
Then there are the exact opposite types of taxi rides. When you and the taxi driver don’t really stop talking until the destination. They’re usually really happy to have had a chance to chat with someone in their own language. I don’t always understand everything they say, but it’s always interesting.
Then there are the terrifying taxi drives – the ones where they have no clue where they’re going and I have to try to give them instructions. To get to class or the office is no problem. I know the big street names and it’s pretty straight forward. It’s when people ask about how to get back to the apartment that I run into trouble. I’m not yet fully familiar with the neighborhood streets in the dark or the daylight. I also don’t know many of the street names. So, if we wind up somewhere not terribly far from the apartment and they’re not sure when to turn, they’ll ask something incomprehensible – though the slowness of the taxi’s speed and the craning of their neck clearly indicates they’re asking me for directions. Instead of good answers, they get the awkward smile used to cover up embarrassing situations … I usually just tell them that I’m new and don’t know the streets yet. Eventually we make it home.
Even in the silent taxi rides, though, you can see the different types of drivers. We learn in language class that most communication is nonverbal, with only about 35% or so coming from words. I have a few examples, like the one taxi driver who just oozed sleaze and sported those oh so gorgeously long nails for the non-blue collar working man. You know what I’m talking about long pinky nail, long thumb nail, and if they’re really good, all the nails are long. Not just a quarter inch sort of long, but like an inch, or more.
Anyway, the nails aren’t what made this guy ooze slime, they just added to the overall impression. It was the way he sat, the expression on his face, and the way he talked on the phone. I could tell he had to call his boss because the tone of his voice was very polite and soft. I don’t think he liked the answer he got because the next phone call was loud and angry, shouting something about the afternoon.
Then there was the one taxi driver who was really nice. He said he loved America. He loved American actresses – I couldn’t understand who because of the thick Vietnamese accent – but he also loved Mike Tyson. Loved. I thought it was utterly bizarre and yet very cool. If only my Vietnamese had been better, I could have asked a whole lot more questions about why he liked Mike Tyson.
The most interesting taxi driver was a woman. Yes, a woman was hired to drive a taxi. I was shocked and I just couldn’t help ask her why she chose to become a driver, what she thought of the work, and what her family thought. They of course didn’t think it was an appropriate job for a woman, but she has enjoyed the work for the past three years. I tried to ask her if she got a lot of drunk old men in the car, but she was shocked and terrified, saying this was not that type of taxi company.
Oops. Not what I meant. I wanted to know if men, drunk after a hard day’s work at the bia hoi, ever pestered her because she was a woman. Instead, I think I basically asked if she got down with any of her cab clients. Yes, I’m your representative overseas. Diplomacy 3.0, right?
What is bóng ?á? Soccer. What is giao l?u? Cultural exchange (or exchange rellations as my dictionary says). Today, I played bóng ?á with the embassy team, a mix of local Vietnamese who have some connection to the embassy and with the Americans posted here. Hence, giao l?u.
This was my first opportunity to play with the team. I’ve been in Vietnam for three or so weekends, but every weekend there’s been some activity that precludes matters of international importance. There was just getting to know the place, there was a wedding, then it was a 4-day weekend. I mean, what am I supposed to do?
Finally I got to play on the first day the sun has really been out, probably since around December, but maybe a little earlier. I checked the weather report – 89F real temperature about 68% humidity, sunny, UV index of 8 (extreme) and a heat index of around 101F at 2pm. What time did we play? 2.30 pm. Perfect. Just in time to miss the peak heat and peak UV, but not late enough to actually cool off. These are the sacrifices we make in the cause of advancing US diplomatic interests, one person at a time.
I first learned about the team when I had a courtesy call with the DCM on my first day in the office. There is a big rivalry between the soccer team from the embassy and the one from the consulate. It’s big enough that every year a tournament – more correctly a game (singular? I hope) – occurs every year, with the home team alternating between Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City. This year, we play in HCMC.
And by play, I mean, proper play. This is not just some guys out on the field in the same color shirts or wearing some pennies on a make-due field. No, we play in style … with custom-made team jerseys, socks, shorts, and (ideally) shoes. This expense for the honor of fighting for internal bragging rights is $6. Yes, US$6 buys you a custom jersey, the socks, and shorts. When I showed up today, I didn’t have a yellow shirt, just an orange one. Not good enough. Someone had an extra team jersey with logo ripened for me to play in. Yes, I wrote ripened because let me tell you, that was serious SE Asia man-stank on that jersey. I almost felt it crawling itself off of me. I wore it – international relationships at stake here – and played. (Note: The shirt was immediately washed upon my return to the apartment.)
To say that I played is to use to be slightly fast and loose with current usage in the English language. Normally when you say you played soccer, it means you actually had an opportunity to touch the ball and do things. I think I touched the ball maybe a total of 10 times. I was also in the 90-minute game for about 30 minutes. I did make a few half-hearted runs, but it seemed most of the other folks on the team were really intent on taking care of business and there really wasn’t much place for a below-average American (me) on the field.
Luckily, I didn’t make a buffoon of myself and score an own-goal or consistently pass to the people in red, so perhaps I haven’t made a horrible reputation for myself already, but give it time. I can play with heart, but skill is not something I possess. They say h?t mình in Vietnamese – basically it means all in, though neither of those words in Vietnamese means either of those words in English.
And, I wasn’t the guy on the field with a cigarette, lit.
Team Logo
More important than all this, is that I was destined to play on this team. Why? We’re the Hanoi Dragons. Who is more dedicated than the guy who has the team logo already tattooed on his arm?
Though it was hot today, this is not the peak heat. No matter, we play the whole summer. I can’t wait until June when it’s even warmer. Once I settle in, though, I won’t feel so bad trying to get into the games. For now, I’m just happy to not mess up the team’s mojo.
<P.S. Working on those ridiculous ? where there should be Vietnamese characters. For some reason, the blog software doesn’t really want to play nice with Vietnamese.>
OK, who doesn’t like a 4 day weekend? That’s what I thought. I just had one this weekend and used it to do the kind of traveling I like to do – budget, rustic, active, and with a dose of good food to boot. Ethnic Travel delivered on its trip to Mai Châu.
I booked a 3-day/2-night trip starting and ending in Hanoi to the region. It wasn’t my first choice for the 4-day weekend. I wanted to go to Sapa. But the trips with Ethnic Travel all started in Sapa, so I would need to get myself there. Because I wanted to travel on a Vietnamese holiday, that meant I needed to book a train ticket about 5 months ago. Or I could just hire a driver for the low price of $80 a day. To further crush any desire to go to Sapa, the guy in the tour shop said that Sapa was not yet green.
He recommended Mai Chau instead because “Mai Chau is very green right now”. That was all he needed to say – green, now. So, I took out all the money I had in my pocket to secure a spot in the tour.
It was absolutely a great decision to go. For starters, the folks I met on the tour were great and mostly live in Hanoi, so I got to know a few folks I might actually be able to hang out with on a more long-term basis. Very exciting for having moved to a new place. Second, the mountain region appeared about an hour or so after we left the Old Quarter of Hanoi. Insane. Why didn’t I know the hills were so close? Probably because I hadn’t bothered to look at a topo map.
At Work
As you can see, the guy in the tour company office wasn’t kidding about Mai Chau being green this time of year. The hills were covered with gorgeous green trees and the fields of rice had so many vivid shades of green that it was hard to believe the surreal scene was not a figment of cinematic imagination.
The tour package itself was a mix of driving, walking, biking, lounging, eating, wishing one another good health (with 80-proof rice wine shots), and playing in a reservoir that we choose to believe is clean (and those brown turd looking things were really just mud in the water from upstream, rather than … well, you know). It was a really nice mix of activity, down time, cool off time, and experiencing the countryside.
By cool off time, I mean, it was pretty warm. It wasn’t Vietnam hot, just in the 80s or so with a humidity of about 80% or more. So when you thought about walking, your body had already know you were going to think about walking about 10 minutes ago and began to perspire in anticipation of your thought. After the two or so hour walk up and over a pass on a jungle trail, my shirt was soaked, completely. My only thought was … I would love for Marjie to see this, but I am not coming back in July or August when the temperature is blistering, it’s raining heavily, and the Black River is really muddied with real run-off.
We had a chance to see what a big rain does to the countryside … the water just has no where to go but pool in any low point it can find. It drags all sort of mud along with it turning the road into a series of somewhat deep pools of water that cars and scooters have to carefully navigate so as to not soak the engine and stall.
Sunrise
The experience itself was great. Speaking a little Vietnamese, I quickly became the group’s interpreter when we wanted to order coffee, reconcile bills at cafes, and generally communicate with our hosts in the absence of our tour guides. Being able to talk to the hosts, and the sunrise on day 3, was the highlight of the trip.
The conversations confirmed what I’ve read in development books and articles. People who live and work in the countryside would love to earn more money working in the city. What we see as beautiful scenery and a break from the daily grind of work is to them a mind-numbing drudge of never ending work that they can’t escape. When you can’t grow enough rice to feed your family, when you can’t afford to send your son to any sort of college, when you can’t afford to treat the wood in your house so it can resist termites, when the only thing for adolescents to do is drink beer and get wasted, what kind of life is that? It’s not. It’s a grind. The grind of the poor.
It’s just a reminder that progress and development are important. In an ideal world, people who live in the countryside could chose to make that their life, not simply be stuck in it because they were born there.
That’s my soap box. Back to the program. Despite the poverty, the folks we met were very happy to have us and cooked us excellent food. It’s great that we are able to bring much needed money into their family. One of the hosts said, and I’m writing from rice-wine assisted memory and translation skills, that he was more than happy to supply the rice wine for us because we help support his family. I think what he said was heartfelt and honest. It just made being able to speak Vietnamese and being on this trip even more enriching.
Although everything was great with our hosts, we were completely unsuccessful in being able to order drinks at two different cafes. The first time, I ordered and probably confused the heck out of the lady. The second time, while watching a Ballywood film dubbed into Vietnamese (without any of the emotion), the tour guides who speak fluent Vietnamese couldn’t even get the wait staff to deliver a proper order.
No blog post is complete without a picture of puppies, so here
What was tricky? Ordering this yogurt coffee drink that is popular with young folks here in the city. I had never heard of it. I mean, who the hell puts yogurt in coffee? It sounds gross. Hot coffee + cold yogurt = tepid mushy mess. I tried to describe it to the first lady and I know she thought I was crazy. I thought I was too, but the one person who got the drink really liked it. Everyone else who wanted the yogurt coffee wound up with a sweetened-condensed milk coffee, sort of. This was the first time I tried to use my Vietnamese with this group of folks, so when the orders came all messed up, I felt bad. No one minded, but I took it as a failure of the most basic skill set … ordering food.
Ah well, all was clarified today in class. The drink people wanted me to order is really yogurt with some coffee and ice in it rather than coffee with yogurt in it. In Vietnamese if you say (coffee) (yogurt) you get mostly coffee with some yogurt. That’s not what people wanted and luckily no one got served what I actually asked for. Instead, it should have been (yogurt) (coffee) (ice).
Aside from the challenges of ordering coffee, the trip was great. I loved the walking, taking photos, and being able to talk with the people who really live in those places. I know I’ve got a long way to go with the Vietnamese – as was evident when the driver was talking to me about the traffic in Hanoi … all I got was there are some bad kids who drive through the lights, you shouldn’t signal because someone will cut you off, and after you get used to the traffic you’ll be fine. There was a whole lot of other stuff I didn’t get. So, that’s the goal. I’ve got two years to get good at it before I need to start working on a new language.
The next big trip will need to be further afield – perhaps Ha Giang, where it will be cooler and similarly green.
I thought I’d take some time to write a little about some of the preparations Marjie and I took to move overseas. Those of you who are going through it yourselves or have already done it once, feel free to skip over this, unless you would like to amuse yourself at the efforts of a couple facing their first time overseas as ex-pats.
So, you’ve just found out you’re moving to a SE Asia country that is rapidly developing. You’re not going on vacation; you’re going to live there, for two years. When it finally sinks in that you’re living overseas, not just visiting overseas, you start to think a little differently about your lifestyle. What’s really important to you? If you can’t find half and half, will you stop drinking coffee? Maybe. What do you do for breakfast when the locals eat a noodle soup? Are you going to eat pho, too? What about when you’re craving popcorn (I never do, but someone else I know does … every night) or hummous or your favorite brand of chocolate?
I’ll tell you what you do, you buy a crap ton of stuff from Costco and you ship it to yourself as a Christmas present in May or June or whenever the stuff arrives. It’s one thing to go traveling for a while – even a long while – where you can pretty much be happy eating locally to save money and more fully experience the culture. But it’s completely different to know that it’s going to be a long, long time before you have the Jacques Torres cookie or Blue Sky Bakery muffin again. So you start to think about how you’re going to satisfy those cravings, minimize the disruptions to your way of life, and simply have that comfort food available for you when you just can’t eat another serving of morning glories, bok choy, or tough chewy beef with grizzle.
One cart of stuff from Costo, there's much more
So, what did Marjie and I do? I threw away the receipt for the trips to Costco we made, but I can say we probably spend about $1200 or so dollars buying stuff to ship. And we didn’t really finish. This included everything from huge bottles of laundry detergent (yes they sell it here, but we wanted a certain kind), dish washing detergent (same deal as the previous), boxes of brownie mix, cans of chickpeas, rechargeable batteries, tomato sauce, some cereal, a few (24) bottles of wine, and some other stuff. You can see in this photo that we also bought a few rolls of toilet paper. As my sponsor said, it’s not that you can’t buy it, but it’s much more convenient to run into my storage area than to have to run out and get more. So, we bought stuff for convenience and comfort.
My first weekend here, though, I was taken to a few of the Western stores and Fivi Mart to see what sort of stuff on available for the ex-pats here. You can get lots of stuff. I saw everything from full-sized jars of Newman’s Own pasta sauce for $6, Newman’s Own popcorn, chocolate bars from Germany, muesli, cleaning products (including one shop with ’7th Generation’ stuff), good quality cuts of meat, shampoos, peanut butter and so on.
It’s not that you can’t find something to satisfy your craving, for a price, it’s that if you have a specific brand that you like, you may not find it. The one thing I did not see was half-and-half or heavy cream. That said, I heard from someone who bakes that there is whipping cream available, so I should be able to put that in my coffee in the mornings!
Around the corner, there is a shop that sells all sorts of cleaning products: liquid hand soap, dish detergent (if only we had a washing machine), bleach, tooth paste, shampoo, and the like. There are German brands, US brands, and probably lots from China. If you need a specific brand, chances are you won’t find it. Prices seem reasonable – $3.50 for a dispenser of hand soap, $2 for shampoo.
The big thing about shopping in Vietnam is where to find something. A store may have some of what you need, but there are few one-stop shops. Luckily, in our building there is a ground-floor shop that has all the essentials – wine, beer, pasta, sauce, cookies, peanut butter, toilet paper, etc. Pretty much anything you need is right there. If you need fresh veggies, there is a market directly across the street.
This turned into a bit of a ramble. The bottom line is: it’s expensive to stock up for two years because living somewhere and visiting a place are two entirely different undertakings. If you’re flexible, you can find excellent substitutes for your favorite items from home. If you need a little comfort, you got to bring it with you. Just like Asian food products in the US aren’t as fresh and flavorful as they are in Asia, the same goes for your favorite stuff from the States in Asia.
So, with all this in mind, I was happy to just look, enjoy the clothes in the windows, enjoy the architecture of the old town, and soak in the little bit of sun we could get before the tropical depression arrived. And arrive it did. Before we get drenched, though, we got to do my favorite thing: eat. Not that the two are mutually exclusive, but eating is so much more pleasant when you’re not soaking wet.
