Well, we’re reaching the end of the road in terms of our internships and to be perfectly honest, I feel like something of a failure. Mr. Vinh originally asked for one hundred surveys and we’re sending back only a little over half that request. I know there are plenty of reasonable excuses for why we couldn’t finish by the deadline – I’ve been away every weekend since I got here, the hotels wouldn’t let us survey their guests, etc – but none of them make me feel any better about the end result. I still feel like I let down Mr. Vinh and everyone in Ninh Thuan committed to this project. Yet, the fact remains we’re out of time. I’m going to try to do a little more analysis and hopefully the information we collected will be of help in some small way.
After all this time in Saigon, I finally made it to the Lunch Lady today. The Lunch Lady is a street vendor who has somehow managed to stay local while becoming world famous for producing a different amazing soup each day. As you walk up to her stand, the Lunch Lady greets everyone with an incredibly warm smile from underneath her conical hat. Our Vietnamese is sufficient here since all you do to order is tell her the number of bowls and she ladles them out of a large vat, steaming in a metal pot next to her. The soup was outstanding, swimming with thick slippery noodles, slices of beef, fishballs (balls made of fish, not the other thing), and random herbs (and quite possibly other ingredients that I just missed). The broth was rich with oils and spices, but not too heavy – it was so perfect I didn’t even want to put hot sauce in it for fear that I might alter the essence of the soup. I normally have trouble finishing entire bowls of soup, but I could see the bottom of this bowl.
Since we were already so close to the river, we crossed the bridge and just spent some time walking around a part of town we’d never been to. We walked down a side street so narrow it might have been considered an alley but for its length. It wasn’t the slums, but it was definitely a lower class neighborhood than the ones I’ve seen in the city so far. Stores, beauty parlors, and small eateries lined the street beneath the homes on the floors above. Fruit vendors squatted on the sidewalk, at times forcing us onto the dangerously small road with motorbikes whizzing past. Eventually we came to a small bridge set next to a set of homes made primarily from tin, elevated above the water. At least I’m assuming there was water but I couldn’t actually see it to confirm. There was garbage covering every inch of the water’s surface – plastic bags and styrofoam containers full of rotting food completely consumed the putrid river (no wonder no one can drink the water here). We’d been told about the pollution and trash dumping before, but seeing it to this extent was shocking. It frustrated me to think how hard it would be to clean this mess up, not to mention trying to prevent further pollution here. The people in these rundown homes on the water have no way of getting rid of their trash besides tossing it out the back door – it’s not their fault that the government has insufficient trash collection (and almost non-existent recycling collection). Now this was a decent dose of culture shock.
Later in the afternoon, I engaged in another quality cultural outing. We visited a mosque, which was not a highly decorated touristy one like we’d expected when we saw it in the guidebook, but an average place of worship for the surrounding Muslim community. We took off our shoes and walked up onto a little patio, which is apparently where the women pray while the men enter the slightly closed off room in the middle, where they can kneel before Allah on numerous oriental rugs all overlapping one another. As Molly, Alex, Kendra, and I sat in the female section, a woman dressed in the full traditional muslin outfit (made up of a long black dress and an attached head covering) waved at me from the small room where she was working. She then got up and came to join us on the floor. We sat there for some time trying to communicate through the language barrier. I think all parties involved got something out of it even without understanding everything (she did speak a little English and even without it she taught us the proper Muslim way to pray). Sitting with this woman was quite an experience, but at some point we started running out of things we could reasonably communicate through Charades. We gathered up our shoes and left the green mosque to go to dinner.
For dinner, we treated our Vietnamese roommates to the closest thing to an “American” meal we could think of – burgers and fries at a restaurant called Blackcat. It’s a pretty upscale restaurant with nice décor and random Western music, though we barely fit in the space reserved for us. The menu was really amusing, each burger had a cutesy name related to cats (and two of the smoothies were named the Johnny Depp and the Halle Berry). I for instance got the “bobcat” with barbecue sauce and bacon served on an English muffin of all things (not a bad combination actually). Wen and Ming split a huge burger bigger than my face, so thick that they had to stretch their jaws to what looked like an uncomfortable degree just to eat it. My favorite part of the meal was the drink Kendra and I split that satisfied all of our cravings – it was a chocolate, banana, and peanut butter shake (both of our usual Cookout orders as it turns out) that was to die for. There were mixed reviews from the roommates about the burgers. Some liked it, others flat-out told us they really didn’t like it. Van Anh’s only comment was that the food was really heavy and filling (which makes sense because a burger has so much more meat than most Vietnamese food). I hope she liked it, but either way Blackcat was an interesting experience for all of us.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Vietnam Day 28 (7/5/09)
In the morning, we hopped aboard a river boat. The boat was designed for tourists with colorful dragons on the bow. We were sitting on chairs on a patio-like platform enclosed by windows on all sides. Frankly it didn’t feel like a boat ride at all without wind and seaspray, but it was a nice way to see the river. We passed many traditional wooden fishing boats, as well as many other tourist boats with the same dragons and closed off interiors. On one of the fishing boats, we saw an entire family from grandmother to two-year old taking turns bathing on the deck by dumping buckets of river water over their heads. On the bank, we passed a number of couples having picnics in the park, some too busy kissing to notice us pass. We soon found that the boat tour was a very organized business. It was a family run boat (with a wedding photo of the owners displayed on the back wall), so each family member took turns showing us souvenirs and driving the boat. The patriarch was sure to take the wheel when we came to a checkpoint, a police boat where every vessel had to stop and provide evidence of ownership and a boating license.
Our destination was the Celestial Lady Pagoda, one of the most famous in Vietnam. The first thing you see when you walk up is the large traditional tower, which is only opened a few times a year for special occasions. Around it was a brick courtyard with small elevated stone gazebos containing bells and artistic stone engravings. My favorite was a prayer carved on a stone slab that sat atop a large turtle. The whole pagoda was light and welcoming and would probably have been peaceful were it not for the overwhelming number of tourists (one large group wearing baseball caps with the Vietnamese flag on them) taking pictures in front of everything imaginable. I did find a little peace off to the edge of the courtyard where I found a magnificent view of the Perfume River. Once again, I found myself wondering how the monks who live here cope with all the tourists that come through.
There is a large monastery at this pagoda, including many child monks (both boys and girls) who were either orphaned, sent here by there parents for their education, or came by choice to study Buddhism. We saw a group of children (with distinctive hairstyles in which the whole head is shaved except for a patch in front which is swept off to the side) facing the wall in a long room exposed to the packs of tourists looking in. They were doing a patience exercise in which they were supposed to look at the wall or read and tune out distraction. Most of them were doing very poorly, turning around to talk to each other and play games. I felt bad looking in too long and even worse when people took pictures as if these kids were in a zoo. The older monks didn’t seem as concerned – after all, the more distraction the more meaningful the exercise is. The pagoda was very beautiful but it was also overcrowded and Hue is stifling hot (the locals had almost as much sweat dripping down their faces as I did), so we couldn’t stay all that long.
Back at the hotel, I packed up, took one last look over the high city buildings in the distance contrasted against the tin-roofed houses below me, and waved goodbye to the woman watering her plants on the rooftop garden nextdoor to the hotel. After a little trouble at airport security (Phat’s shampoo was confiscated, which isn’t a big deal but for a while we didn’t know where they had taken him), we boarded the flight back to our home away from home in Saigon. The flight was pretty short but pretty horrible. You know how a certain musical pitch can shatter glass? Well, a specific altitude on a plane can do the same to my eardrums. For almost an hour, I sat furiously chewing gum and faking yawns, trying desperately to equalize my ears which were collapsing under the pressure. I never did quite get them to pop my ears certainly felt better once we’d landed. It was nearly eleven p.m. by the time we reached the guesthouse but no one had eaten dinner yet, so we decided to relive one of our first moments in Vietnam and go back to the place where we had our first pho the night of our arrival. It was still wonderful, but a completely different experience since now I was able to compare it to all the other pho I’ve eaten since that first time – the noodles are smaller and softer (much less firm that the 18 Alley pho) and the broth more oily (which can be excellent for enhancing all the hot sauce I dump in). I was expecting deja vous but instead added another layer of complexity to my perception of pho.
Our destination was the Celestial Lady Pagoda, one of the most famous in Vietnam. The first thing you see when you walk up is the large traditional tower, which is only opened a few times a year for special occasions. Around it was a brick courtyard with small elevated stone gazebos containing bells and artistic stone engravings. My favorite was a prayer carved on a stone slab that sat atop a large turtle. The whole pagoda was light and welcoming and would probably have been peaceful were it not for the overwhelming number of tourists (one large group wearing baseball caps with the Vietnamese flag on them) taking pictures in front of everything imaginable. I did find a little peace off to the edge of the courtyard where I found a magnificent view of the Perfume River. Once again, I found myself wondering how the monks who live here cope with all the tourists that come through.
There is a large monastery at this pagoda, including many child monks (both boys and girls) who were either orphaned, sent here by there parents for their education, or came by choice to study Buddhism. We saw a group of children (with distinctive hairstyles in which the whole head is shaved except for a patch in front which is swept off to the side) facing the wall in a long room exposed to the packs of tourists looking in. They were doing a patience exercise in which they were supposed to look at the wall or read and tune out distraction. Most of them were doing very poorly, turning around to talk to each other and play games. I felt bad looking in too long and even worse when people took pictures as if these kids were in a zoo. The older monks didn’t seem as concerned – after all, the more distraction the more meaningful the exercise is. The pagoda was very beautiful but it was also overcrowded and Hue is stifling hot (the locals had almost as much sweat dripping down their faces as I did), so we couldn’t stay all that long.
Back at the hotel, I packed up, took one last look over the high city buildings in the distance contrasted against the tin-roofed houses below me, and waved goodbye to the woman watering her plants on the rooftop garden nextdoor to the hotel. After a little trouble at airport security (Phat’s shampoo was confiscated, which isn’t a big deal but for a while we didn’t know where they had taken him), we boarded the flight back to our home away from home in Saigon. The flight was pretty short but pretty horrible. You know how a certain musical pitch can shatter glass? Well, a specific altitude on a plane can do the same to my eardrums. For almost an hour, I sat furiously chewing gum and faking yawns, trying desperately to equalize my ears which were collapsing under the pressure. I never did quite get them to pop my ears certainly felt better once we’d landed. It was nearly eleven p.m. by the time we reached the guesthouse but no one had eaten dinner yet, so we decided to relive one of our first moments in Vietnam and go back to the place where we had our first pho the night of our arrival. It was still wonderful, but a completely different experience since now I was able to compare it to all the other pho I’ve eaten since that first time – the noodles are smaller and softer (much less firm that the 18 Alley pho) and the broth more oily (which can be excellent for enhancing all the hot sauce I dump in). I was expecting deja vous but instead added another layer of complexity to my perception of pho.
Vietnam Day 27 (7/4/09)
Happy Fourth of July! The Vietnamese naturally don’t celebrate American Independence Day, so the Duke students decided we should do something patriotic during the day (though I think fireworks could be a flawed plan). We packed up and left the hotel early to make our way to Hue. The bus drove us through a breathtaking mountain pass overlooking the shore and the slow-moving train below. During the ride, we stopped to look out over the beautiful ocean view and, of course, take pictures.
Our next stop was less majestic – a bathroom break at a hotel we passed. I’m getting used to the lack of toilet paper, towels, and soap, but I still wasn’t keen on using a toilet whose broken toilet seat was leaning against a wall. And I have yet to understand why there was a donation box outside the stalls. The other less than amusing bus revelation was that the middle seats some of us had to scrunch into at the beginning of this trip had actually been adjustable all the while, which would have been welcome information during that first long drive – but it’s fine, only our spinal cords suffered.
Our first stop in Hue was the Forbidden City, which is anything but forbidden these days. The emperor only goes there three times a year, but the rest of the year it’s a hotspot for tourists. Most of the complex had been destroyed by the French during the wars, but the remaining buildings still had beautiful architecture. Nevertheless, there have been so many efforts to repair and renovate the buildings that nothing about it feels real when you’re there. The room where we found a baby posed on a plastic model of the emperor’s gold throne was obviously a replica, but it didn’t feel all that different from the real thing, indicating how fake the renovations felt.
For lunch we stopped by the home of Ngoc Son, Emperor Khai Dinh’s sister. Her family still lives there and one descendant has done extensive research on the history of the house and family, some of which he told us as we were touring the water garden. We had eight courses for lunch this time, all of it prepared by the family and all of it phenomenal. We had vegetable soup, pork, rice paper paddies in miniature dishes, and lotus flower sweetsoup. One of the other dishes had tiny hamburgers no bigger than a golfball. I decided to make that my lame excuse for a patriotic meal, and that’s about the extent of my Independence Day celebration for the day.
In the afternoon, we visited the tomb of Emperor Khai Dinh. It was an incredibly intricate stone complex with many levels, each more detailed than the last. One of the first levels was a flat platform with twenty stone soldiers in formation accompanied by their horses and an elephant. Every piece of the structure was a work of art. There were panels on walls with engraved prayers bordered by pats etched out of the stone. The railings to each staircase were in the form of dragons that snaked down the stairs, their heads at the bottom with menacing snarls – their eyes (those that still remain after almost a century) were made from dark green glass, which stood out brilliantly against the dark grey stone that comprised the entire complex. Inside the main building of the tomb itself the walls were painted with so many details it became rococo – I knew each wall panel had an identical design across the room but I could barely tell because there was so much to take in on each one. A gold-plated statue of the emperor on his throne sat before his body, the whole arrangement elevated on a platform above the heads of visitors.
Outside the entryway to the interior of the tomb was a dull red gate, open only a crack. Somehow, the gate seemed to escape the notice of visitors who were busy admiring the architecture, but the red against black stone caught my eye. I poked my head out the gate keeping half of my body inside in case I had to make a quick retreat. At first I saw only grass and trees on the slope of the mountain we were on, but as I looked up the hill, I spotted something else. It was hard to see through the trees, but there was a structure the size of a small house. I didn’t want to trespass, but the gate was open and I couldn’t restrain the urge to go explore. I slipped through the gate and hiked up the little slope, more and more details coming into view as I approached. It became clear it was not a house, but another shrine.
The building was far less elaborate than the tomb I’d just left, but it was made of the same ash-colored stone and had a beautifully detailed roof. It was completely open in front and, while I dared not go completely inside, I could see a simple white stone table as an altar with offerings of candles and flowers sitting on it. Others had clearly been their in a less respectful manner as I saw graffiti on the walls inside, some messages written in Vietnamese, others pictures (including one of Ho Chi Minh). A few paces in front of the building was stone slab standing waist-high with engravings on the front and recently burned incense in a small sand pit behind. I still have no idea what this space was honoring, but being here made me feel still and meditative. Only the fear of being left behind by my group motivated me to go back down the hill and through the gate, but I left with a unique and personal experience.
Back on the bus, our guide picked up his microphone (again, ugh) and gave us his usual mix of interesting and questionable information. He had attended Cornell University so I’m sure he’d been around Americans often enough, but I feel as though he may not have picked up on what westerners find appropriate. I sat here dumbfounded as this Western-educated man claimed that an affinity for colorful clothing makes the last emperor “a gay.” I must admit, I judged him for a moment but I realized it’s just a cultural difference about accepted behavior of men and women – my judgment was nothing more than western elitism and hypocrisy, so I pulled myself back into a place of cultural understanding.
The next tomb we went to, that of Emperor Tu Duc, was completely different from the last. Where the previous tomb had a hard powerful appearance, this was peaceful and serene. There was a lot more land to this one with lots of lily ponds, gazebos, trees, and nice little dirt walking paths going all the way around the property. I discovered the reason there was so much space for just one man’s tomb is that, after an emperor died, his fifty or so wives were unmarriable and had to live out the rest of their lives at the tomb. It’s a cruel fate even in so nice a place as this. This information gives the walls spotted with giant, impenetrable red doors a much different feel. I started out going around with the tour guide’s group, but sometimes I get frustrated with tours where someone is always telling you where to look and what to think – I always feel like I’m missing out on part of the experience.
Instead, I broke off on my own to explore the back areas of the compound where there were no people. Along the trail were small spaces that appeared to be shrines of some kind. Each had a small set of stairs leading up to a stone courtyard with a focal point in the center. The first was a large stone tablet one-story high with engravings that presumably spelled out a Buddhist prayer. The next courtyard looked even more ancient with darker, more worn stone. At the head of the space was a smaller tablet only as high as my head with an intricate stone and porcelain mosaic in the form of a colorful dragon. Behind it was a square-shaped space walled off except on one side. Inside that area was another wall, identical but smaller, almost like a small box set inside another except that neither box contained anything. I walked all the way through the stone corridors between the walls then entered the space sectioned off by the interior wall but neither contained anything to report – no art, no altars, nothing. It felt like walking through a maze but with no end goal – I still have no idea what it could have possibly been used for. Eventually I made my way all the way around the compound, eventually ending up back at the lily pond (which might be more accurately referred to as a lake). I can’t say which of the two tombs I enjoyed the most because they were too different to compare, but in both cases the points where I ventured off on my own are the most vivid in my memory.
After dinner (which consisted primarily of me stuffing my face with tiny crispy egg rolls) we went over to the bridge. It’s a large modern bridge with a sidewalk on one side of the road for pedestrians. Here we stopped and hung out like all the locals around us. The bridge was equipped with spotlights that changed color every minute, reflecting off the white painted steel of the bridge. This provided a wonderful backdrop for our impromptu photoshoot (which was appropriately epic). On the other side of the bridge we stopped for sweetsoup. During my time in Vietnam thus far, I’ve had three sweetsoups and none of them bore any resemblance to the others. The first in Ninh Thuan was a drink made of cold sweet liquid with pieces of gelatin thrown in, the second in Hoi An was a thick custard made of corn, and this was more like a smoothie with whole chunks of banana in the mix. Apparently there are more varieties of sweetsoup than any of the Vietnamese roommates can describe, so it appears I’ve only just scratched the surface on this desert.
To get back to the hotel, someone suggested taking cyclos, which is a type of rickshaw where someone pedals a bike set behind a larger seat for the passengers. Frankly, the concept of a rickshaw has always bothered me to some extent. I know I’m giving someone business, but at the same time it conjures up images of royalty being carried around on the shoulders of slaves and I’m no princess. I have two good feet, I can do my own walking and pedaling.
Our next stop was less majestic – a bathroom break at a hotel we passed. I’m getting used to the lack of toilet paper, towels, and soap, but I still wasn’t keen on using a toilet whose broken toilet seat was leaning against a wall. And I have yet to understand why there was a donation box outside the stalls. The other less than amusing bus revelation was that the middle seats some of us had to scrunch into at the beginning of this trip had actually been adjustable all the while, which would have been welcome information during that first long drive – but it’s fine, only our spinal cords suffered.
Our first stop in Hue was the Forbidden City, which is anything but forbidden these days. The emperor only goes there three times a year, but the rest of the year it’s a hotspot for tourists. Most of the complex had been destroyed by the French during the wars, but the remaining buildings still had beautiful architecture. Nevertheless, there have been so many efforts to repair and renovate the buildings that nothing about it feels real when you’re there. The room where we found a baby posed on a plastic model of the emperor’s gold throne was obviously a replica, but it didn’t feel all that different from the real thing, indicating how fake the renovations felt.
For lunch we stopped by the home of Ngoc Son, Emperor Khai Dinh’s sister. Her family still lives there and one descendant has done extensive research on the history of the house and family, some of which he told us as we were touring the water garden. We had eight courses for lunch this time, all of it prepared by the family and all of it phenomenal. We had vegetable soup, pork, rice paper paddies in miniature dishes, and lotus flower sweetsoup. One of the other dishes had tiny hamburgers no bigger than a golfball. I decided to make that my lame excuse for a patriotic meal, and that’s about the extent of my Independence Day celebration for the day.
In the afternoon, we visited the tomb of Emperor Khai Dinh. It was an incredibly intricate stone complex with many levels, each more detailed than the last. One of the first levels was a flat platform with twenty stone soldiers in formation accompanied by their horses and an elephant. Every piece of the structure was a work of art. There were panels on walls with engraved prayers bordered by pats etched out of the stone. The railings to each staircase were in the form of dragons that snaked down the stairs, their heads at the bottom with menacing snarls – their eyes (those that still remain after almost a century) were made from dark green glass, which stood out brilliantly against the dark grey stone that comprised the entire complex. Inside the main building of the tomb itself the walls were painted with so many details it became rococo – I knew each wall panel had an identical design across the room but I could barely tell because there was so much to take in on each one. A gold-plated statue of the emperor on his throne sat before his body, the whole arrangement elevated on a platform above the heads of visitors.
Outside the entryway to the interior of the tomb was a dull red gate, open only a crack. Somehow, the gate seemed to escape the notice of visitors who were busy admiring the architecture, but the red against black stone caught my eye. I poked my head out the gate keeping half of my body inside in case I had to make a quick retreat. At first I saw only grass and trees on the slope of the mountain we were on, but as I looked up the hill, I spotted something else. It was hard to see through the trees, but there was a structure the size of a small house. I didn’t want to trespass, but the gate was open and I couldn’t restrain the urge to go explore. I slipped through the gate and hiked up the little slope, more and more details coming into view as I approached. It became clear it was not a house, but another shrine.
The building was far less elaborate than the tomb I’d just left, but it was made of the same ash-colored stone and had a beautifully detailed roof. It was completely open in front and, while I dared not go completely inside, I could see a simple white stone table as an altar with offerings of candles and flowers sitting on it. Others had clearly been their in a less respectful manner as I saw graffiti on the walls inside, some messages written in Vietnamese, others pictures (including one of Ho Chi Minh). A few paces in front of the building was stone slab standing waist-high with engravings on the front and recently burned incense in a small sand pit behind. I still have no idea what this space was honoring, but being here made me feel still and meditative. Only the fear of being left behind by my group motivated me to go back down the hill and through the gate, but I left with a unique and personal experience.
Back on the bus, our guide picked up his microphone (again, ugh) and gave us his usual mix of interesting and questionable information. He had attended Cornell University so I’m sure he’d been around Americans often enough, but I feel as though he may not have picked up on what westerners find appropriate. I sat here dumbfounded as this Western-educated man claimed that an affinity for colorful clothing makes the last emperor “a gay.” I must admit, I judged him for a moment but I realized it’s just a cultural difference about accepted behavior of men and women – my judgment was nothing more than western elitism and hypocrisy, so I pulled myself back into a place of cultural understanding.
The next tomb we went to, that of Emperor Tu Duc, was completely different from the last. Where the previous tomb had a hard powerful appearance, this was peaceful and serene. There was a lot more land to this one with lots of lily ponds, gazebos, trees, and nice little dirt walking paths going all the way around the property. I discovered the reason there was so much space for just one man’s tomb is that, after an emperor died, his fifty or so wives were unmarriable and had to live out the rest of their lives at the tomb. It’s a cruel fate even in so nice a place as this. This information gives the walls spotted with giant, impenetrable red doors a much different feel. I started out going around with the tour guide’s group, but sometimes I get frustrated with tours where someone is always telling you where to look and what to think – I always feel like I’m missing out on part of the experience.
Instead, I broke off on my own to explore the back areas of the compound where there were no people. Along the trail were small spaces that appeared to be shrines of some kind. Each had a small set of stairs leading up to a stone courtyard with a focal point in the center. The first was a large stone tablet one-story high with engravings that presumably spelled out a Buddhist prayer. The next courtyard looked even more ancient with darker, more worn stone. At the head of the space was a smaller tablet only as high as my head with an intricate stone and porcelain mosaic in the form of a colorful dragon. Behind it was a square-shaped space walled off except on one side. Inside that area was another wall, identical but smaller, almost like a small box set inside another except that neither box contained anything. I walked all the way through the stone corridors between the walls then entered the space sectioned off by the interior wall but neither contained anything to report – no art, no altars, nothing. It felt like walking through a maze but with no end goal – I still have no idea what it could have possibly been used for. Eventually I made my way all the way around the compound, eventually ending up back at the lily pond (which might be more accurately referred to as a lake). I can’t say which of the two tombs I enjoyed the most because they were too different to compare, but in both cases the points where I ventured off on my own are the most vivid in my memory.
After dinner (which consisted primarily of me stuffing my face with tiny crispy egg rolls) we went over to the bridge. It’s a large modern bridge with a sidewalk on one side of the road for pedestrians. Here we stopped and hung out like all the locals around us. The bridge was equipped with spotlights that changed color every minute, reflecting off the white painted steel of the bridge. This provided a wonderful backdrop for our impromptu photoshoot (which was appropriately epic). On the other side of the bridge we stopped for sweetsoup. During my time in Vietnam thus far, I’ve had three sweetsoups and none of them bore any resemblance to the others. The first in Ninh Thuan was a drink made of cold sweet liquid with pieces of gelatin thrown in, the second in Hoi An was a thick custard made of corn, and this was more like a smoothie with whole chunks of banana in the mix. Apparently there are more varieties of sweetsoup than any of the Vietnamese roommates can describe, so it appears I’ve only just scratched the surface on this desert.
To get back to the hotel, someone suggested taking cyclos, which is a type of rickshaw where someone pedals a bike set behind a larger seat for the passengers. Frankly, the concept of a rickshaw has always bothered me to some extent. I know I’m giving someone business, but at the same time it conjures up images of royalty being carried around on the shoulders of slaves and I’m no princess. I have two good feet, I can do my own walking and pedaling.
Vietnam Day 26 (7/3/09)
After a complimentary breakfast that was neither entirely Vietnamese nor entirely Western (it was a buffet with odd choices ranging from eggrolls to spaghetti), we left the hotel for the My Son Mountain. A hike up this mountain brings you to the ruins of the Cham people, a complex of brick structures made completely without mortar (archeologists still don’t know how). The structures are incredible, though I can’t say I had the most mature reaction when I saw the large phallic statue that was once placed atop the temple to improve the emperor’s virility. The mountains were crawling with tourists, snapping pictures in front of everything (not that we were doing any different), some even wearing heels and traveling in packs hidden under umbrellas.
Back in town, we sat down to lunch near the river at a restaurant serving food similar to what we ate last night. At this restaurant however, the service was painfully slow. In the epically long stretches between courses, we all complained about how much time we were wasting waiting for food. I must admit, I chimed in during these conversations too, but when I sat back and thought about it, I decided it was a good thing. We’re always so crunched for time that we rush through our days, never stopping long enough to really appreciate the character of whatever town we’re in. I felt really bad for having whined, but at least we weren’t as bad as the shameful Westerners one table over eating pizza, burgers, and fries (that’s all the other Westerners eat here).
I devoted the rest of the afternoon to shopping. A group of us started in an open-air market, where the vendors had two very different styles of attracting customers. Some were nicer than those in Saigon, not bothering passersby, but sitting patiently and only looking up if someone stopped at their stall (part of why it’s so rude in this region to browse unless you’re committed to buying from that stand). The alternative strategy was demonstrated by three saleswomen who actually left their booths to follow us down the entire length of the market, calling to us the whole way. Despite this annoyance, we had a rather successful shopping trip, though I know for a fact we got ripped off in a couple of cases. One of my purchases didn’t work out so well unfortunately. Since I lost my rings at rollerskating, I got a new amber-colored glass ring. Within an hour of buying it, it dropped and, being glass, broke into three pieces – some higher power doesn’t want me to wear rings in this country.
After a simple but delicious dinner of chicken and rice, some of the group rented bicycles to tour the town. Kendra, Molly, and I were uneasy about the bikes though because it was nighttime in a new city and half the roads had been turned into lakes by the rain. Riding around in that just didn’t sound like fun. What we weren’t told was that the bike people were actually going to the beach which we were sad to miss. However, we made our own fun exploring different side-streets in town. We even found a nice jewelry store that was shockingly different from the dozens of others on the main drag. I got a lovely black pearl necklace, which I think is ample compensation for missing a difficult highway ride to a beach that turned out to be dumpy anyway.
Back in town, we sat down to lunch near the river at a restaurant serving food similar to what we ate last night. At this restaurant however, the service was painfully slow. In the epically long stretches between courses, we all complained about how much time we were wasting waiting for food. I must admit, I chimed in during these conversations too, but when I sat back and thought about it, I decided it was a good thing. We’re always so crunched for time that we rush through our days, never stopping long enough to really appreciate the character of whatever town we’re in. I felt really bad for having whined, but at least we weren’t as bad as the shameful Westerners one table over eating pizza, burgers, and fries (that’s all the other Westerners eat here).
I devoted the rest of the afternoon to shopping. A group of us started in an open-air market, where the vendors had two very different styles of attracting customers. Some were nicer than those in Saigon, not bothering passersby, but sitting patiently and only looking up if someone stopped at their stall (part of why it’s so rude in this region to browse unless you’re committed to buying from that stand). The alternative strategy was demonstrated by three saleswomen who actually left their booths to follow us down the entire length of the market, calling to us the whole way. Despite this annoyance, we had a rather successful shopping trip, though I know for a fact we got ripped off in a couple of cases. One of my purchases didn’t work out so well unfortunately. Since I lost my rings at rollerskating, I got a new amber-colored glass ring. Within an hour of buying it, it dropped and, being glass, broke into three pieces – some higher power doesn’t want me to wear rings in this country.
After a simple but delicious dinner of chicken and rice, some of the group rented bicycles to tour the town. Kendra, Molly, and I were uneasy about the bikes though because it was nighttime in a new city and half the roads had been turned into lakes by the rain. Riding around in that just didn’t sound like fun. What we weren’t told was that the bike people were actually going to the beach which we were sad to miss. However, we made our own fun exploring different side-streets in town. We even found a nice jewelry store that was shockingly different from the dozens of others on the main drag. I got a lovely black pearl necklace, which I think is ample compensation for missing a difficult highway ride to a beach that turned out to be dumpy anyway.
Vietnam Day 25 (7/2/09)
After two and a half blissful hours of sleep, I hauled myself out of bed and over to the airport. The lines in the airport were ridiculous. The ticketing and security processes themselves were painless, but the lines waiting to get to those points took almost two hours. By the time we got to the gate people had already started boarding. All that matters is that we made the flight (My’s and Phat’s first, which is always exciting). During the hour flight, we flew over plains and mountains so untouched I knew I had to be back in central Vietnam. We met our guide at the tiny Qui Non Airport and boarded an even tinier bus to go to Son My.
Kendra, Wen, and I ended up on tiny seats that folded out into the aisles and offered absolutely no back support so we had a very uncomfortable three to four hour bus ride (unclear exactly how long it took because the guide gave so many fifteen-minute warnings that I lost track). The view on the other hand was amazing the whole way. We passed all sorts of fields, towns, and mountains, all insanely beautiful (with the exception of the men relieving themselves on the side of the road or, as our guide put it, doing the bush dance). More than one of the Vietnamese roommates told us that this was the “real Vietnam.” With farmers comprising nearly eighty percent of the population, I suppose they’re right.
At last we arrived at Son My, the site of what is referred to by Americans as the My Lai Massacre. This is the site where one mentally-unbalanced U.S. commander led his platoon to brutally murder almost an entire village of peaceful people living in Son My. The pictures of the aftermath were disturbing and devastating to look at. Everywhere, images of young and old killed in the most horrible ways and left in unforgivably disrespectful conditions and positions. There were also pictures of the American soldiers who tried to stop the killing, as well as of the photographer who exposed this monstrosity to the world. I admire the Vietnamese for calling any Americans “heroes” after what they lost here. There was large stone slate with engravings of all the names and ages of victims – far too many of the ages were in single digits.
We passed the large statue built as a memorial, with incense burning at its base, and walked out onto the grounds where the genocide occurred. We saw the foundations left behind when the misguided American soldiers burned down the houses as they left. One of the survivors, a small woman of about eighty, paused from her work picking vegetables to talk to us. She told us the story of how she survived by lying in the river pretending to be dead until the soldiers looked away and she fled with her young daughter. As her eyes welled up with tears, I felt mine do the same. She didn’t need to speak English for me to see the pain in her eyes. I couldn’t speak for some time after we left. I knew if I opened my mouth I would start screaming and weeping. It wasn’t as if I felt guilt because Americans were involved, I was just mortified to see further proof of mankind’s ability to hate and destroy.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
In the afternoon we checked into our hotel which turned out to be a resort complete with all the amenities – a luxurious pool, riverside views, and even a bathtub-shower combo with a real shower curtain. After a delicious four course dinner, we walked around town looking at the shops. The streets were dominated by tailor shops since Hoi Anh is famous for its speedy tailors. Some of the girls were thinking about having something made but I was so overwhelmed by the number of shops to choose from that I gave up on that notion. The other shops were overwhelming as well. They did have really beautiful things like lacquerwear, jewelry, and lanterns, but as we went further down the street every shop started to look exactly the same and all of the beautiful things inside just started to feel mass-produced (which, don’t get me wrong, didn’t stop me from buying a few things here and there).
At the end of the road was a Japanese-inspired bridge that would have been a beautiful scenic photo shoot opportunity were it not for the slums on the other side and the putrid smell coming from the trash-infested water flowing underneath. Before going back we stopped at a street-side cart to have sweetsoup. Unlike the gelatinous drink I had in Ninh Thuan, this version of sweetsoup was a warm corn pudding, which I liked a lot better – in fact, I loved it. Above us and scattered around town was a mixture of traditional colored lanterns and others with the flags and names of different countries of the world printed on them – there seemed to be one for every single country from Colombia to Slovenia. For some reason, I’m finding traffic here more problematic than in Saigon. I suppose it’s possible the drivers here aren’t as skilled as smoothly avoiding people or perhaps the reduced number of vehicles is lulling me into a false sense of security so I’m more easily surprised by them – either way, I haven’t been able to cross the street with the same ease as in the city. Maybe I’m just disoriented from visiting too many touristy shops.
Kendra, Wen, and I ended up on tiny seats that folded out into the aisles and offered absolutely no back support so we had a very uncomfortable three to four hour bus ride (unclear exactly how long it took because the guide gave so many fifteen-minute warnings that I lost track). The view on the other hand was amazing the whole way. We passed all sorts of fields, towns, and mountains, all insanely beautiful (with the exception of the men relieving themselves on the side of the road or, as our guide put it, doing the bush dance). More than one of the Vietnamese roommates told us that this was the “real Vietnam.” With farmers comprising nearly eighty percent of the population, I suppose they’re right.
At last we arrived at Son My, the site of what is referred to by Americans as the My Lai Massacre. This is the site where one mentally-unbalanced U.S. commander led his platoon to brutally murder almost an entire village of peaceful people living in Son My. The pictures of the aftermath were disturbing and devastating to look at. Everywhere, images of young and old killed in the most horrible ways and left in unforgivably disrespectful conditions and positions. There were also pictures of the American soldiers who tried to stop the killing, as well as of the photographer who exposed this monstrosity to the world. I admire the Vietnamese for calling any Americans “heroes” after what they lost here. There was large stone slate with engravings of all the names and ages of victims – far too many of the ages were in single digits.
We passed the large statue built as a memorial, with incense burning at its base, and walked out onto the grounds where the genocide occurred. We saw the foundations left behind when the misguided American soldiers burned down the houses as they left. One of the survivors, a small woman of about eighty, paused from her work picking vegetables to talk to us. She told us the story of how she survived by lying in the river pretending to be dead until the soldiers looked away and she fled with her young daughter. As her eyes welled up with tears, I felt mine do the same. She didn’t need to speak English for me to see the pain in her eyes. I couldn’t speak for some time after we left. I knew if I opened my mouth I would start screaming and weeping. It wasn’t as if I felt guilt because Americans were involved, I was just mortified to see further proof of mankind’s ability to hate and destroy.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
In the afternoon we checked into our hotel which turned out to be a resort complete with all the amenities – a luxurious pool, riverside views, and even a bathtub-shower combo with a real shower curtain. After a delicious four course dinner, we walked around town looking at the shops. The streets were dominated by tailor shops since Hoi Anh is famous for its speedy tailors. Some of the girls were thinking about having something made but I was so overwhelmed by the number of shops to choose from that I gave up on that notion. The other shops were overwhelming as well. They did have really beautiful things like lacquerwear, jewelry, and lanterns, but as we went further down the street every shop started to look exactly the same and all of the beautiful things inside just started to feel mass-produced (which, don’t get me wrong, didn’t stop me from buying a few things here and there).
At the end of the road was a Japanese-inspired bridge that would have been a beautiful scenic photo shoot opportunity were it not for the slums on the other side and the putrid smell coming from the trash-infested water flowing underneath. Before going back we stopped at a street-side cart to have sweetsoup. Unlike the gelatinous drink I had in Ninh Thuan, this version of sweetsoup was a warm corn pudding, which I liked a lot better – in fact, I loved it. Above us and scattered around town was a mixture of traditional colored lanterns and others with the flags and names of different countries of the world printed on them – there seemed to be one for every single country from Colombia to Slovenia. For some reason, I’m finding traffic here more problematic than in Saigon. I suppose it’s possible the drivers here aren’t as skilled as smoothly avoiding people or perhaps the reduced number of vehicles is lulling me into a false sense of security so I’m more easily surprised by them – either way, I haven’t been able to cross the street with the same ease as in the city. Maybe I’m just disoriented from visiting too many touristy shops.
Vietnam Day 24 (7/1/09)
My stomach was still off, but I decided to try easing myself back into a normal diet by eating solid but bland foods. It was nice to have real food again, but it devastated me not to use hot sauce. We’ll be visiting the central region during the next four days and since Kendra’s and Khang’s birthdays occur during that span of time, we decided to celebrate early and throw them a surprise party. Van Anh and Hanh are experts at planning a party – they got lots of decorations and even cut out party hats and used colored paper to make cute faces on them. They got balloons, which would normally seem like a natural addition to a birthday party except that they accidentally got water balloons. People were turning purple trying to blow them all up, but they managed and soon the walls were covered with little squash-shaped balloons.
Alex, Van, and I went to Ben Thanh Market to buy a present for Kendra (earrings of course). We got there just five minutes before closing, but we’re expert shoppers and found some nice ones and haggled down the price (though we probably still got ripped off) all before the stalls shut down. It was raining and we needed to get back in time for the party so we grabbed the first cab we could, even though we knew we were taking a risk since we didn’t know the cab company. I thought we might get ripped off but this was ridiculous. The driver claimed the meter was going up so high because traffic slowed us down, but I’ve taken cabs to and from Ben Thanh often enough to know he was taking us a roundabout way. I’m convinced there’s a button on the steering wheel that lets the driver change the meter at will. By the time we made the decision to bail out and walk the rest of the way, we were nearly at the guesthouse, but it was the principle of the thing – I wasn’t going to pay that driver a cent more. We crossed the crazy street to the guest house feeling used.
The surprise party went wonderfully despite a few close calls and planning snafus (the party wasn’t actually ready three different times they called us over, so I had to keep distracting Kendra for nearly an hour). The major epiphany of the night was that birthday cake is the ideal chopstick food. It’s easily cut into perfect bite-sized pieces by pinching it with the chopsticks. I think I’m going to start a new tradition when I get back to the U.S. – everyone who wants to eat my birthday cake has to use chopsticks (which means I’ll have to teach Mom pretty soon after I get back). After the party, we packed our things and tried to get whatever sleep we could, a more difficult task in my case since there were two extra people sleeping in the beds we’d pushed together (Hanh because her room reeked of birthday cake and dried squid from the party and Hieu just because he loves us), but I had to try because we were leaving for the airport at the inhumane hour of 4:30 a.m.
Alex, Van, and I went to Ben Thanh Market to buy a present for Kendra (earrings of course). We got there just five minutes before closing, but we’re expert shoppers and found some nice ones and haggled down the price (though we probably still got ripped off) all before the stalls shut down. It was raining and we needed to get back in time for the party so we grabbed the first cab we could, even though we knew we were taking a risk since we didn’t know the cab company. I thought we might get ripped off but this was ridiculous. The driver claimed the meter was going up so high because traffic slowed us down, but I’ve taken cabs to and from Ben Thanh often enough to know he was taking us a roundabout way. I’m convinced there’s a button on the steering wheel that lets the driver change the meter at will. By the time we made the decision to bail out and walk the rest of the way, we were nearly at the guesthouse, but it was the principle of the thing – I wasn’t going to pay that driver a cent more. We crossed the crazy street to the guest house feeling used.
The surprise party went wonderfully despite a few close calls and planning snafus (the party wasn’t actually ready three different times they called us over, so I had to keep distracting Kendra for nearly an hour). The major epiphany of the night was that birthday cake is the ideal chopstick food. It’s easily cut into perfect bite-sized pieces by pinching it with the chopsticks. I think I’m going to start a new tradition when I get back to the U.S. – everyone who wants to eat my birthday cake has to use chopsticks (which means I’ll have to teach Mom pretty soon after I get back). After the party, we packed our things and tried to get whatever sleep we could, a more difficult task in my case since there were two extra people sleeping in the beds we’d pushed together (Hanh because her room reeked of birthday cake and dried squid from the party and Hieu just because he loves us), but I had to try because we were leaving for the airport at the inhumane hour of 4:30 a.m.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Vietnam Day 23 (6/30/09)
My stomach bug kept me in bed all morning. I certainly wasn't feeling good but I guess you could say I was doing better than last night. Van Anh brought me porridge to get some food in me (a very Asian remedy to illness and a welcome one at that moment). Everyone kept coming by to check on me during the day, which was really touching (and relieved some of the boredom that comes with laying in bed all day). I slept almost the entire day away, which is really unfortunately given how few days I have in Vietnam.
In the evening, I felt well enough to go to our weekly discussion with Rylan. It might have been better for me to just stay in bed since I didn't get as much out of this talk. We were discussing sex and perceptions of virginity in our respective countries. It was really uncomfortable and no one wanted to give a very strong opinion at the risk of insulting someone else. Maybe in a smaller group it would have been better, but with sixteen of us sitting in a circle in silence it was just awkward. Near the end of the time we got down to business. We were splitting into groups and picking leaders for the three different projects we'll be working on in Ben Tre - building latrines, fixing a school, and building a playground. Rylan immediately declared me leader of the latrine project since it falls in with my environmental work, which is fine by me since that's the project I wanted anyway. My co-leader is Van Anh (roommie power) and our only but very enthusiastic follower is Hieu. We were discussing some less blunt ways to refer to our project, but eventually decided to embrace the term "toilet." In fact, we're planning on having "team toilet" t-shirts made. I'm really excited about my project - something about having a shovel in your hand really makes you feel like you're doing something significant. [By the way, I should mention that we're building the foundation for a toilet so it's not a smelly job or anything and it'll really do some good because the current bathrooms deposit tons of human waste into the already filthy rivers.]
We went out for dinner afterward, but since it was so late the restaurant had pretty much run out of everything except porridge. Since porridge was all I'd eaten all day, I wasn't really feeling it, though other people seemed to enjoy it a lot. Instead I scored one of the last bowls of special wet noodles with pork, my equivalent of American chicken noodle soup. It was pretty good but it couldn't heal my stomach entirely and I went to sleep still feeling pretty out of it.
In the evening, I felt well enough to go to our weekly discussion with Rylan. It might have been better for me to just stay in bed since I didn't get as much out of this talk. We were discussing sex and perceptions of virginity in our respective countries. It was really uncomfortable and no one wanted to give a very strong opinion at the risk of insulting someone else. Maybe in a smaller group it would have been better, but with sixteen of us sitting in a circle in silence it was just awkward. Near the end of the time we got down to business. We were splitting into groups and picking leaders for the three different projects we'll be working on in Ben Tre - building latrines, fixing a school, and building a playground. Rylan immediately declared me leader of the latrine project since it falls in with my environmental work, which is fine by me since that's the project I wanted anyway. My co-leader is Van Anh (roommie power) and our only but very enthusiastic follower is Hieu. We were discussing some less blunt ways to refer to our project, but eventually decided to embrace the term "toilet." In fact, we're planning on having "team toilet" t-shirts made. I'm really excited about my project - something about having a shovel in your hand really makes you feel like you're doing something significant. [By the way, I should mention that we're building the foundation for a toilet so it's not a smelly job or anything and it'll really do some good because the current bathrooms deposit tons of human waste into the already filthy rivers.]
We went out for dinner afterward, but since it was so late the restaurant had pretty much run out of everything except porridge. Since porridge was all I'd eaten all day, I wasn't really feeling it, though other people seemed to enjoy it a lot. Instead I scored one of the last bowls of special wet noodles with pork, my equivalent of American chicken noodle soup. It was pretty good but it couldn't heal my stomach entirely and I went to sleep still feeling pretty out of it.
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