Saving Aeneas

Here's Farr's view of SE Asia:

Arrival/Day 1
Day 2
Day Three

So now that I've been in the Communist world, the post-Communist world, and the Capitalist world, and the future Communist world (America) I feel like I can make some reasonable comparisons between them.

First of all, Oriental communism is completely different from European communism. Vietnamese communism was poverty, Cambodian communism was a terror, and Chinese communism was poverty and terror together. Nobody I met in any country would admit (at least openly) that they wanted the bad old days of forced enthusiasm and collectivized farms back.

in Eastern Europe, on the other hand, the older a person is the more likely they are to feel like abandoning Socialism was a bad idea. Part of this is nostalgia (things always seemed better when we were young etc.), some is simply practical, as pensions for the elderly have been significantly reduced by the governments and by inflation (the 'paper leprosy' in Hungary) since the Wall fell, and some is disgust at the materialism and corruption of the new economic order.

Hungary, remember, had (after the revolt of 1956) a system of 'Goulash Socialism' where the government provided abundant material comforts to the general population while only going after those political dissidents who actively sought to bring the state down. Not the old Stalinist 'If you're not with us you're against us' but rather 'If you're not against us you're with us'. One guy in his mid 40s told me "Everyone had enough to eat. Everybody had a job though you didn't have to work to hard, there were plenty of community groups so people always had something to do, what more do you want?".

in Prague I found a similar story. In the Castle District I saw an open-air display in honor of the 20th anniversary of the revolution which brought an end to the Communist government. It was mostly signboards with interviews of people who had participated in the protests, and from what I could tell most of them said that the whole thing was a mistake and should never have happened.

So far as I know Hungary is the only country that ever reverted to Communism after abandoning it once before (the Hungarian Soviet Republic only lasted from 1918 to 1919) so if they ever went Communist again it'd be some kind of record.

For the last couple of weeks I've been suffering from a persistent cold and sore throat. Oddly, my efforts to nurse myself back to health by walking around in the cold and fog proved to be unsuccessful so I decided to head over to the Szechenyi Baths and 'take the waters'.

You see, Budapest is positively filled with the kind of Austro-Turkish baths fed by hot springs which were all the rage with European aristocrats around the turn of the 20th century.

Just my luck, one of them was holding a 'Climate Change Bath Party' with half-price admission, so I went. It was basically three open-air swimming pools - normal, warm, and 'sauna'/ The sauna was deadly hot; bathers are warned not to stay more than ten minutes in them for fear of burning their skin.

all in all it was a good time, even though I'm not a huge fan of swimming. It was also a little surreal to see people shivering in their bathing suits whenever they stepped out of the water.

Since I mentioned Prague and it's castle overlooking the city on a hill, I would be remiss not to mention that Buda has an even grander castle of its own. Behold, Buda Castle...

Built by the Austrians after the 1848 Revolution to keep the Hungarians under control. It's easy to imagine it as the seat of a great empire. Like many such places it is not only a fortress but a city-within-a-city, comprising a palace, shops, restaurants, museums, and:

A church, Szent Mathias.

A picturesque series of towers, the Fisherman's Bastion:



Statues of Hungarian worthies, such as King Stephen:



And even a series of underground caves. Not bad, Fatherland!

So...Prague! Home of absinthe, Vaclav Havel, foreign exchange students and would-be bohemians from all over the world.

My first impressions of the city were famously unfavorable. Now that I am giving the place a second chance, it hasn't improved too much, though I certainly can understand what draws so many people to it.

Certainly it has many fine old buildings, though not as many as Budapest. In general it is a bit more touristic than Budapest, with a slightly thicker concentration of chain stores and fast food outlets.

On the other hand, there are festive lights in all the major squares and the chill weather gives the place a Christmas air, even though Christmas is sitll almost two months away.

In my brief time here so far I walked around a bit and looked into the Czech National Museum. Unlike its Hungarian counterpart, the Czech National Museum doesn't seek to glorify the history of the Czech people but is much more of a natural history museum, with rooms full of mineral samples, stuffed animals, and a special exhibition on the solar system. All this seems a little bit incongruous with the Baroque statuary and vaulted ceilings, but none of the exhibits seem to suffer for it.

I suppose the difference between Prague and Budapest is that while Budapest is dignified and stately, clearly the sometime home of both a grand empire and a thriving intellectual and artistic scene, Prague is sort of a medieval Disneyland, a little too precious and cute for its own good.

The crowds of tourists are mainly responsible for this. Even now, during the off-season, the tour groups buzz like mosquitoes everywhere. In the Old Quarter and near the castle you have to positively wade your way around through masses of Americans, Germans, Chinese, Spanish, Koreans and every other nationality which can spare the money for a but of old-world sightseeing.

The higlight of my trip was almost certainly the Puppet Don Giovanni, which is exactly what it sounds like - Mozart's opera enacted with puppets and a classic recording playing in the background. Of course it had to cut down brutally - from over to hours to an hour and a quarter - but it was still a rollicking good time.

L - R: Don Giovanni, Donna Anna, Leporello

A couple of days ago I descended into the Metro to find the place swarming with riot police. The trains, too, were crowded with yelling groups of people and more riot police. Was it a political demonstration? Were people taking to the streets? Some kind of Halloween event? Then I saw everyone wearing the same scarves amd I realzed what was going on.

A football match.

I wonder what it is about football that has enraptured the rest of the world but has so completely escaped us Americans.

Don't ask me what the banner says because I don't know.

Last Friday I decided to take advantage of the Turner Exhibit at the Fine Art Museum. Much to my surprise, the exhibit was free. After I had my fill of Madonna pictures and Turner's Italian paintings I walked outside to see a crowd of people standing in Hero's Square listening to Beethoven. I recognized it because it was the 'Egmont' Overture, which I learned to play during my brief time with the Brandeis Orchestra. I had no idea what the crowd was up to, or why the were playing music by a German composer.

After the overture ended they all produced Hungarian flags and sang what I assume was the Hungarian national anthem. Apparently it was Revolution Day (which explains the free museum pass), the anniversary of the 1956 uprising which ushered it the more moderate Communism which lasted until the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Politics in Hungary are currently in a bad way. Elections are coming up the Far Right is expected to do very well. Partly because of the economic crisis, partly due to growing prejudice against Gypsies, and also because the ruling Socialist Party disgraced themselves when the former Prime Minister was caught on tape at a cabinet meeting talking at length about how terrible the economy was becoming and how they'd lied to people.

Looks like there are crazies all over.

Earlier in the day, Magyars have a European-style passion for coffee. Cafes (kavezok) abound, serving the usual array of coffees, teas, espressos, lattes etc.

Later on, when something a bit stronger is needed, they turn to:

- Beer. Most Hungarian beer is pretty terrible, but there are a wide range of imported German, Belgian, and Czech beers.

- Wine. I haven't had much Hungarian wine so I can't really comment. Apparently Georgian wine is excellent, and when the Russians invaded the imports stopped. Some people talk about this wine-less period as if it were a war itself.

- Palinka. Strong fruit brandy, generally made from apricots, peaches, cherries or plums. Usually the aroma of the fruit used is very apparent.

- Unicum. This is Hungary's national bitter, and it is terrible. A dark, soupy medicinal-tasting potion for the truly intrepid.

Hero's Square


Fine Art Museum


Opera House


Fighting the Hydra


Danube Bend


The Great Synagogue

The Budapest Metro has a rather odd ticketing system. Tickets can be bought from a machine or from a ticket-seller, but then they are checked by people called 'Kontrollers', who stand near the entrances to the trains and ask to show your ticket. Of course if you've got two or three people checking tickets and hundreds or thousands of people using the Metro at rush hour, most of the people simply breeze through whether they have a ticket or not.

It goes without saying that being a Kontroll is a pointless and alienating profession. I've heard stories about Kontrollers simply being ignored or told to fuck off, and while of course there's a fine for being on the subway or the tram without a ticket, technically the Kontrollers can't enforce it - they have to call the police, who don't like being bothered.

A few years ago there was a movie, also called 'Kontroll', about a group of Kontrollers who live in the subway without ever going to the surface. They deal with the scorn of the public and the indifference of the suits downtown. To pass the time they dirnk during their shifts and go 'railing' - that is, having races along the tracks to see who can out-run the next train. It's mostly a fantasy but it captures the spirit of the profession fairly well.

So I've solved one mystery: why Budapest is so quiet at night: because they've recently made it illegal to drink on the street, forcing everyone to stay inside the bars and not stumble around outside. Sounds normal enough, but it's provoked mutterings of 'creeping fascism' from the local drinking population.

Hungarian food - like most Eastern/Central European food, it seems - has the aim of putting as many calories as possible into a meal, usually involving some kind of breaded meat chop, sour cream, and a thick slice of bread. Also liberal use of paprika, which by regional standards makes Hungarian spicy and exotic.

A classic Hungarian snack is a piece of bread slathered with lard and covered in onions. Also, fried bread covered with sour cream and cheese. Arteries, shmarteries!

They're also fond of pastries, especially a pie-like thing called retesh, which is a flaky little bundle filled with a variety of things, usually apples or cherries or poppy seeds.

So here I am, out of Asia and in Europe - Budapest, Hungary to be precise. The land of my ancestors.

I have a one-person flat in Obuda. Obuda (or 'Old Buda') is a pleasant enough neighborhood, though there's not a whole lot to see. my street has a post office, a supermarket, and some Chinese restaurants- what more does a person need?

Speaking of food, Budapest seems to have a passion for 'Turkish' fast food, especially gyros and falafel. Pizza is also popular but most of it is pretty lousy. As mentioned, there are also greasy Chinese takeout places everywhere and plenty of chain burger joints too.

Budapest is a beautiful city. It's kind of a shock to see fine buildings everywhere after the comparative poverty of Vietnam, but I suspect that if it weren't for Communism half of those buildings would have been torn down to build shopping malls and Gaps.

The public transit system is pretty good. There are basically three metro lines which cover Pest (with one sneaking over into Buda) and there is a bewildering network of bus and tram lines, which I am still trying to figure out. The trouble is that the metro shuts down at 11:30, forcing me to use a cab to get home.

Budapest is also a shockingly quiet city. Downtown on a weeknight seems practically like a ghost town. At first I thought this was just in contrast with bustling Saigon, but locals and expats confirmed that Budapest really was was that silent.

So Farr's long-awaited visit to Indochina finally took place. He arrived late Friday night and took up residence in Stefan's dress shop along Hai Ba Trung.

He took to the difficulties of Southeast Asia - the traffic, the crowds, the constant demands for charity - with surprising equanimity, as if it were all local color. He was also agog over the low prices and took to photographing all of his meals.

The one thing neither of us could really take was the heat. After an hour or two of exploring we'd be forced to find an air-conditioned cafe and restore ourselves with a cold drink or two.

We did the usual tour things - War Museum, Reunification Palace, Cu Chi Tunnels. We also went in search of a tailored shirt that would meet his exacting standards (no luck( as well as cheap DVDs and various Vietnam trinkets (success). John was particularly taken with a shop selling old propaganda posters, urging the Vietnamese to raise more pigs and fight imperialism and so on.

Then, Angkor Wat, which are not any less magnificent for having seen them already. The usual swarms of postcard-hawkers were there, though they seem to have absorbed a great deal of information about the Obama family, which they used to gain our sympathy (and money).

It was all over before we knew it, and we each went our separate ways again. Until November.

After about 10 days in Vietnam I began to get worried that i wasn't getting enough calcium; I can't remember the last time I had a solid glass of milk and so I decided to head over to My Chau Pharmacy, which was recommended by Let's Go Vietnam.

You see, Stefan's shop (www.stylespy.vn) is located on Hai Ba Trung, the 'fashion street' of Ho Chi Minh City. It is lined with stores selling shoes, jeans, dresses, and every other f=piece of clothing you could wish for. For some reason, near his shop there is a small strip of pharmacies selling what I assume are dodgy generic medications.

Still, I felt confident enough to try for some basic vitamins and minerals. I waltzed into My Chau and gave the clerk a small slip of paper with 'calcium' written on it. In return, he gave me a very small packet containing four pills and demanded 500,000 dong (about $28). That seemed distinctly odd to me. I looked at the package and realized he had given me Cialis, not calcium.

Strong bones, indeed.

So now that I've escaped the PRC and their internet filters, I can say a few words about my life in Huizhou.

Huizhou is what in China would be considered a small city (roughly 3.75 million people) in Guangdong Province, about a 90 minute drive from Hong Kong.

It is, according to Wikipedia, 'In the provincial economic development strategy, Huizhou is regarded as a site for a world-class petrochemical industry, as well as the hub for solidifying information technology, and expanding exports and trades'.

That about sums it up. The whole place is as bland and uninteresting as a foreign metropolis of almost 4 million can possibly be, dominated by Wal-Mart and KFC. Also, there are no toilets.

The students were nice, but I didn't have many teaching hours and most of my time was given over to looking at grad schools and reading every book in my possession, including:

- The Red and the Black
- The Beach
- Kiss Kiss (by Roald Dahl)
- Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
- The King of Torts. That's right, I read a John Grisham novel

Sometimes, the gods punish you by granting what you ask for. I was feeling a bit cramped in Saigon and wanted to get out. Now that I'm back, it's never looked like such a cosmopolitan and exciting place.

They include:

Blogger
Youtube
Facebook
Most human-rights groups such as Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch etc.
The Daily Show/Colbert Report websites
Wikipedia's entry on 'Chinese Internet Censorship'

Websites that have been blocked in the past include non-Chinese Google, Yahoo, and Hotmail.

Firefox, canny little devil, notes that when the website you're trying to access is blocked it does not say 'Error' or 'Web timeout' but 'connection interrupted'.

Of course, if Blogger is blocked, how am I writing this? I'm using what's called an online proxy, which hides your ISP and allows you to surf the internet (mostly) free of restrictions, though some websites such as Facebook are still a bit off.

Having fled Vietnam just in time I found myself in Hong Kong with a few days to kill. Since I didn't know anybody I headed over to the local Jewish organization. When they turned out to be arrogant and unhelpful I realized I was going to have to take care of things myself.

Out of necessity I ended up staying in Chungking Mansion, where a tiny little room with a fan could be had for the bargain price of only 80 Hong Kong dollars a night. Imagine if Phamn Ngu Lao, De Tham and Bui Vien streets were crammed into a single shabby high-rise and the Vietnamese replaced with Indians and Africans, and you have a pretty good idea of what Chungking Mansions is like. Decent curry though.

Hong Kong isn't much of a city to look at - just endless skyscrapers housing offices, apartments and shopping malls, with elevated walkways between them to avoid the drudgery of having to descend to the lowly earth. On street level, Hong Kong resembles nothing so much as simply a Chinese New York with British street names.

It is notoriously short on sights. There's the harbor and the Big Buddha and some decent parks and even a Disneyland but didn't appreciate them.

You see, I was in a lather because NOT ONLY did the French people decide to go to Paris without telling me or leaving a forwarding address, leaving me stranded, but my backup plan - teahcing summer camp in Zhuhai, China - was canceled due to swine flu. At my wit's end I stormed into the office of the Education Company (I'd rather storm into Jean-Marc Merlin's office, but he's out of reach) and demanded they give me money or, failing that, employment. Eventually the agreed to give me a do-nothing job in Huizhou, a city near Canton.

So now I'm in Huizhou, which I suspect was devised by some clever Ministry of Tourism initiative to make every other place in China - maybe every other place on earth - look fun and exciting. My teaching starts next week but it looks like my classes will have less than 5 students each.

China is strange. It pretends to be Western with it's high-rises and straight streets and Macdonald's, but just under the surface it is far more bewildering than anything I encountered in Vietnam. Also the censorship si really bad; i can't get on Youtube or Facebook, and I can only update my blog now because I got a 'proxy server' to get past the firewall.

Wish I were in gay Paris, but that'll have to wait. I'll still be back in Vietnam come September.

So Now I'm in Hong Kong awaiting the next leg of my journey...and a good thing, since it turned out my Vietnam visa expires on Tuesday. I got the day/month thing mixed up.

So, since I'm not in the spirit for a lengthy introspection, I'd just like to say that I appreciate all the people I met in the last year and I'll miss you...at least until September.

The best way I can describe Singapore is basically as a very luxurious retirement community. It's warm. It's clean. It's well-organized. There are plenty of laws to keep the young'uns from getting out of hand, cheap and cautiously spicy Asian food, and non-threatening English-speaking minorities.

Also there are shopping malls everywhere. If there's a global recession on, you wouldn't know it from Singapore. The shopping, dining, and construction is blazing ahead at a rate that makes HCMC look quiet and indecisive.

Setnoas: A kitschy little island to the south of Singapore proper, with theme rides and beaches and aquariums and other stuff for children and their grandparents.

The Esplanade: A durian-shaped performing arts center (and shopping mall, of course) right on the bay.

Singapore Art Museum: A charming modern-art museum with some rather bizarre exhibits, such as a video of a Vietnamese artist cutting up dozens of pieces of pork, putting them into glass boxes and placing said boxes on the subway escalators.

Sir Raffles believed that ethnic groups should each have their own little enclaves, and so:

Little India
Chinatown
The Colonial District
The Arab Quarter

All pretty much what you'd imagine them to be, with the appropriate restaurants, shops and temples.

Then I was late for my flight and had to spend all day in the airport. I suppose you could argue most of Singapore is basically an airport mall, but it still wasn't fun...

Oh, and the Merlion! Half fish, half lion, it's the national symbol of the city-state which in an odd way manages to represent the dual East-West nature of Singapore itself, or so I just made up.

Walking around Saigon one is sometimes struck by the hideous grinning teeth all over the place with 'Nha Khoa' (Tooth House) written above. Some of them are straight-up dentist offices but many of them offer teeth-whitening and similar services.

Since I've always wanted to whiten my smile (and for the low price of only 1.5 million dong) I decided to go ahead with it. It hurt like hell (I had to sit with my mouth pried open for about an hour) but hey hey, my teeth are as bright and white and shining as the rest of me.

I;m still recovering slightly from last night, which was the closing of the 1st Annual Saigon Beer Festival. After bargaining the guy at the door down from the absurd entrance price of 400,000 VND I got in and found myself in a quasi-nightclub/bar where about 25 different kinds of beer were on offer. Also there were:

- Many many English teachers (and Westerners of all kinds)
- a Filipino cover band
- pool and foosball tables
- Chasids

The last were having a spot of trouble as they were unable to eat any of the food avialable, which was invariably of the fried and Bratwurst variety, and so had to down their beers without the consolation of calories. Unluckily, I forgot my new tailored shirt in the cab on the ride over. It only cost $20 but I really liked it and now I gotta go make another one.

So I suppose I might as well admit it: I ate a dog the other day. Don't judge me!

It wasn't an accident, some mystery meat from a street vendor. A Swedish friend of mine had vowed that he would not leave Vietnam without eating dog, and he brought me along for moral support.

Traditionally, dog is eaten more in the North of Vietnam than in the South, probably because it is considered a 'warming' food and the South is hot enough already.

As for the taste, it was rather like lamb, only even greasier. That's the reason it warms you up so quickly - there's so much fat. It wasn't terrible but I won't be eating it again anytime soon. For some reason you can definitely tell it's a dog; you can almost taste the barking and I find it a little unsettling.

Stop me if you've heard this one...

A Brit, and American, an Australian, and a Vietnamese man enter an elevator. Suddenly the air begins to smell foul. The Brit wrinkles his nose and asks 'Who farted?'. The American waves his hand in front of his face and demands 'Who farted?'. The Aussie gags slightly and asks "Who farted?". The Vietnamese guy glares at everyone else and demands 'I did!'.


Explanation: in Vietnamese, the expression 'Who farted?' (ai dit) is pronounced 'I did'.

About two weeks ago I was thrilled to see that the Saigon Opera House was planning to do Mozart's Bastien und Bastienne, one of his first operas and a charming little rustic comedy. I was a little put off by the fact that the brochure wasn't even printed in focus, but I put that down to the usual Vietnamese slapdash way of doing things.

Alas, four days before the opera was to be performed they announced that instead it would be replaced by a double bill of opera arias in recital and Mendelssohn's violin concerto in E minor. Much as I like those tings (and the performance was quite good), I'd really rather see Mozart. I guess my dream of seeing an actual opera in Vietnam will have to wait for the distant future.

As said, the performance was itself rather excellent save for two things: the Vietnamese singers attempting excerpts from 'Porgy and Bess' managed to make a hash of it (perhaps not unexpectedly) and the violinist insisted on doing an encore of the concerto's third movement, which delighted the crowd but ruined the symmetry of the piece. It's hard work being a snob.

1890-1969

Former pastry chef and revolutionary.

Although in retrospect my roommate might be a better person to write this article...

I've already discussed the mighty durian, and Vietnam has the usual bananas (which are smaller and sweeter than usual), mangoes, pineapples, and coconuts in profusion (which, for reasons unknown, the Vietnamese like to eat with salt and fish sauce). But it also has a whole range of fruits which are totally unknown to the Western palate. they include:

Water appleA shiny, vaguely tubular shaped fruit. As the name implies, this tastes rather like an apple (or possibly a pear) but moister. That's all there is to it.

SoursopHas a taste rather like an apple, but more starchy with oversize seeds. Also known as a sweetsop. Go figure.

Dragon fruitThe bright magenta outside hides a white, pulpy interior filled with black seeds. Totally bland, despite the fierce name.

MangosteenA strange, dark-purple fruit on the outside, soft and white on the inside. Mushy and intensely sweet.

CarambolaAlso known as a star fruit for obvious reasons. Has a sharp, sour taste and is even better when used in smoothies, though these are surprisingly hard to find. Also used to garnish salads and platters of fresh rolls.

Rambutan

A hairy-looking little spheroid which is in taste almost identical to a lychee, but obviously much more interesting to look at. Known as the 'hairy cherry' for people who like double entendres.

PomeloAlmost identical to a grapefruit, but with yellow instead of pink flesh. Also less sour and so far more appetizing.

This weekend is a double-whammy of Vietnamese socialism. First there was April 30, Reunification Day, when north Vietnamese tanks came crashing through the gates of the South Vietnamese presidential palace and made Vietnam into one country, as it remains to this day. Immediately afterward is International Labor Day. Four day weekend!

There isn't much to tell about the festivities here, really. You'd think that at least a Communist country would go all-out for Labor Day, but apparently not. I haven't seen any parades or large patriotic demonstrations. though there are some cool propaganda posters:


Other than that, most shops in the center of town are still open to cater to the large numbers of families who need someplace to take their kids since school is out.

It's seems odd that I've been blogging for almost 10 months and I've barely even mentioned Vietnam's most ubiquitous mode of conveyance: the motorbike. Sometimes it seems as if Saigon is not really a city but some kind of vast parking lot and testing ground for the two-wheeled menace. They crowd the streets (of course- but also the sidewalks, the alleys, and every place they can possibly be parked.

For people who are either semi-blind or desperately poor and cannot afford their own motorbike, the motorbike taxis (or 'xe om' or 'hugging bike', referring to the old practice of holding the driver by the waist) It's surprising to see how many of the older ones can speak English...and when they ask you where you're from and hear 'America' they tend to give a thumbs-up and say 'Ah, America very good! Numba one!'.

The reason for this becomes obvious if you talk to them a little. A high proportion of the motorbike drivers used to work for the American forces in VN or at least served in the South Vietnamese Army. After Reunification their employment options were limited and driving a motorbike was practically their only way to make a living.

The only trouble (once you can avoid being overcharged) is the at this point I happen to know my way around Saigon better than most of the drivers, but they won't listen to me either because my Vietnamese is lousy or because I'm a foreigner.

Last weekend I headed out to Dalat, some six hours north of Saigon, to take in some fresh air. I had heard about as 'Le Petit Paris' of Vietnam, and while I wouldn't go that far it was a perfectly nice place to visit.

Legend has it that 'DALAT' is an acronym for 'Dat Aliis Laetitiam Aliis Temperiem' ("Giving Pleasure to Some, Freshness to Others") Like most legends, this is too charming to be true.

Dalat is known as the 'City of Flowers' for its extensive flower markets. Also renowned are Dalat strawberries and (somewhat incongruously) the local artichoke tea.

Dalat is most famous as the honeymoon capital of Vietnam, the picturesque vistas, flower gardens, and mild climate allowing couples to contemplate their future together without choking on dust on being drowned in their own sweat.

Also, Dalat has it's own mini version of the Eiffel Tower:


Of course, because is so elevated and doesn't have the pollution of Saigon this makes the sun much stronger, as I discovered when I became horribly sunburned. But I suppose that is my own fault.

One thing it is very hard to be in Saigon is cold.

Oh sure, there are over-air-conditioned rooms here and there, but they're not much fun, and in any case they make my glasses fog up.

For cold - REAL cold, snow and ice and danger of hypothermia - you might be able to go all the way north to Sapa, but even then it's not a sure thing.

At some level all people desire the new, however, and to provide it the Dam Sen amusement park (out in distant District 11) has created the Ice Palace, an extra-cold room (basically a freezer) which has palaces, pagodas, and other impressive buildings carved out of the ice. Thoughtfully, the management hands out parkas at the entrance because most people inexplicably forgot to bring their own.

Unfortunately, ice is kind of boring, even when it's been carved into buildings. It's colorless and smooth and blandly uniform. So, the obvious solution was to fill it with oddly-colored lights. Viz:




I wish I could rent that place out for parties...

Well, we all knew it would happen eventually...

Burger King is coming to Vietnam. The first location will be on Le Loi street sometimes toward the end of May. I never went to Burger King in the States very much; now, like Samuel L. Jackson, I find myself basically a vegetarian, but I do love the taste of a good burger.

This is apparently in a move to counter Mcdonald's, which is opening it's first location in Hanoi around the same time. It could start a new war...

Well, ultimately I suppose this isn't really any worse than the proliferation of Lotteria and KFC, but there's something about the two ultimate American burger chains moving in that has a this-is-the-end feel to it...soon even the chain stores in Vietnam will look the same as everywhere else.

Ironically, the BK is opening not far from I Love Burger, a local place which strives to create a 1950s American hamburger-joint atmosphere, and may ultimately be run out of business by the real thing.

Update: I found out why this was so long in coming. Until recently, Vietnam had a series of protectionist measures in place which mandated that all international chains had to use Vietnamese produce. Apparently the quality of beef and potatoes here is too low even for a fast-food-chain, and so they stayed away. Now that VN has joined the WTO such restrictions have been lifted, and Burger King will use beef from Aussie and potatoes from Singapore.

As noted previously, the Vietnamese authorities are notably squeamish about what they allow people to see in terms of sex and violence.

Also, the Vietnamese haven't really cottoned onto 'malls' yet. Oh sure, there are department stores (always 'plazas') like Diamond and Parkson, but in terms of a mall - that is, a large space with numerous discrete shops in it - there are only one or two.

One of these is Saigon Center, on the corner of Le Loi and Pasteur. The ground floor is cafes, the second floor used to a combination of things, and the third floor is furniture and utensils. Anyway, I was wondering around there the other day when I stumbled upon this (do not scroll down if you happen to be at work right now):
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Not only is this way over the top for a country which won't allow women in bras in to appear on TV, but as a concept it just seems kind of....odd. Yes, come in, take a seat. Haven't you always wondered what it would be like to sit inside someone's ass? Well, wonder no more.

I guess it is a talking point...

When I first arrived in Vietnam the heat was the most overwhelming feature. It was hard to focus on absorbing the city, the culture etc. because so much of my time was taken up with keeping cool and hydrated. I spent the first month or two dashing from one air-conditioned haven to another, meanwhile gulping down gallons of water from the coolers all schools offer in the teacher's lounges.

That, however, was the rainy season, which supposedly lasts from June to November. Over time I got used to the heat and it gradually got cooler as we moved into winter. Now, however, comes the harsh two-month stretch of April and May, when the weather is hot and there is no rain to temper it.

Actually this was proven wrong (at least for a day) by the rainstorm this afternoon, which made the atmosphere quite pleasant and opened up what possibilities this city could have if it was 20 degrees cooler and not so humid.

While reviewing exams for my English 5 class I noticed that one student's writing sample seemed oddly familiar. it was written at a level far above the rest of the class, for one thing. The topic was 'A Nightmare Journey' and it described a trip from Dresden to Mallorca(!) Something was clearly fishy. So, i looked through the textbook and found the exact same writing sample in a chapter we had read some weeks back. Not to mention, the offending student had left behind a handwritten copy of the very same 'nightmare Journey' on his desk.

Brimming with teacherly indignation I marched over to the Academic Administration office and informed Ms. Uyen what had happened. She scowled at me and I immediately realized I had done something I shouldn't have.

"Where," she said "is your PROOF?" I produced the note, the exam, and the textbook. She glanced over them before turning back to me. "This doesn't mean anything. Maybe he just memorized it. It happens alot, what can you do? We can't punish him for something everyone does". She shrugged "But if you really want...take away a few points for lack of creativity". She waved a hand and the meeting was over.

Capitalism is here for good.

It's always a little difficult to tell exactly what is and isn't done on Vietnamese TV. Obviously extreme sex and violence are out, but it's not clear where the line is.

My first encounter with this came when 'Fargo' was on TV and they cut out the scene with the two kidnappers and the two prostitutes in the hotel. It's not very graphic but it is noisy, so I could see why a prudish government would cut it out.

I was stuck in a hotel room last weekend and 'Irma la Douce' came on TV. There's one scene (or possibly several) with Shirley McLaine standing around in her bra, but you can't see it because they've blurred everything below her neck. Of course, when they show the beach they don't hide the women in their bikinis, so I guess there's a distinction between underwear and beach wear.

I wonder how you get a job as a censor...

This HCMC's District 5 aka Cholon, originally a suburb of Saigon proper (though still connected by Nguyen Trai street) and the center of Chinese merchant life. As such, the name 'Cho lon' literally means 'big market'.

For much of the 20th century the district had something of a checkered past, gaining a reputation for shady casinos, brothels, and opium dens frequented by sailors and foreign pleasure-seekers and other unsavory characters.

After Reunification the Vietnamese government moved to nationalize most of the businesses, including those controlled by the Chinese community. This eventually led to the Chinese invasion of Vietnam in 1989, partly in response to the alleged persecution of the Hoa Chinese and also in retaliation to the Vietnamese for toppling the Khmer Rouge.

Nowadays Cho lon isn't terribly distinct from the rest of the city. Sure, they have alot of pagodas and narrow, winding streets - but so does practically every other place in town.

When traveling through Asia one cannot help but come across the ENGLISH TEACHER. They come in many forms, so here's a quick guide:

The Young Adventure-Seeker: 'A young cowboy named Billy Joe/Grew restless on the farm/a young man filled with wanderlust/who really meant no harm'. These are early-to-mid 20something people (in which I include myself) who, often fresh out of college, desire to travel and see the world before obligations set in.

The Orientophile: Someone who loves Asia, is fascinated by Asian culture, adores Asian people and feels more at home here than anywhere else. Often the Orientophile is the only person who can speak the local language with any skill.

The Educator: A person who's while life is teaching and who happens to be in Asia, not a person who wanted to come to Asia and took up teaching as the means. These are often (though not always) motherly middle-aged women with lilting accents.

The Spouse: The wife or husband of a big-league tycoon or diplomat who needs something to pass the time. Due to their higher social and economic status Spouses rarely socialize with other teachers.

The Woman-Hater: These are men who, disgusted by the independence and equality sought by women in the West, have come to a place where their relative wealth and status makes them desirable.

The Misfit: As the name implies, the Misfit turned to English teaching because all professions which require normal people were unavailable.

The Fugitive: A man (and it is almost always a man) seeking to flee his erstwhile home. Possibly something actually criminal' more likely a messy divorce.

The Dissolute: The Adventure-seeker plus 10 years. These English teachers never quite made it back home and now have no wish to. Their fondness for cheap beer is only exceeded by their fondness for cheap marijuana and the occasional prostitute.

Some categories may intersect.

I finally beat the Curse and went to the Opera House. It's wasn't actually doing any opera as such but that's beside the point.

The first half of the program was solely orchestral; the overture to Der Freischutz, an Vietnamese piece, and 'Variations on a Theme of Haydn' by Brahms'. All quite well done. I wonder what the HCMC Symphony Orchestra does with all their time.

Puccini's Messa di Gloria was a nice, exuberant piece, though I can't say it was particularly memorable. Still for an 18-year-old composer it was quite impressive.

The Opera House is a pleasant little theater but I'd be surprised if it could hold more than 300 people. There's no way they could actually perform opera there (maybe in concert?) but it gives you an idea of how small the French community actually was.

Afterward Oanh and I repaired to Q Bar, located in the basement of said opera house and so combining two of my favorite pastimes. It turns out Q Bar is rather labyrinthine, but I suppose that's the charm of it. Good drinks too, though I managed to spill my mojito on myself (klutziness not drunkenness).

Update: the local press weighed in, praising the performance though describing the Mass as an 'opera' by 'Puchini' (and a 'five-chapter' opera, no less). Still, it's good to see that at least they noticed...

Like many countries (Avenida Libertador, anyone?), most cities in Vietnam have the same street names, almost all of which are named for Vietnamese heroes and/or kings. This can be confusing for visitors, but here are some of the more prominent:

Pham Ngu Lao - a 13th century Vietnamese general of the Tran Dynasty

Le Loi - Vietnamese emperor in the 15 century who liberated Vietnam from Chinese rule. He is said to have been granted a magic sword by a turtle on the eve of a major battle. After his victory he returned the sword to the turtle in its lake.

Hai Ba Trung - The two Trung Sisters rode elephants against the Chinese way back in the first century AD.

Le Thanh Ton - Vietnamese emperor not long after Le Loi. He is known as the 'Vietnamese Hammurabi' because he drew up a comprehensive legal code and attempted to rule Vietnam through proper Confucian principles.

Tran Hung Dao - a Military commander during the 13th century, who managed to repel not one, not two, but three Mongol invasions.

Nguyen Trai - Scholar, poet, political thinker, and close friend of Le Loi. His writings helped inspire the Vietnamese people to rise up against the Ming Dynasty.

Some notable exceptions are streets named for Frenchman (Pasteur, Yersim, Alexandre de Rhodes) and Dong Khoi, know to the French as Catinat, the RVN as Tu Do (Freedom) and now Dong Khoi (Guerrilla Uprising).

So it looks like Valentine's Day has come to Vietnam is a pretty big way. The usual pink and red hearts are everywhere, set-price dinners abound, and flocks of schoolchildren selling flowers add to the usual gum and postcard hawkers.

Of course it makes sense that it should be so: Vietnamese culture is quite sentimental and any opportunity to sing love songs and sell candy is siezed upon.

The upshot of all this, however, is that it is literally impossible to find a taxi. Usually content to simply ride their motorbikes, the Saigonese have decided to splurge on a motor vehicle with doors and four wheels.

Eventually, Oanh and I were forced to share a cab with a good-natured Japanese fellow who was on his way to the airport, but the traffic was tremendous - even more than when Vietnam won the Asia Cup.

They re-opened the Opera House! And right after Tet, just like the receptionist told me.

No opera in it as yet - just some silly Vietnamese comedy involving cross-dressing. Still, this is definitely a hopeful sign. I'll drop by today to see if they have a schedule posted.

I don't expect Juan Diego Florez or Cecilia Bartoli to drop by anytime soon, but something classical would be nice...

Since time was passing slowly at Tet i decided to take a short trip to Vung Tau, a beach resort about two hours outside HCMC.

It's a pleasant little town, with nice beaches and good seafood. For some reason Vietnamese people don't usually wear swimsuits to the beach; they show up in jeans and shirts and go into the water anyway.

For reasons no one can quite explain, VT inspired a the construction of numerous huge religious statues. Probably the most striking is Mt. Jesus, who peers down on the city like a stalker hiding in the bushes:

Once you get closer, however, old JC becomes a bit more impressive, if not any less silly:

So today is the first day of the Vietnamese New Year, or Tet. This year is the Year of the Buffalo - my year!

Alas, everybody leaves town for the holiday and most of the businesses shut down. I'll have to find a way to pass the time until things start up again.

On the plus side, the streets are relatively peaceful and there are flowers all along Nguyen Hue.

It says 'Barack Obama will unite America just like Ho Chi Minh united Vietnam'.

As Barack Obama enters the White House, like most Americans I can't help but be reminded of the I, Claudius novels by Robert Graves. In them, Graves recounts the 'autobiography' of the Emperor Claudius, who took over the Roman Empire after cruelty of his uncle Tiberius and the more ruinously insane follies of his nephew Caligula.

Tiberius, of course, is probably Clinton. For all his bizarre (maybe 'indiscreet' is a better word) sexual habits under his watch the Empire was mostly well-managed, with the public works running and the treasury overflowing with gold. When Caligula took over from him, he was greeted with public adulation and the belief that his youth and eloquence would be the antidote for that dusty old he-goat. Unfortunately, Caligula turned out to be rather insane, committing incest with his sisters and pulling pranks like granting his favorite horse senatorial rank (at least according to Suetonius).

Eventually Caligula was assassinated and his uncle Claudius - infamous for his stuttering, his physical disabilities, and his general reputation as an idiot and an idealist - was made emperor by the Praetorian Guard, after which he surprised everyone by ruling justly and well.

So the question is: is Obama a Claudius or a Caligula? Like Claudius he has a fondness for studying history and is often underestimated by his opponents. Unlike Claudius, Obama probably won't be officially deified until he's out office. Like Caligula he has a talent for oratory and youthful vigor, though as far as I know Obama has no particular regard for horses. We will see...

Situated smack on the banks of the Saigon River, HCMC's original district - the very first place to be called 'Saigon', though the distinction has become somewhat blurred recently - and still known as the epicenter of the sprawling metropolis.

It is in District One that you find almost all the old French buildings, including Notre Dame Cathedral, the Hotel Continental, the People's Committee Hall (nee the Hotel de Ville) and the Opera House.

The district forms a backwards L shape, with Ben Thanh Market at the juncture. To the north is the French Quarter and to the southwest is the Tourist quarter, where backpackers on package tours live in relative poverty compared to the Parisian-style splendor which starts along Le Loi Street.

Although it has been getting some recent competition from District 7 and even Districts 2 and 3, District One is still where most of the action is and where I spend most of my time when I'm not at home.

So my vacation is over and it's back to work (at least until Tet...) expect more updates soon.

I met a traveler from an antique land,
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.