Cousinspiration: reminding me about writing

A Boy in a Gulley

Shimmering summer heat fills a meadow 

Sheltered by a flowering thornbush, tall grass 

Cool springwater shocks the feet

Mud and stones caress the toes

Wild mint scent locks in the nose.

Unsure of life's trajectory or if trajectory 

is even good. The new squeezing in 

the old out, no space between.

The desk chair ache relieved 

by sidewalk vendor cheer.

Repetitious daily grind washed off by 

Cleanliness of fresh rice noodles, 

Abrasiveness of shrimp paste, 

Bitter purity of green tea,

Liveliness of mint.

Mud between the toes.

Trajectory is not my goal, 

Life is not linear

Mint is not confined to the

meadows of my childhood.

Selling for Story.

Feels weird to be selling the bus. Like it's a part of me. Which is a weird thing to feel because I haven't even seen this bus for a good few years. Haven't lived in a permanent way in the same country as this bus for more years than I usually care to count up. Haven't had it road-worthy for more years than that.

But that strangely cloud-like feeling of driving the bus, a pumpkin-orange 1975 VW combi, comes right back to me. (Second gear was especially cloud-like; you knew where it was, you could go poking around in that area for a long time and just hit fluffy white stuff before you hit the grindy part and the WHACK! off-you-go bit!) But once you got used to the floaty handling, foggy shifting and aspirational braking, it was pure pleasure to drive.

But before that was the camaraderie of working on it; a couple guys getting greasy in a shed half the night trying to impose the neat diagrams in the repair manual onto the time-worn saved-from-the-junkyard relic into which we directed our dreams. I don't remember that much about the whole mechanical side of the project, but one of the benefits of that time spent monkey-wrenching was durable friendship. You can't hold grudges against the guy who held up the other end of the transmission!

So the bus took us from the northeast across the country to California, and north to Alaska, and back again; then the project was over. (I never thought i could fit that trip into one sentence, but there it is!) But the bus remained. Over a few years the bus served as semi-reliable transportation for me, and as the star of more camping trips, the longest of which was through New England and Atlantic coast Canada to Cape Breton. Eventually, though, life priorities moved over and the ongoing maintenance and renovation needed to keep the bus going just didn't seem worth it. 

So it was parked. Put to pasture, as it were, on the same farm where most of the work to resurrect it had taken place. Life keeps on moving on, and now the bus is up for auction. Having kept good company for too many years among quality John Deeres on the farm (that's what I'd call swinging above your weight - not unlike myself hanging out with guys who could actually figure out how to keep the bus running, way back when), the bus joins them on the auction block.

Now, the bus is a real thing - in all its rust and grease and uncannily rust-proof, rounded-off beauty it is very real. Yet, for almost 20 years, it has been, for me, a story from my past. That story is about to get a new chapter. It might well be a very short brutal chapter, but at least it will be new!

I would like to think there is someone out there with the stubbornness, inspiration and resources to put this bus on the road again and add to the story. If there is such a person, the chances that they will show up at a farm auction this Friday in rural PA seem pretty small. Nevertheless I like the quick decisive finality of the auction. Bidding is fast and cold - you can be buying it for a birthday gift, for breakdown into parts, or for scrap metal, but when the bid moves you are either in or out, no lollygagging! 

I do hope the winning bid nets me enough to go out and get a good breakfast, remember days gone by and appreciate how those times lead me to where I am today. But regardless of how the "good breakfast" idea works out, what the bus gave me was a good story. And I get to keep that!

Morning

Sky, tree and sunrise make my commute a thing of beauty.

Walking for Scholars' Promise

Built around 1900 during the French colonial period in Vietnam, Long Bien Bridge was for many decades the only link across the Red River flowing through Hanoi. Today, while it still supports train traffic and a lot of motorbike traffic, it is less important as infrastructure but more important as an icon of Hanoi. Although bombed numerous times during war the bridge was never successfully destroyed, and stands today in its patched and repaired state as a testament to the power of determination (and as the start point of my Digital Learning Day Virtual 5K walk).

International students seeking access to an American education clearly face challenges. But there are also numerous pathways open to them. Digital learning, such as the American high school program offered entirely online by Scholars’ Promise, may be just the bridge you need to get you to your goal.

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"Train Street”

Along the viaduct supporting the rail line, the old stone arches have been filled in and designated an ‘art street’ for murals depicting old Hanoi. While the murals are full of nostalgia, many of the patrons are there to snap selfies, inserting themselves in these scenes from the past - and instantaneously posting them online, of course.

Curating our experience of the present seems a natural instinct, producing, you might say, an instant noodles variety of nostalgia. Speaking of which, you can also get noodles - along with all variety of street foods - served up on the sidewalk along this railroad. Which you might want to snap a picture of...

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Leaving the railroad line, I walked past a small park where a statue of V. I. Lenin stands. The large plaza in front of the statue is a popular evening spot for skateboarders, while in the daytime it is mostly tourists stopping by to snap pictures. Across the street is a flag tower, part of the pre-colonial military fortress Thang Long Citadel, as well as the Vietnam Military History Museum featuring outdoor displays of American and French aircraft and military equipment, wrecked or abandoned in Vietnam during war or upon the departure of these forces.

And, by the way, this walk happened to fall on the second day of the summit, of which Hanoi was very proud of being chosen to host, between US President Trump and North Korea’s leader Kim Jong-un. Flags and signs adorned many parts of the city (the banners above say: "Vietnam: A Safe and Friendly Destination" and "Hanoi: A City for Peace") and there were soldiers and armored personnel carriers patrolling around the iconic French colonial era hotel in the city centre, the Metropole. (Which is not normal, by the way.)

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The end point of my walk, the Temple of Literature is considered the “first university” in Vietnam. Established in the 11th Century, today this is a park-like space with koi ponds and temple structures arranged in feng shui perfection, along with a giant bell and giant drum. I am not sure if the bell and drum were used to announce class opening back in the day (?) but in any case they are impressively large. The Temple is Literature is a tourism draw and includes souvenir shops, but is also the site of photo sessions by graduates and a place of pilgrimage for students about to take key exams.

The flanks of the compound are lined with large stone tortoises whose backs support stone markers engraved with the names of successful candidates within the rigorous academic mandarinate system under imperial Vietnam. After we are done discussing the virtues and flaws of that system, and of today’s education system here in Vietnam, and that in the West; those stone markers are still there, those names are still there, their efforts, aspirations and dreams are still memorialized in stone for today’s would-be scholars to draw inspiration from.

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My route:

Scooter Trails

Cao Bang: The Road, the Ride, the Rest

This is Cao Bang from the seat of a mountain bike (or mostly I guess standing next to a mountain bike, since being a not terribly serious cyclist, I usually get off the bike to take pictures.) 

Cao Bang: The Scene

Last weekend I went to Cao Bang Province, a mountainous out-of-the-way place along Vietnam's northern border with China. As far as I know, Cao Bang is mostly known because of a big waterfall which straddles the border with China, Ban Gioc Falls. It is sort of the end of dry season and the water was pretty low, it is not exactly the Niagara River running through there, but it was nice to see anyway. Our homestays were fun and the scenery was amazing. The trip was mostly about bicycling, but the photos in this post are meant to be simply about Cao Bang in spring.

Time

Sky.

Tree.

Seed. 

Ba Vi by Bike

It has been quite awhile since I went to Ba Vi, like five or six years I think. So I thought I should go again, and that I should pedal, since what's the point of having a MOUNTAIN bike unless you ride it up a mountain sometime? So Ba Vi National Park is a mountain. Basically just one road goes into the park, climbing from the entry gate a distance of about 12 km to the end of the road, from which it is a short hike to either of two peaks, both with small temples on top of them. The road climbs to a point just shy of 1,100 meters altitude. That's a much bigger hill than I've done before on a bike, but it is a road not a trail (therefore smooth-ish not too steep) and - at least on this particular Saturday - well traveled. Rather too well traveled for my taste, but anyway.

Leaving Hanoi it took quite awhile until my legs really felt warmed up - I could try to blame that on the cool weather recently which I've been enjoying so much, but in fact it would mostly be due to me not riding any distance for a long time. I rarely ride west of Hanoi, and the distance to reach Ba Vi is a good part of the reason I hadn't ridden there earlier. Getting near the park, I stopped at a roadside shack for a bowl of phở, I've learned to really appreciate road-side phở when I'm riding bike. (In fact I don't eat phở very often in my normal routine.) It is light enough to eat a big bowl without feeling to heavy in the stomach when I get back on the bike, and it seems to give me some energy to work with too - beef and beef broth to keep me going!

Just before the park entrance I stopped to get two bottles of chanh muối to supplement my bike bottle of combuja. Good thing too, because they were all empty before I got to the top. The traffic back-up at the park entrance surprised me, but I didn't actually have to wait in line very long, it was just crowds of people milling around aimlessly and parking cars in the middle of the road before going through the entrance.

Once through the gate and past the tour bus parked right inside, I started up the hill and the crowd thinned out. Or at least stretched out. At numerous wildflower beds along the road on the first section, lots of people stopped to take pictures. It seemed busy, groups of young people mostly, passing me in packs of motorbikes, yelling out encouragement as I pedaled oh so slowly upward. I saw two cyclists coming down the hill - they looked like pros with all the fancy kit and nice road bikes, but then, even I look slightly less foolish when I am going downhill! I did see one other cyclists, coming down when I was near the top, who slowed down to tell me that I was almost there.

There is a "resort" at about the 400 meter mark, and there was a wedding being held there and crowds of folks wandering around the pine forest and taking selfies in the middle of the road. I kept on going, in the hope that I would find a quieter and more scenic spot for a break. One friendly fellow, who passed me three times on his motorbike on the way up, kept asking if I was going all the way to the top, the answer to which I didn't really know. The plan was to keep going until I decided to stop, whether it be at the top or at some breathless, cramped-up-legs spot along the way. I stopped for breathers frequently and had something to drink, almonds, boiled eggs with salt .... But I didn't stop for long because I knew, in that case, I wouldn't get started again! So I got to the top - after probably 11.5 kilometers in granny gear, I got to the top :D

There was a gusty cool breeze up there which was indescribably refreshing. Since I was last up there, they built a biggish car parking lot there and some more buildings for selling snacks, food and đồ lễ to take up to the temples, but it remains mostly tree-covered, and since it was indeed the end of the road, I got off the bike and told my legs that it was time for them to do whatever cramping and collapsing was necessary, and be done with it, cause we're only halfway!

To make up for having run out of chanh muối, I got six bottles up there and sat on the wall at the edge of the parking lot, relishing the breeze and the view (though it was fairly hazy, you couldn't see that far), and ate almost all the food I had brought along. It was brilliant. I did not hike up to either of the peaks, I can do that next time.

It took me over two and a half hours (in granny gear) to get up there; and after eating, drinking, communing with the breeze, and recovering up there, it took like 45 minutes to get down - including two side roads, one of which was just a dead end and the other going through and old French colonial era village of sorts - atmospheric ruins but on that day packed with people, motorbikes and trash everywhere (I have to go back, on a weekday, to recover my sense of wonder about that place!)

The ride back home was surprisingly uneventful. Still windy, still kind of far, still all flat. Had two cups of mia đá, the rest of my food, and another chanh muối. I like the idea of riding up a mountain like Ba Vi, but oddly enough, the rides on which I've done the most climbing remain shorter rides to another area where the hills are a mere 200+ meters high, but the roads/trails are dirt and go up and down and around, adding up to more work in the end. In any case, it was a lovely day out on the bike, and now I know where to go when I have the urge to spend two and a half hours in granny gear.

Hàm Lợn sorta Saturday