Monday, July 06, 2009

Xe Đạp Trẻ Xanh!




On the subject of bicycles, check this out:
The bamboo bicycle! I like this idea so much I would actually consider buying one, they are supposedly going to start making them in Cambodia - I guess I could ride it from there back home to Vietnam! Anyway, check it out here.

Friday, June 26, 2009

An Ambitious Yet Responsible American Pioneer

Advertising is one of the things that really cracks me up here. Working all night and buying a lot of coffee and junk food seems to be what I've been up to lately. I wonder who decided that the cup of coffee to go from a gas station is a great place for customer ego inflation? I'm a pioneer of recycling because I bought an outrageously overpriced cup of coffee !?! Perhaps I should introduce this kind of flattery to the coffee shop around the corner from my room in Hanoi, I don't think their customers realize that they are pioneers of recycling, for using cups that get washed and reused, wow, what a concept. Or that their beverages are extremely hot, now that is good to know. Or, indeed, that their cups make a statement about them - although perhaps that statement does not start with "Hey, look at me," perhaps it starts with "We only have one size of drink here (reasonable) and you picked it, congratulations !"


Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Watching and Reading

Reading the recent news stories about Sri Lanka, I was reminded of a film I saw not too long ago, The Forsaken Land (directed by Vimukthi Jarasundara). Although it is set in the context of the military conflict in Sri Lanka, the dominant impression I had of the film was of silence. I really liked that about it, the silence and the simplicity with which the characters are presented laid bare their common humanity, something too often lacking in movies from war-torn places.

Another film which gets a few stars from me is Couscous, the story of a North African immigrant family in the south of France. Humorous and honest – those two things always go far!


And from my reading list Dreams from my Father by Barack Obama was a good read. In part, I think, because there was no particularly presidential tone about the writing – it was written before the whole running for president thing came up. It is more simply the discovery and coming to terms with a unique family history, or perhaps it is not so unique a history, in any case it’s a good story and, you know, it’s always good to know at least a little something about the president!

The Old Patagonian Express by Paul Theroux is a classic old-school travel memoir, about taking the train from Boston to Patagonia, the southern tip of South America. I enjoyed it, as I have most everything I’ve read from Paul Theroux. Although it is quite old (aside from being old-school!), there are a great many things about travel that don’t change that much between places and decades!

Noah Adams, of NPR ‘fame’, wrote a book called Piano Lessons, on the experience of, well, taking piano lessons. Well written and a quick read, it somehow still failed to inspire me to go out and buy a piano… Perhaps that has more to do with the relative immobility of your average piano compared to, say, me, not to mention the price. I guess pianos are just like that!

Finally, back to Vietnam, Last Night I Dreamed of Peace is the personal diary of Dr. Dang Thuy Tram, a young woman from Hanoi who was head of a medical unit for the North Vietnamese Army during the war, until she was killed. This book was kind of an instant sensation when it was first published in Vietnamese, presumably because it is a strictly personal story from the war period, a perspective probably not often used when young Vietnamese learn about the war. Again, this book is a personal diary, not a history of the war, and, to the extent that you can glean broad themes from a diary, it says more about the human spirit than it does about war.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Moving Days

My stuff collection

Vưa nhạc cụ vưa thùng giặt áo

trúng xổ số

Happy Feet
My mascot

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

Echoes

A few months without nem chua or ca phê sữa đá, a few months of blog posts without labels like "safari" or "Tay Ninh". That is what is coming up here. I'm in the Hanoi airport, listening to occasional announcements, thinking about all the people who called me up the last few days to say goodbye and happy trails, and the people who (hopefully ... hint hint) will be waiting for me at the airport when I arrive back in the states. Echoes from both ends, both worlds, both pieces of my life which, I always realize this sitting in the airport, seem so far apart. I guess that is part of why I like it here, when I go home everything is fresh. Nostalgic and strangely unchanged, usually, but I appreciate it all more after having been away. Family and friends and law-abiding traffic and camping and road trips ... coming up soon!

Friday, March 27, 2009

Ngày Xưa

I was just reading an article about Kashgar which was reminding me of my brief time there. So I put up some pictures and comments from back in the day, to see them click here.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

My Pink Slip

I sat on the front step for awhile, waiting for the guys from the moving company to show up. My neighborhood in Saigon is so quiet. Interesting, because everybody says that HCM is so much noisier and busier than Hanoi, yet living in a small alley there I’m always somehow startled to see that, while in the morning there are a handful of coffee and breakfast soup stalls on the alley corners, in the afternoon the place is dead quiet. Good spot for me! Anyway, the guys from the train station came and we had the prerequisite conversation going: Hi, are you the guy moving to Hanoi? Why are you speaking Vietnamese? Where are you from? How long have you been here? How old are you? Do you have a wife? Why not? After exhausting that topic we are back to the subject at hand: Why do you have such an old motorbike? Is this all the things you are moving? After we were officially acquainted, he filled out a form saying something like “Blue Honda, old, many scratches, one helmet, one box of cotton”. Giving me a crumpled carbon copy of that form, my pink slip, he drove off, precariously balancing the large, fragile cardboard box full of books and clothes (passing for cotton) on the back of my motorbike. I put my pink slip in my pocket and hoped it wouldn’t rain before he got to the train station.

Upon arrival in Hanoi, I moved into my next room and went about enjoying the cool weather. The cool weather was, incidentally, accompanied by rain and humidity of the type that leaves the question ‘Is it raining?’ superfluous, as the same amount of water is floating around in the air regardless of whether or not it is raining. Three days of enjoying this left me with a nasty cold from which I am still recovering. My room is serving me well I guess – it has art and some character, which is nice although that doesn’t quite make up for the utter lack of sunlight and fresh air.

After two days I went to the Hanoi train station bearing my carefully preserved pink slip. Upon presenting it at the office there, I sat and waited awhile. And engaged in a few more of those prerequisite conversations… I guess I was a little early. They sent me across the tracks to the little shack where all the working guys were having tea, and those guys sent me to a rickety green rail car off in a corner where a guy with a green hat was lounging across a couple crates smoking a cigarette. He looked at me, a little annoyed, and pointed over to the passenger cars. I explained that I was picking up my motorbike and a box sent from Ho Chi Minh City, and he took my pink slip and wandered aimlessly around the inside of the rail car, full of boxes and crates of all sizes, kicking one here and there and reading numbers. After heaving my box out the railcar window he found my motorbike, completely wrapped up in bubble-wrap and box tape. I gave him $31.46, and walked outside the station and bought a plastic bottle full of gas to drive home on - they had drained the tank. My cardboard box, somewhat rounder than before but still in one piece, balanced nicely on the back. The bike apparently didn’t mind the slow train ride, and I got rid of my pink slip.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

The Road Home

A short video of the labrynth of alleys one passes thru on the way from the real road to Ong Noel in my room.