See Ya Saigon Hello Hanoi

It seemed to take forever to plan once the decision was made. To move a household from one end of the country to the other is probably easier if firstly you speak the language. We got over that with a little help from our friends. The second advantage was having struck up a friendship with a guy who happens to be in a senior position with the railways. We called in all favours and made life a little easier for ourselves.
Of course before we could start our journey we had to pack the house up. We sold off some things, gave away others and thought we had reduced the amount of gear we had to move. That was, until it came to fitting it into suitcases. Two cases became four, four became six, and that was just our check-in. We then carried a jumble of about eight bags, pillows (for comfort on the journey) laptop bags and camera cases. What a sight arriving at the station.
As we packed, we shifted things down a level in the house, leaving rooms vacant and ready for the new occupants. Eventually it was all assembled in the lounge room, a year of our life in boxes. Surprisingly we managed to get it all into one taxi and get it to the station the day before our departure, so that it could be taken to Hanoi and be ready for us to collect when we arrived.
With the packing and cleaning all taken care of, we continued the social rounds of farewell dinners. Saying goodbye was an intoxicating event, a meal here, a few drinks there. But really the world is a small place and we are only a short flight away. We had our last drinks at The Sheraton, watching the sun set over The Rex. This was one of the first stunning views we had seen of Saigon so it was only fitting that it was one of the last.

The Sun Sets on Saigon

Sign of the Times

Last weekend we had a delightful time with a group of our young Vietnamese friends.
Quan is a very friendly guy whom we first met at a restaurant, he was our waiter. His thirst for expanding his English has powered a friendship that we cherish. It was with a group of his friends, three young girls also learning English, that we spent our evening.
We started with the girls, arriving later, joining in our game of Scrabble. I might say, considering they had never sighted the game before and English is their new language, they had quite a store of words to put down. Of course, we won but they weren't far behind.
Quan, knowing that James likes wine, gave us a gift. It was a sort of DIY wine vat. A big ceramic pot carried in a woven basket. We had to add water to the pot which contained a substance that looked like sphagnum moss. This had to sit for about 20 minutes to ferment before we ceremoniously carried it into the lounge and placed it on the coffee table. Four bamboo straws pierced the plastic covering and we all took a sip. It tasted a little like port, rather raw, but heck, it was only 20 minutes. We looked like a group of hippies sitting around a communal pipe and sharing the fun.
Pizza arrived, again a new experience for the girls. They were very worried that it would make them fat but seemed to enjoy every bit. I gave them knives and forks but they didn't know how to use them. We talked and laughed into the night, the conversation disjointed at times and bizarre answers given to simple questions but a great night had by all. Especially Quan who, after three drinks, ended up asleep from too much alcohol.
Ha, one of the girls was off to New Zealand the following Thursday to commence a course in hospitality. When I asked her what time her flight was, she said she hadn't booked it yet, her plan was to do that on Tuesday. She was shocked when I said she may not get a flight at such short notice. "But why" was her response.
The naivety of these young people set me to thinking. The young people here embrace the Western way of life, they try to imitate it in most of the things they do. I guess young people are the same everywhere, influenced by their peers and fashion. There are those who are very modern in their dress. They wear the low rider jeans but modesty prevails and there is no belly button hanging out. T-shirts seem to be longer, just so that they meet the jeans. I have seen the Vietnamese equivalent to Emo (I think that's how you spell it) The advantage being, they don't have to dye their hair. But there are those who do dye their hair, the Vietnamese attempt at bleached blonde is not good. They congregate in groups, hang out in coffee shops, manage to terrorize traffic with three on a push bike, but deep down they are all still nice kids.
Fashion plays a bit part in trying to emulate the western world. I wish I was quick enough with my camera to capture some of the things I've seen. But somewhere out there is an enterprising non-English speaking Vietnamese person, printing slogans onto clothing. Some of the ones that have made me smile have been...
Slippery Slope...not good on a pretty young Viet girl.
Below Freezing Wear...on a jacket, but when does it get below freezing here.
Demilitarized Zone...I should hope so.
Peace, Love, Greed...pick the odd one out.
Fucing....thank heaven they can't spell.
Armani Exchange It Here...now, if I had Armani, I wouldn't exchange it.
It's All Mine, Want Some...inappropriately on a little girl's T-shirt.
I wish I could remember them all. It is a use of a language that can't be understood by many, but it is English, something they all aspire to.
I have to think, what is it they all want. Is it to be out in the Western world, to fit in with what capitalism heralds as the greatest, or is it to make it easier to abandon the one they have. Whatever it is, it gives me a good giggle.

Sleep

SLEEP

This city moves at a pace so busy that it can make you wonder what the rush is. The locals rise early, at 5am they can be seen in the streets preparing for the day. Some are arranging low stools around an equally low table, big pots coming to boil and the steam evaporating into the early morning air. The last of the garbage is being swept into piles, and then shoveled into bins on wheels being pushed by slight looking individuals dressed in safety orange, wearing plastic shoes.

Outside of the local newspaper printing mills, men have large plastic sheets spread on the ground sorting large piles of newspapers into smaller piles of newspaper. These are bound with sting and loaded onto the back of motorbikes to be distributed to local news stands.

Women with big woven baskets tied on the back of their bikes go up and down alleys and roads, calling out what sounds to me like “bunyee”. Fresh hot bread rolls are under the hessian cover and sold door to door, providing a tasty breakfast for a very cheap price.

People are seen on balconies or in parks swinging their arms or marching to their own beat. This country is focused on preventative care, keeping fit the best way to stay healthy.

Soon the horns start blasting, the streets get busier. Everyone is moving quickly, like ants trotting in every direction, each knowing where they want to go but not necessarily taking a direct route. As the day warms up, so does the activity.

Breakfast seems to be quickly followed by lunch, with street stalls crowded again by 11.30.

Then everything stops. With full stomachs, everyone takes off for a nap. School children have either gone home for lunch or, if in daycare, camp stretchers are dragged out for the little ones to nap. Alternatively, piles of mattresses are unloaded from a storage room for comfort. Woven mats are rolled out on the floor for a snooze under a ceiling fan, shop front stalls are draped with sheets to stop theft while the shop keeper snuggles down, an arm draped over the face to provide privacy. Business doors are closed (but not necessarily locked), the lights are turned off and chairs pushed together forming a makeshift bed. I have walked in to an office to pay a bill just at this time of day and found the attendant settling down on the desk top with a stack of books providing a pillow.

The need for rest provides some interesting places to sleep.At midday, bus drivers can be seen swinging in hammocks suspended in the back of the bus, cyclo drivers have their bed on wheels and the xe om drivers (motorbike taxis) hang their legs over the handle bars and lie on their backs, pushing out the zzzzzzzz’s. Construction workers sit on the footpath to eat their lunch then just stretch out, looking like ten men in a bed. It doesn’t seem to matter if it is a busy or quiet part of town, a footpath or the steps of a quiet pagoda, if the need is there, any place will do.

I have seen hammocks hanging on wrought iron fences, suspended between poles with a body cocooned within. If there are possessions to be protected, an arm or leg is entwined to ensure that nobody takes off with the precious goods. But it was the funeral attendant who gave me a good laugh. In the back of the funeral truck, well adorned with elaborate decorations, was the attendant asleep between the wooden rungs that hold the coffin on its way out of town.

Eventually everyone rouses, but never in a hurry to resume where they left off. Slowly the wheels of industry turn while they rub the sleep from their eyes, turn the lights up and eventually return to work. Generally, there is another bowl of noodles to sustain them till it is time to eat again. I can understand the need for siesta, the heat makes you want to slow down. But the day starts early here and children can be heard laughing and playing well after 10pm. Eventually the lights go out, but not for long because tomorrow is only a few hour away.

Paradise Lost .... and Found

Paradise Lost.....and Found

We knew it was going to happen. The buzz in the alley months ago was about the widening of the alley, there was protest and petitions to The Committee. The majority of the residents didn't want it to happen, there was the disruption coupled with the cost but, to stand against the government was a hard task. After all...it is The Party. Our landlord told us it would be a few weeks, other residents said a few month before anything happened. We were worried it would happen when our visitor were here. I kept thinking "this wouldn't happen at home" but a distant memory of compulsory land requisition was hidden somewhere in the memory bank.
Letters were slid through the gate written in Vietnamese, so we had no idea what they were about. I asked the neighbour, she said it was about to start. The plan was that the alley would be widened, knocking about a meter off the front of every house. We just couldn't understand how they could do it or more to the fact ...why!!!
It started with our water meter being moved. Now, this is Vietnam. Phone call from the landlord, don't go out, we will be there. I change my plans and wait. Another phone call, sorry... not today, parts not available. Waiting, waiting. The jackhammer, chisels, thumping and bashing have become part of our daily life.
To walk outside the door is like stepping into Saigon in the 60's. There is rubble piled up and dust filling the air. We wake to this seven days a week, from 7.30 to 5. The workmen take the mandatory 1 hour for lunch, sleeping where they sit.
Men and women are toiling to create the new alley, they are knocking down walls, smashing brick columns only to rebuild them. Concrete is mixed by hand, a small mountain of sand and cement dust making a volcano into which a bucket full of water is poured, then mixed with a trowel. Gravel is moved down the lane in what we describe as a back to front ute, pedal powered by youths tanned by the hot sun but with strength that defies their bodies.
The view over our balcony shows the inside of our neighbour's house, their own balcony destroyed to expose the reinforcing mesh and the room below. Uninvited, I can see into their lounge room, a film of brick dust resting on the heavy wooden furniture. What a mess.
Before work starts in earnest on our house, the landlord arrives with flowers an incense, offerings to the spirits and a tiny alter is set up in our porch, just to make sure that all works are approved by all concerned.
We try to escape this demolition site, setting off every morning to sit in a coffee shop and read a book until it is time to return home and get ready for work. The weekend poses a bigger challenge because there is no refuge in the workplace. There are more hours to fill, where do we go, what do we do?
Paradise found....I had seen it on the map, checked it out on Google Earth. There is an oasis hidden in the bustle of this city and I know where to find it. This place is a gem. Among suburbia is a park, the brochure said a tourist park, but it looked like more local than tourist. As westerners we are one of the attractions. In a city where every inch is claimed for one reason or another, sits acres of land devoted to recreation and pleasure. There is a pool surrounded by palm trees where you can lie on a sun bed sipping coconut milk while the lifeguards keep watch over the children splashing. The perimeter of the park is studded with small huts with chairs and platform beds where you can laze away the day, small bbq's at the side where you can cook your lunch. A lake fed by a rather questionable river is central to the complex, with gazebo like structures sitting over the water and looking so inviting. You can book a table here and have a pleasant meal while cooled by the breeze that blows over the water. The food is not as cheap as we have come to expect at other Vietnamese restaurants, but entry to the complex is free and the cost of amenities have to covered from somewhere. This place is now on our list of escapes, somewhere that is just a few right turns from our house but miles from the noise of destruction of our alley.
There are undercover tennis courts, a toy shop with toys for the children to try, bicycles to ride around the wide paths and acres of grass on which to walk bare foot. I can't understand why this place has not been on the ex-pat hit list of places to visit. It is close to the city, cheap and very clean. No body else seems to know it is there.
What a gem, paradise lost but reclaimed.